Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Devil’s Casino is the epitome of hustle and bustle; a hidden jewel in the glimmering crown of the Inkwell Isles. 

Sparkling chandeliers hang from the tall, starstruck ceiling, catching the main floor in a beautiful warm glow that never dies. Slot machines spin wildly by the minute, the occasional joyful dings followed by celebratory whooping and hollers filling the air every time a new sucker earns his keep. Tables and tables of all the beer and games a man could ever want—complete with just enough staff to keep the alcohol flowing and the chips cashing. Everyone’s drinking. Everyone’s betting on something. 

The music, big band style, is in full swing: a loud, inviting melody of trumpets pierce the air as the low rumbling of the drums and the occasional twang of piano chords come together in perfect harmony. The patrons laugh and dance, tearing up the marble floors as they bask in the overwhelming aura of booze, music, and play. 

Why, if one didn’t know any better, you could assume that this place was a dream. A place where all the troubles of life cease to exist, and the overworked victims of reality could finally wind down their days with a smoke and some poker. 

But, this is the Devil’s casino after all. There’s always a catch, and it takes place in its most precious currency. 

The gambling of souls. 

Of course, taking such a risk is not necessarily a requirement, but when you’ve come so far and the deal just looks too great to resist, it’s easy for a mortal to give in. No one truly knows how important a soul is, anyways—until they’ve lost their own. It’s a shame for the people who have nothing else to lose, the poor fools. 

And soul-snatching is not the only ace the Devil has up his sleeve. 

For every no-good casino owner, especially one as notorious as the ruler of the underworld, there’s always an equally despicable pit boss manning the floor. Someone to handle all the dirty work, so the owner’s hands (or rather, claws) stay clean. A loyal and responsible casino manager. 

A die-headed man in his late thirties, dressed to the nines in the finest of royal lavender, fills this role like a glove. He watches Hell’s casino with an eagle’s eye, the telltale clacking of his footsteps recognized by everyone who knows him. Some worship the sound, and others cower from it. 

The staff on the floor follow the manager’s orders to the letter, making sure nothing is out of place, and no sinner is left unsupervised. They dub themselves his Court. He is their King. 

King Dice. 

He fits the name well, that’s for sure—his head is literally composed of a game die, with six different sides. Bright lilac pips adorn each face, from one through six. The pip on the ‘one’ face acts as his nose, paired splendidly with glowing green eyes that could pierce the hearts of anyone who peers into them for too long. Skin made of the smoothest ceramic, but certainly not fragile—with a neat, perfectly groomed pencil mustache nestled on his upper lip. He’s certainly quite the looker, no one could deny that much.

However… underneath a handsome face and a warm, welcoming persona, lies a vile monster. A sleazy, lying, cheating, manipulating scumbag who has no regard for those who can’t bring him some sort of benefit. A selfish and egotistical conman. 

Anyone who knows him well and isn’t a complete idiot can see it quite clearly: Dice loves his job, and not just the fabulous singing gigs and warm welcomes. He loves it all. From the bar and the dealing, to the manipulation and the soul collecting. The wide, malicious grin plastered on his face as he watches over a game of Craps or Blackjack is hard proof of that. But no one would dare try to call him out on his sins, or even think about challenging his ways of management. 

Because if there’s one thing to know, it’s that no one messes with King Dice. 

People have tried before, and barely lived to tell the story. It’s become an unspoken rule that newcomers either have to learn by word of mouth, or the hard way. Not that Dice minds giving out the free lessons himself, of course. He’s always been a fighter by nature. 

When his watchful patrols are no longer needed, Dice is tucked away in his lavish office, humming along to the jazzy tunes of his radio as he signs each and every contract his boss collects. Signing away soul after soul, without a care in the world, as if the mortals whose contracts he’s signing don’t mean a thing. 

To Dice, they don’t. Not if they’re stupid enough to be in that situation in the first place. 

When he’s on the floor, he relishes every bit of attention he receives—both the good and the bad. The man paces the smooth floors in interest as he scans the crowds, always making sure that players are following the rules. Keeping his band playing at the top of their game, at all times. 

There’s always some lovestruck bloke or dame attached to his arm, sometimes multiple at once. They follow him around like little leeches, always eager to please their beloved King. Never caring when they end up booted out of his chambers the next morning. Promising they’ll return to him, as if King Dice would wait up for anyone. 

On more casual nights, such as this one, Dice takes his personal sanctuary at the built-in bar on the side of the floor, in a lonely stool near the center of the countertop. There’s nothing more satisfying than having a cold shot of scotch–letting the condensation of the glass melt against his gloved fingertips as he sits back and takes in his empire. His own little kingdom that he had built up from the ground, right by the Devil’s side. To him, it’s a masterpiece. 

Every single patron is a new opportunity: a new chance for the casino to grow and thrive in prosperity. Each drink that leaves his bar is money in his pocket, as well as the various chimes of loss from the machines and the fake apologies from the dealers. 

“So sorry, pal. Better luck next time!” 

It’s all music to the man’s ears. Everything right here, in this casino, is all that Dice will ever need. Food. Drink. Power. Attention. Money. His list is short, but yet, others may feel the need to pry at him for his greed and lust. Scoffing at the idea of others criticizing his own desires, Dice studies his liquor thoughtfully before downing all of it in one swig. He taps his empty glass against the wooden counter, silently ordering for Ol’ Ethan to top him off. 

Once his glass is refilled and his mind starts to buzz softly from the hooch, Dice finds it in him to relax a little more, turning in his seat and taking a breath. He sighs in satisfaction, letting his mind rest for a moment while he keeps a casual watch of the floor. 

His curiosity piques when the casino suddenly quiets down a little, a few nearby tables whispering amongst themselves in wonder and suspicion. Not really a bad thing to have, in such a place. Dice tunes in. 

“Looks like a newbie’s come to town; I don’t know about you, but I ain’t never seen that fella before.” 

“Guess you might be right. I wonder what brought ‘em here, of all places. And look, they’re headed straight for the bar!” 

“Ya think the King will say somethin’ to ‘em? Y’know, to help break the ice?” 

“Of course he will. I reckon that poor thing will be offering everything they’ve got to him by the end of the hour. Just to get a taste of him.” 

“An hour? Don’t insult the man, I’d say he’s got ‘em wrapped around his finger in thirty minutes tops.” 

Another newcomer. Now that certainly has King Dice’s attention. 

It’s been a little while since he’s gotten the chance to show the ropes to some fresh meat. The pleasant chill of opportunity runs down his spine as he takes another swig of his scotch, fully embracing his last few seconds of shut-eye as he prepares his usual routine. 

Tch. Thirty minutes? He’ll have this one in ten. 

“I’ll have a whiskey, on the rocks.” 

As soon as that unfamiliar voice graces his eardrums, Dice’s eyes snap open, and he tilts head towards the soft and sweet sound. His gaze meets… the most breathtaking sight he’s ever seen. 

Oh, Lord.

With an exhausted sigh, you drum your fingers against the wooden countertop, watching the dapper martini glass in front of you prepare your requested drink. All you can think about is getting your hands on that alcohol, letting your mind succumb to the buzz it brings for the next hour or so. It’s been a very long first day in town for you, and you just need to let off some steam. 

Once you had settled into your run-down apartment in the corner of Inkwell City in Isle Three, you decided to take a gander at Inkwell’s highlights. You heard through some casual gossip about a humble casino inside the city’s cave, near the train tracks. 

Figuring you had nothing better to do with your night of free time, you inquired about the place with the fork-headed fellow who had mentioned it, following his directions all the way to Inkwell Hell. 

As off-putting as it was to see a casino run by the Devil, right in the middle of the land’s own personal Hell, you just couldn’t bring yourself to turn away. After all, your move into town is supposed to be about second chances, anyway. Why not give this place its first?

Your glass is set in front of you with utmost care, your bartender winking and offering you a soft smile. 

“Welcome to the Devil’s Casino, dearie. Enjoy.” 

You return the gesture, slipping her a fiver and nodding kindly. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Keep the change.” 

Dice watches the exchange happen before him, slightly baffled that you haven’t even spared him a glance yet. You’re so focused on that drink in your hand… it must’ve been a long day for you to be so clingy to your alcohol. Perhaps, he can gain your attention with an introduction. 

“Whiskey, eh? A mighty fine choice, if I do say so myself. This bar’s the best in the business when it comes to liquor.” 

You turn your head to face the source of the praise, and you’re met with a rather interesting sight. A die-headed stranger sits near you, with a single bar stool separating the both of you. He looks at you with a welcoming sparkle in his eye, raising his own glass of whiskey to you to exemplify his statement. 

You recognize the man as the one that a strange fork-headed man had warned you about: King Dice, the casino’s sleazy manager. He had told you to avoid the pit boss if you could, and to be smart with your decisions if you came in contact with him. You had taken his advice to heart, your guard extra sensitive since before you even walked in the doors. 

Now that you’re here, though, you nearly start to question the gossip. He truly doesn’t feel all that dangerous–he looks like nothing more than a kind-hearted businessman, offering you advice on what drinks are good. 

But you’re not stupid. Just because Dice doesn’t feel like a threat, does not mean that you shouldn’t be careful anyway. He is still a stranger, after all, and a stranger that other people clearly don’t trust. 

However, that doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in some pleasantries. 

“Well, I’m glad I made a good first choice, then,” you offer him a playful smirk, swirling the contents of your glass before having a sip. “Thanks for the confirmation.” 

“There’s no need to thank me—just a simple gesture for the newbie, is all. Welcome to the Devil’s Casino.” 

“I appreciate it,” you sip again, more thoughtfully. “This is a pretty nice place you’ve got here. Good whiskey, as well.” 

“Ain’t it? I’m glad you think so. The whole establishment is a labor of love, and you’re sure to find your place in it once you give it a chance,” Dice muses happily, chugging his own drink while he eyes you. “I know I certainly have. I’ve been in this business since the time it was built.” 

You nod along to show you’re listening, taking in the many different sights the floor has to offer. You watch in boredom as various patrons empty their wallets, desperate to win just one game. God, how pathetic. 

“I’m sure I will. It’ll just take some time getting used to, I suppose.” 

“You’ll have plenty of time darlin’, I assure you, this place ain’t moving.” Dice laughs and shifts his body towards you, offering his full attention. “As its manager, I’ll make sure of that.” 

You hum knowingly at the conman, glancing back at him as you take another swig, finishing your whiskey. 

“The manager, eh? My, how lucky I am to be graced by the presence of the big boss in such a short amount of time.” 

“You flatter me, darlin’, but that ‘big boss’ you speak of would fit more with Old Scratch himself. I’m more like his consigliere.” 

“And does this consigliere have a name?” You ask, knowing perfectly well what his name is already.

“One of the most prominent in the Isles. Folks typically call me King Dice, but you can just call me King, if that suits your fancy.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at the boastful introduction and let out a soft laugh. 

“King Dice… a pretty fitting name, it suits you well.” 

Dice smiles, bowing his head down a little in gratitude. “And what about you, dear? You mind putting a name to that pretty face of yours?” 

Easy. Easy work. You’re already playing his game by talking with him, all he has to do is charm you into trusting him. He waits, patiently, for your answer. 

What you say, though, throws him for a loop.

“I do mind a little, actually,” you chuckle, shifting in your seat and resting your arm on the counter. 

“I may be new around here, but I’m not a complete fool. The manager of a casino owned by the Devil is certainly no angel. And when heard by the wrong ears, my name could put me in jeopardy.” 

Dice stares at you for a moment, thoughtfully, as you order another glass of whiskey. He’s never been denied something as simple as a name like that before—in fact, it’s usually the guests that introduce themselves first. 

But you’re more careful. Calculated. You’ve got a secure head on those shoulders, and you think well before you speak. That kind of behavior is something Dice doesn’t see in a lot of folks. 

He likes that. He thinks it’s interesting.  

So much for having your trust, though. It looks like he’ll have to work a little harder to earn his keep. 

“Well, aren’t you just a hoot ‘n a half?” The manager chuckles as you wait for Ginette to top you off. “I don’t normally get patrons as careful as you are, doll… you sure you’re not gonna give me anything to work with?” 

“Afraid not, sir,” you smirk as your glass is slid back over to you, stopping right at your seat. “I don’t spare anythin’ for free. My name will be something you gotta earn.” 

You pull out your wallet, grabbing another quick five to pay for the refill. Before you can hand it off, however, Ginette holds up her hand, offering you another smile. When you ask her what the deal is, she nods her head towards Dice, who grins and shakes his head. 

“Take it, peach. It’s on the house.”

Cautious, you laugh quietly and take the glass with hesitation, swirling the contents and allowing the ice to dilute the strong liquor. 

“You know that’s not gonna do it so easily, right?”

“I wasn’t expecting it to. Just something that feels right to do.” 

You eye the contents slightly, wondering if there’s some sort of hidden trick. When nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, you shrug and trust it. 

With a pleasant hum, you raise your glass to him in gratitude before indulging yourself. 

“Well in that case, thank you kindly, King.” 

“Not a problem. It’s customary, for the newbies to get comfortable. To avoid spendin’ so much on their first run.” 

“You sayin’ I can’t afford to pay for my own drinks?” You tease, raising a brow dramatically. Dice laughs at your quick wit. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of insulting you like that. I know damn well someone like you can hold your own when you need to. But it certainly does feel nice to have that extra cash, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does, yes. As having any money would.” 

“Y’know, the money doesn’t have to just stop at the bar. There’s plenty of chances here for you to gain some more. Why, if your luck and skill would allow it, you could walk outta here rich beyond belief.” 

“Oh really now?” You chuckle sarcastically, finishing your glass. 

“Really. It’s all in how you play the game.” Dice winks, gesturing to the floor in front of you both. The tables and tables of card games and roulettes, the dice rolling wildly and spinning like tops. Sounds of joy come from the slots, proving Dice’s point. “If you’re interested, I could show you around. Y’know, help you get eased in.” 

“No thanks.” 

Dice nearly flinches, taken aback by your sudden firmness. Despite his hope to entice you, for some reason, you don’t look interested in the slightest. In fact, there’s a familiar dullness in your eyes that the manager’s seen plenty of times before. 

Disgust. 

Not only do you look completely indifferent to the plethora of games around, but you look critical of those who participate. At least, those who can’t bring themselves to walk away. Dice would have to agree with you there—it is a rather pitiful display of helplessness. 

“I take it gambling’s not your style?” 

“I’m always up for a casual game or two, sure. But relying on a machine or some sort of fate to bring me to the top? Now that is the definition of foolishness. I’d rather not get too deep into trouble, especially when I barely even know the city. Right now, I’m good with just an ice cold drink and some catchy music.” 

“I can respect that, believe me,” he resigns simply, downing the rest of his drink and sliding the glass next to yours. “If you ever change your mind, though, all of this will be waiting right here for you.” 

You sigh softly, a bit relieved at your new acquaintance’s response. Your shoulders relax as your danger senses shut off completely, the hooch buzzing around in your head. A reserved smile graces your lips as you give the casino one last onceover, sizing up your potential new hideout.

Finally, after a few minutes of reflection, you decide you’ve had enough action for one night. You nod to your companion in farewell as you stand from your seat. 

“I’d better get outta here before it gets too late. There’s a lot to do, and not a lot of time. Thanks for the drink.” 

“Of course. Adieu, my dear. If you ever need a drink and a chat, you know where to find us.” 

You give another nod and a wave as you take your leave, never once looking back. On the contrary, Dice’s eyes never leave you. They’re glued to your back until the double doors close behind you, and he’s left with the loneliness he’s learned to appreciate long ago.

You’re a special one, that’s for sure. All that chatter over some drinks and shared judgement, yet the man couldn’t even get your name. 

You’ve got skill. Dice has never been more intrigued in a simple guest in his twenty years of service. 

‘There’s a lot to do, and not a lot of time.’

Maybe for you. 

There’s certainly a lot that Dice needs to do, that’s for sure. He’ll have to work for his prize, and he’ll have to work hard. But time? 

Dice has all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

Saturdays at 8:00 pm. On the dot. Weekly. 

You find yourself in the exact same spot you were at on your first night in Inkwell, every Saturday. The same casino, the same music. The same drink, at the same stool. Sipping away, and watching the victories and losses that take place. 

Now that you’re more familiar with your surroundings and you’ve settled into your apartment, you’re able to truly enjoy your free time instead of dreading the next task. 

You wonder, with a little apprehension–what drives you to return to a place that so many of Inkwell’s residents seem to hate. A place where the Devil himself has free reign. Maybe it’s the music. Or, perhaps the alcohol. Maybe it’s the entertainment of watching poor fools gamble away all they’ve got. 

Or rather… Maybe it’s the handsome manager that always happens to be at the bar at just the right time. 

You hope it’s not that. 

King Dice is a man not to be trusted in the slightest, and rest assured, you don’t. Sure, he acts like a real gentleman whenever you come by, but that means nothing and you know it. You’ve heard about the things he's done to those who got too close. You will not be another toy in his playpen. 

But, he does appear to take you seriously. He’s a surprisingly good listener, even when you don’t have much to say. If anything he’s the talker, but when you do speak, he clings to your voice like a moth to a flame.

As little as you want to rely on your drinking buddy, you’ve gotta give credit where credit is due. Dice treats you like one of his own comrades. Like you’ve been friends for years.

He’ll tell you the latest gossip he’s heard from a nearby table of drunken broads, like a husband having an affair or some poor fellow losing his job. Or, you’ll bring up something new in town that you hadn’t seen before, and Dice will give you a full rundown. 

Unless it’s something in Isle One. He doesn’t seem to go near the forest very often. Too much dirt and bugs, you suppose. 

You never stay longer than an hour or two, just stopping by for a quick few rounds of liquor and chatter before heading off. Doing so, you allow yourself to have a bit of fun with one of the casino’s head honchos, all while keeping yourself out of too much trouble.

You’ve found Dice to be a pretty comedic guy–one minute you two are exchanging greetings as you take your first drinks, and the next, you’re practically doubled over in your seat, tipsy and laughing at a joke he had made about some bloke who tripped on his own feet and landed on a poker table. 

It’s… nice. Real nice, actually. 

And that’s a feeling that scares you. 

You can’t help but wonder what the point of all this is. Why he’s being so kind to you of all people, when he’s known for being rather crude. What could you possibly have that he could be after? For a man who has all the riches in the world, what doesn’t he have in his collection? 

Not that you’d ask any of those questions to his face. You wouldn’t dare to try and fix what isn’t exactly broken. 

So, you stay low. You listen, chat, and drink, allowing your acquaintanceship to continue to grow. If anything, you’ve gained someone to talk to, even if it feels like you’re playing with fire. You’re careful, even as you grow more and more fond of your interactions with the charming manager every week. 

And Dice? Well, he’d say he’s making splendid progress, given the type you are. He can sense your stone walls slowly starting to crack, and looks out for his victory that seems to be inching closer and closer. Every week, every conversation, every drink, is a chip away at your outer shell. The suspense is killing him from the inside, but the man tells himself it’ll be worth it. 

To see the Boss’s face when he finally delivers one of his hardest earned souls. A true testimony of his dedication. Surely there’d be a promotion in there somewhere. Maybe co-owner, instead of a measly manager position. More money than he’d know what to do with, perhaps a bigger suite, plenty of glory to parade himself in… 

But he’s getting too far ahead of himself. 

Swindling is an art, and King Dice is a master of the craft. If he’s learned anything in the last twenty years, one thing’s for sure: this kind of art should never be rushed. 

Besides, the wait is not so bad. Dice catches himself genuinely looking forward to your next visit. The next Saturday, at 8:00 pm. 

…No, he did not memorize the time out of interest in you or your visits. It’s strictly for business. To prepare himself for another night of entertaining his newfound target. His prey. 

The second hand ticks over the XII marking on Dice’s watch, the hour hand slowly marking the much-awaited VIII. The showman straightens himself in his seat, crosses his leg over his lap, and waits. 

He doesn’t wait long. 

The front doors of the casino open and you walk right in, your shoes clicking against the ground as you take your usual route to the bar. The smile on Dice’s lips widens as he watches your approach, taking in the outfit you chose. The way you accessorized. The movement of your legs. Your hips. For some odd reason, you seem to look more and more stunning each time you return. 

Dice surely appreciates it. 

“Well, look who's waltzin' on in like they own the place. You’re right on time and looking wonderful, as usual.” 

You playfully scoff and sit at your usual stool, Rumulus already making a move towards preparing your usual scotch. 

“Charming, King. Just like the first few times you’ve said it.”

“Nothing else to say but the truth, doll,” he chuckles, watching closely as you exchange your drink for a fiver, collecting your change. 

Despite his confidence in that statement, he slightly wonders if he really did mean what he said, or if he was just trying to say the right thing. “What’s the latest?” 

“The usual. Working and sleeping, more or less. The days sort of blend together once you’ve been in the routine for so long.” 

“You do seem to be taking the routine thing rather seriously. I mean, every Saturday at eight, you walk through those doors. The exact same time, never once late. Do you just have it marked on your calendar?” Dice laughs softly, offering to clink his glass with your own in a lighthearted ‘cheers’. 

You accept, with a teasing glint in your eye. 

“The fact that you have the time I usually arrive memorized speaks volumes, I hope you know that. Do you keep a record this tight of every regular you have here?”

“Just the ones who I’m extra fond of,” the man winks, and a strange heat rushes to your cheeks. “And, the ones who actually do come here at a constant time frame like you have. Not many other folks do that–and you’ve been at this for weeks now.” 

“I suppose it has been a while, now that you mention it. Still, it still feels like just yesterday I settled down and started calling Inkwell home.” 

“Time sure flies when you’re busy,” Dice muses with a soft chuckle. “And like you said, the days can easily blend together and become dull. Believe it or not, they do for me as well, even when working in a casino can be rather unpredictable.” 

“Even the great King Dice can get bored of his own life?” You quip fondly, sipping at your liquor. “Who knew that could ever happen, when he’s surrounded by riches and fame?” 

“Oh please, doll! You hurt my heart! I’m just as human as you, y’know,” Dice laughs, shaking his head at you. 

You smirk, sparing him a glance before looking over the main floor, which you still have yet to explore. 

“Still stuck to the bar? The games still putting you off?” Your drinking partner asks, noticing your slight curiosity. “Or are you thinking of indulging in a round or two, this time around?”

You quickly shake your head, turning back to him. 

“No, not just yet. You know I’m not one for taking too many risks, but especially now, when I’m trying to save up for a down payment.”

“A house!” Dice claps once, leaning forward slightly in his seat. “About time you got out of the apartments. You have any options in mind?” 

“A couple, but they’re pretty idealistic. I don’t know if they’re my style.” 

“The bigger the better, I’d say.”

“Says the one who can afford bigger.” 

“Fair point, darlin’. Where are you looking?” 

“I’m not too picky, but preferably in Isle Three. Closer to work.” 

“Speaking of, you still haven’t told me about your job yet,” Dice smiles warmly, resting his elbow on the countertop, his head leaning down on his fist. “Come on, tell me. What’s your passion? What brought you here, in the first place? You’ve been comin’ here a while, and I still don’t know much about you. Not even your damn name.” 

You give a small laugh through your nose, staring down at your whiskey. Studying it. As much as you enjoy conversing with the pit boss, you still don’t think it’s a good idea to fill him in on too much. Frankly, you doubt it’d truly be worth his time, much less your own.

Your life is not exactly as lavish as his looks.

“There’s really not much to it, King. Besides, you don’t really need to know too much anyway.” You brush him off, finishing off the bitter whiskey before setting down your glass. Although you enjoy the smooth burning sensation in your throat, you just aren’t feeling it anymore. Besides, you could use the change in subject. 

“Hey, Rumulus, whaddya got that’s sweeter?”

Dice stares as you and his lackey chat over the different options in store for the night, pondering what you had told him. Disappointment rises in his chest, as well as a pang of impatience. 

It’s been a good two months since you two have met, and yet, he’s got nothing on you. It’s never usually this difficult to get to know someone–even someone as cautious as you. Not that it’s you he’s annoyed with, but he wishes he could speed things up a little more. 

Part of him curses his reputation, for scaring you off the way it has. He loves the attention it gets him, but it was only a matter of time before it came back and bit him. He blames your intellect, as well. You’re more thoughtful than most, and as admirable as it is, it’s keeping Dice from doing his job. 

You taunt him, without even trying. Barely even knowing it.

Usually, those who play this hard to get take him a week or so to manipulate, and even then, Dice feels so irritated he’s shocked he doesn’t just downright force the information out. 

But for some reason, he can’t get upset with your insistence of privacy. And though he’ll never say it, he likes the amount of time you’ve spent together. And he grows more eager for every visit you make. 

He’s hopeful, but more patient than he’s used to. How odd.

His attention snaps back to you, watching you browse your options of different red wines. Your eyes look so focused, as you weigh your choices. What a pretty sight. 

“Trouble deciding, doll?” 

“Just weighing all my options. You got any suggestions?” 

“If you’re looking for something sweet, the Red Moscato might be in your best interest. One of the best dessert wines we’ve got.” 

“Hmm… maybe you’re right. I hear you’ve got pretty good taste in wine.” 

“I’ve drunk a lot of brands over the years, and I don’t let a single bad bottle hit the racks,” Dice gestures to the large supply of dark wine bottles, resting neatly on the top shelf, ranging from bone dry to sweet as sugar. He sends you another wink, and that damned heat comes rushing back. “I may know a thing or two.” 

“Alright then, my conniving connoisseur. We’ll go with the expert’s pick.” 

Rumulus nods and goes to grab the bottle from the shelf, as Dice smiles fondly at your waiting figure. 

You called him your connoisseur. Conniving, yes, but yours nonetheless. 

That’s… sweet Jesus, that’s adorable. He’ll be thinking about that for a while. 

Your glass is handed to you, and you give Rumulus a ten, telling him to keep the change. You sip at the drink thoughtfully, a small smile curling up on your lips at the sweet taste. 

“I suppose you really do know a thing or two, Dice. This is delicious.” 

“Ya gotta trust me when it comes to these things, darlin’,” Dice smiles, watching you closely. “I’d never steer you wrong.” 

“Well, ain’t that sweet?” You tease, taking another sip of wine before turning towards him. “Never once?” 

“Never once.”

You laugh, softly, and turn back forward to lean down on the counter. 

“You’re a real class act, Mr. King Dice.” 

Now that’s something Dice hasn’t heard from anyone in a while. And judging by the traces of interest in your grin when you said it, he can tell you meant that. 

He doesn’t even know what to say. You’ve effectively left him, the king of charms, with no comebacks. 

Before he can come up with a poorly planned stammer, you beat him to the punch, finally deciding that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let your guard down. Just a little. 

“(Y/n).” 

Dice nearly drops his glass, his heart stopping in his chest as he stares at you in surprise. Did you just… 

“What did you say, darlin’?” 

“My name,” you reply softly, swirling the contents of your glass with the ghost of a smile on your face. “It’s (Y/n).”

Your name. 

You just gave Dice your name, after weeks of trial, and he barely even had to pry tonight. Goodness gracious, you’re gonna drive him mad. 

“What a beautiful name...” 

“Just don’t wear it out, alright? I don’t need everyone knowin’ my business.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it—something like this?” Dice shakes his head, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. “It’s precious cargo.” 

At that confirmation, you huff out another laugh, smirking at his shocked reaction. 

If that’s truly how he sees you, to take such good care of your name of all things, you figure you didn’t make a decision you’ll regret. 

You finish your wine, sliding the glass Dice’s way. His eyes never leave yours as he catches it, his fingertips squeezing the stem. He watches as you stand, brushing yourself off and turning to leave. 

“See you soon, King. It’s been a nice chat, as always.” 

You leave, with a strange fluttering in your heart. Dice stays, watching you go, doing his best not to follow behind. 

“See you soon… (Y/n).”

He feels a pleasant shudder, the first time he utters your name. He barely even whispered it, yet the sound rings in his ears so loudly it nearly deafens him. 

Good grief, when did you get so captivating? Did he have too much to drink?

Rumulus smirks a little at his boss’s awed expression as he takes your empty wine glass to clean it, giving Dice a knowing look. 

“You seem to like ‘em a lot, don’tcha Boss? Every week, you’re glued to that seat, waitin’ for ‘em to have a drink with you.” 

Dice blinks, tearing away from his thoughts to cast the bartender a look of denial.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not interested in them. Just what they can offer to the Boss. That’s my job.” 

The whiskey bottle rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head and wiping the rim down with a towel. 

“Whatever ya say. But it’s hard to ignore the color coverin’ your face—you’re as pink as one of your Aces o’ Hearts.”

“Just finish cleaning that damn glass of theirs and get back to it, will ya? Jeez, you and the others have got a real nasty habit of getting all up in my business when you don’t need to be.” 

“It’s just ‘cuz we know ya, Boss. If the big Boss found out that you were fancying someone, well, he might think you’re slackin’ off.” 

“He’ll be fine. Happy, even, once I get that soul. Which I will. I always do. Now shut your yap, put that glass away, and get back to work.” 

Casually, Rumulus relents, putting your glass away and dropping the conversation. He makes no move to wipe the knowing grin on his face, despite the manager’s harsh tone. 

Dice buries his face into his hand, both to try and hide the apparently prominent glow in his cheeks. He’s not interested in you. He’s not. Every pry for information is just to get him a step ahead.

Even though your conversations are… nice to have. Even if his eyes light up when he sees you walk in the doors. He’s just eager, that’s all. Motivated. 

The tapping of a full glass of whiskey against the countertop reaches Dice’s hearing. He opens his eyes and glances up, seeing Ol’ Ethan nodding to him before turning around to rearrange the white wines. Grumbling to himself, Dice downs the whole thing in one swig. 

Fine. Yes. Maybe he does enjoy your company, even when he shouldn’t. But that fuzzy feeling won’t last forever. 

That’s okay, though. Because your name will. 

He’d breathe a name like that until the day he dies.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, you return to the Devil’s casino at your usual time, excitement evident in every step you take. A wide grin is plastered on your face as you quickly open the doors. 

You make a beeline towards your favorite spot, ignoring the drunk chatterboxes whistling and calling out to you as you pass by. You barely notice them, too ecstatic to pay them any mind. You’ve got news. Great news. 

And for once, it’s you who says the first line as you approach the bar, giving the lonely pit boss a pleasant surprise. 

“King Dice, you sir, owe me a bottle of champagne!” 

Taken aback by your sudden extroversion, Dice spins his seat towards you as you sit down… right next to him. In the seat that usually keeps the space between you two. 

Oh, good heavens, you’re so much prettier when you’re that up close. But that’s not supposed to be Dice’s priority. He smacks himself internally for even getting on the topic.

“Well, look at you prancing on up in here! What’s got you with such a spring in your step, doll?” 

“I’ve found a place to live, and I just got moved in the last box! Said goodbye to that shitty old apartment and hello to some new, clean floors.” 

“Hot dawg! Darlin’, that’s fantastic!” Dice applauds enthusiastically, flashing you his signature grin. “Where’d you end up settling down?” 

“Isle Three, same as the apartment. But closer to work, and much less rugged! It’s not huge, but it’s certainly bigger than the last space and hell of a lot more comfortable. It’s official—you’re lookin’ at Inkwell’s newest homeowner.” 

“Well then, I won’t let you leave this casino without a toast,” Dice says, Ginette thoughtfully setting down two tall flute glasses, filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. He grabs one up for himself, handing the other to you and raising it upwards. “To moving forward, and moving in!” 

You laugh at his remark, lifting your own glass and nodding along. “To new beginnings!” 

You both clink your glasses together, a slight shiver running down your spine at the contact, and take a long swig of your drinks. The off-dry wine is a little bitter against your tongue, with undertones of apple and melon. The sparkling liquid travels down your throat smoothly, leaving you pleasantly buzzed and satisfied. 

“Is there more of this?” You ask as you quickly finish what you have, eager to continue and slightly addicted to the taste. “It’s delicious.” 

“A whole bottle’s worth, dear.” Dice smirks, nodding his head to the rather large bottle in Ginette’s gloved hands, waiting to be poured. The manager finishes his own drink and sets his glass down. “Top us off, would you Ginette?” 

“Of course, sir.” 

Gratefully, you set your glass down alongside Dice’s, and allow Ginette to pour you both a second round. You reach for your wallet to grab a twenty, intending to pay for the entire bottle, when Dice stops you. 

“Woah there, gorgeous. Whaddya think you’re doing?” 

“I’m buying the bottle, silly. I know you’ve got a ton in your storage room, and this would be good for starting my own little collection at ho—”

“Not what you’re buying, but the fact that you think I’m gonna let you pay for that.” 

“What? King, the whole bottle? I’m not gonna let you do that.” 

“I don’t care what you say, it’s on the house. Consider it a housewarming gift, from me to you. After all, I do owe you a bottle of champagne, do I not?” 

You turn your body towards him, resting your elbow on the countertop and looking him up and down like he had called you crazy. 

“Dice, that—that was just a saying. A joke, is all. This really isn’t necessary…”

The man scoffs dramatically at your hesitation. Folks receiving anything from him tend to just snatch the gift and run with it. It’s why he doesn’t give things away. 

But he figures he should have known better, considering just who he’s talking to. Dice feels like he could give you the clothes off his back, if you really wanted them.

“If I only cared about necessities, I wouldn’t be running a casino, doll. Please. Take it.” 

You let yourself smile, genuinely, at Dice’s kindness. With a sigh in defeat and that familiar, annoying tingling washing over your face, you put your wallet away and lean against the counter, grabbing your refilled glass to take another drink. 

A small, nagging part of Dice would give up all the champagne in the stockroom, just to see you smile like that again. 

“Well, I guess there’s no arguing with that. Thank you, King. That means a lot, truly.” 

“Of course! You deserve to celebrate this accomplishment, and what better way to do that than guzzling down a bottle of hooch?” Dice grins and taps his glass against yours in encouragement, taking a swig himself. You’ve got good taste—the champagne really is impeccable. 

Obeying his orders, you excitedly down another glass, the buzz in the back of your head growing just a little more. You really could finish a good chunk of the bottle right there in that stool, if you wanted to. 

Dice watches, with utmost fondness, as you do just that. 

It’s sweet, in his opinion, to see you get off of the ‘professional’ front and just let yourself go, at least for one night. On a night that you deserve to, as well. He leans his head against his gloved hand and watches you amusedly, having glass after glass. 

You really do love that stuff. He’ll have to make sure the stock is full, every week you come by. If he had known that champagne was your favorite, he would’ve done something like this a lot sooner. 

Dice memorizes you, now that he has the chance to. The way your lips hug the rim of the glass, leaving a small, faded print each time you pull away. Your tongue, occasionally licking it to get the leftover drops of wine off. 

And your eyes. Oh, goodness, your eyes. Bright, passionate, and full of life. He wonders if they’d hold any light left after he’s through with you. 

He would miss this. At least a little.

You become hammered by the fifth or sixth glass, your cheeks flushed. Dice laughs sweetly at your newfound drunken state, having Ginette close the bottle and hand it over to him. He pulls out one of his business cards from his pocket, a card he’d usually give out when welcoming newcomers. 

You’re well past that stage, but it’s the closest thing to paper he’s got on hand. 

He writes a small note on the back. Something simple, to let you know who the bottle was from in case you forget once you sober up. He ties the card to the bottle with a string, leaving a neat little bow. 

“What’re you doin’ with that, Dice?” You ask, curiously, having failed to notice him writing. Dice’s smile grows in response to your casualness, having never heard you call him ‘Dice’ before. 

Normally, he’d take offense to a patron calling him just Dice, but it just rolls so nicely off your tongue. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about this, darlin’. That’s something for you to see later.” He answers, patting your shoulder in assurance. 

If you weren’t under the grasp of alcohol, you’d most likely be suspicious, and demand to know what he had done to the bottle. Instead, you shrug and leave it at that, figuring that it wouldn’t matter since you’d find out anyway. 

You change a lot when you drink, Dice notes in his mind. Instead of an hour or two, you stay until the casino enters its ‘after-hours’ phase, when most of the other patrons have gone off with their prizes or losses. 

And finally, after months of prodding, you decide to hit the tables.

Who knew you’d be so good at poker, even when you’re off the rails? Dice has never seen someone land the hand of a full house, then a straight, then a straight flush, all in a row. 

You perform equally well at blackjack, and the dice follow your exact commands at the craps table. Chips, Pip, and Dot are your biggest cheerleaders, while Wheezy and Hopus try to calculate just how someone could be this good without some kind of cheat. You’re a natural at every game you play. 

But billiards is where you really shine. 

As out-of-it as you are, you’ve still got such a steady hand with the cue stick. Dice doesn’t know if you’ve got beginner’s luck or if the stars are just aligned in your favor tonight, but after you win twice in a row, he wonders if you’d consider a job as a game runner or a dealer. 

All the games you play are lighthearted, with very minimal betting on your end, but you win a good amount of ‘em. In fact, you leave the tables with a bit more cash than what you started with. 

However, you know your limits, and call it quits at around 11:00 pm. Bidding goodbye to your new friends, you walk towards the front doors, stumbling a little as you do so. But you can manage just fine. 

A firm hand grabs your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn around, meeting face to face with Dice. You give a small grin, looking onward in question. 

“You need somethin’, Dice?” 

“Might I walk you home, darlin’? It’s pretty late, and while I must say you are clearly the champion of handling your alcohol, the world is full of crazies at this time of night.” 

“Aw c’mon Dice, that’s really not a requirement. I’ll be fine, trust me! Besides, don’t you have stuff to do here?” 

“My Court can handle things for a little while, in my absence. The casino is quiet, and you said you live in Isle Three, so you’ve gotta be close by. It’s not a problem at all.” 

The sober part of you tells you absolutely not. While Dice is sweet, he can turn sour at any second once he knows too much. And if you let him walk you home, he’d know exactly where you live. He doesn’t even know your career, but if you agree to his offer, he could learn a lot more than just your job. 

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to refuse him. Not when he’s been so generous to you. And, not when you’re nearly tripping over your own feet.

He does have a point, after all.

“Alrighty then, if you insist. Come on, let’s get outta here.” 

Dice offers you his arm, and you accept, walking out the front doors with him interlinked with you. Neither of you have been so close to one another. You can actually smell the cologne that he uses, now. 

Caron Poivre. One of the best in business. 

You wish he weren’t so infamous and threatening, sometimes. Especially now that you’ve grown quite fond of him. It’s hard for you to tell what his intentions are when you’re sober, let alone tipsy and less aware of everything. This seemingly helpful gesture could jeopardize you. 

But yet, you aren’t afraid of what could happen. Not tonight. Maybe you will be when you wake up the next day, realizing how much trust you put into him–but not right now. 

The both of you make it out of the large cave, and are hit with the chilly breeze of night and the sounds of cars honking. People chattering and walking along, even at the ungodly hour. The city will always be this lively, no matter the time, and you’re grateful for the consistency.

“Alright, doll. Lead the way.”

You take a moment to remember the route back home, and you lead him in the correct direction. As you walk towards the docks that hug the side of the city, Dice realizes that you live somewhere near the beach, at the bottom of the Isle Three. 

He hasn’t gotten the chance to check out the neighborhoods in that area—this would be good for him. Not only would he be able to see where you live, but he’d get a pretty decent idea of the lifestyle of other potential patrons. 

Minutes pass by as you both trot the wooden docks, gazing off into the sea. The waves, angry and threatening, crash against the pier as a warning to those who think about entering without properly preparing. The water occasionally peeks up from underneath the floorboards, sprinkling over your shoes.

A particularly cold breeze whips by your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine. You curse quietly—you should’ve brought a jacket. 

Dice notices your predicament, and notices the cold as well. 

“Rather chilly tonight, isn’t it?” Dice chuckles lowly, taking a glance at the ocean beside him, which is most likely to blame for the sudden drop in temperature. “And the waters certainly aren’t helping.”

You laugh with him, shaking your head.

“All that unpacking and organizing, yet I couldn’t remember something as simple as a jacket.” 

“Surely, it was warmer when you left. The sun hadn’t completely set yet.” 

“Maybe so, but the sea should keep this area chilly year-round. I guess I was too rushed to even notice.” 

Dice hums softly, pondering you for a moment as you walk. Another chill gusts over your shoulders, making you shiver.

“Here, darlin'. This should suffice.”

To your shock, you feel a thick, velvet fabric drape over your shoulders, covering your arms. The scent of Dice’s cologne is overwhelming now, as if it were embracing you completely, instead of just tickling your nose. 

He didn’t. Did he just…

“Dice!” You whine, in a tone that Dice isn’t used to from you. Lord, just how much did you drink? 

“You’re giving me your jacket, too? Ya can’t just keep doing these things for me!”

Dice stops your stroll for a moment, looking at you in confusion. 

“And why not?” 

“Because then I’ll have to pay you back one day, and I really don’t have much to offer.” 

Dice smirks knowingly, amused at the fact that you think so. 

You’d find out how wrong you are, soon enough. 

“You fret too much, dollface. It’s no sweat. You’ll get me back someday, I’m sure of it, and even then there really is no due date. If it’s that much of a bother for you, just get me back whenever you’re able.”

“Are you positive?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be. I won’t have you catching the chills on a night where you should be celebrating. You can consider this a one-and-done deal, though: I may not be so kind, if this happens again.” He smirks mischievously down at you, his green eyes flashing a soft, humorous glow. 

He doesn’t truly mean that—he’d consider his jacket yours if you really wanted it that much. But, it’d be fun to see you quiver under his stare, as folks usually do. Just to keep you on your toes.

However, despite his expectations, you laugh softly and accept his answer, finally relenting to his gesture. 

“Alright, I guess I can’t fight it then. Thank you, for the third time. I’ll be so careful, from here on out.” Your tone is slurred and slightly sarcastic, but you really do mean it. Dice can tell.

But he can also see that you aren’t afraid of the underlying threat he hid behind his message. Almost like you were challenging it. Jesus, you are one hell of a fighter. 

“Anytime. Now let’s keep movin’, before it gets any chillier.” 

You nod, and your walk continues. Dice’s coat is surprisingly thick, warming you right up and enveloping you in that intoxicating aroma of cedar and smoke. He smells really nice… and the shoulder pads are wide, allowing the sleeves and collar to cover you completely without having to actually wear the coat. You’ve never felt a fabric like this before, and wonder where Dice had found such a jacket.

At certain points in your walk, you lead him in turns down a few new blocks, and get a glimpse of what he looks like in just his vest and dress shirt. You had an inkling feeling in your chest, but it still somehow shocks you just how splendid he looks without it. 

His shoulders are a little less broad than his jacket makes them appear, but it’s still clear that Dice fits it like a glove. His orchid-colored vest hugs his torso perfectly tight, sparing no details. The white undershirt beneath shows off his arms, loosely outlining the gentle muscles on his biceps. 

He’s beautiful, as much as you’d hate to say it. 

“Somethin’ of interest to ya, doll?” 

Dice’s amused voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you quickly turn your head away when you realize you have been staring at the poor man this entire time. You make a mental note to never drink this much again. 

“Oh shut up, you old tease.” 

“Now, why’re you always so mean to me?” Dice laments playfully, dramatically looking away and instead scanning the moon above you. “It’s starting to hurt my poor little heart, y’know.” 

You snicker and shake your head, closing your eyes and hanging your head low as you both continue your stride. 

“Come on now, be real with me. I’m sure that any employee of the Devil’s Casino wouldn’t be brought down by a quick little jab.” 

“I do suppose you’d be right about that. I could tell you stories,” Dice laughs, his mind playing back to the old days, when he had just started his less-than-moral career. 

“Maybe you should, one day.” 

The man doesn’t have a response to your suggestion. He feels like he should, to try and at least reflect the suggestion back. But, he doesn’t know what to say. 

He doesn’t know if you’d keep that sentiment, once he gets what he wants. 

All Dice does is wink haphazardly, wincing inwardly when you smile hopefully at him and hold your head high in satisfaction. 

Gentle silence falls over the two of you as you turn down one last street and into your neighborhood. As your pace slows, Dice realizes that you both were nearing your home, and he takes a moment to analyze his surroundings. 

It’s… definitely a neighborhood, that’s for sure. 

In his opinion, the houses are much too close together, and there doesn’t seem to be any room for a real front or back yard. Sure, each home has a decent patch of soft sands that most likely came from the beach, but that’s not nearly enough. The homes themselves are rather small for his tastes, but what could he know? 

Besides, you look happy with it, and Dice supposed that’s what really matters, here. It is your home and not his. 

“Here we are!” 

You stop in front of one of the homes, and Dice looks at it sheepishly. It’s exactly how he thought it would be, compared to the other houses in the neighborhood. Small, a bit too simple, and pretty crowded. He guesses that’s what city life is all about, though. 

“It’s… certainly a good first home.” 

“Ohhh, of course you wouldn’t like it, I’m sure your own house is ten times this size.” 

“You’d be right–my home is the casino itself.” 

“Are you kidding me? You live where you work? You basically work from home?” 

“Believe it or not, yes. I know it may sound shocking, but there is more to that casino than just the public floor,” he teases, nudging you playfully. 

“I didn’t think that the Devil himself would be generous enough to offer his employees a place to stay.” 

“Well, technically the casino IS open twenty four hours, and if we’re to be there as much as possible it’d be nice to have a place nearby to rest our heads, would it not?”

“I suppose, but hey, at least I have a kitchen and living room to myself.” You laugh, nudging him away as you both walk up the small porch steps. 

“Oh, you’d be amazed at the space. I’ve got all you have here, and then some. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be able to see it.” 

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” you quip back at him, smirking as you go to unlock the door. 

“Hold your horses there, speedy. You’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that, a goodnight kiss?” 

You joke as you turn around, and jolt in shock when you’re met with the bottle of champagne that Dice had gifted you earlier. Except now, you’re able to see the note he had attached more closely, though you wait to read it fully. 

“Oh, right. Thank you again for this, that was very nice of you.” 

“Again, don’t sweat it, doll. It’s no problem at all. But be sure to read that note carefully, alright?” Dice winks again, and you nod. 

“Very good.”

You set down the bottle and shrug off Dice’s coat, handing it back to him. 

“Thank you for the coat, as well. It’s… surprisingly pretty warm.”

“I’m glad it kept you from freezing to death out here then,” Dice smiles, throwing his coat back on and straightening it out. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you around, alright?”

“See you around, Dice.” 

Satisfied with what he’s gathered for the night, Dice takes his leave, disappearing behind one of the taller apartment complexes behind your street. The street lamp at the end of the block flickers once or twice, before steadying itself back up again. 

You grab your keys from your pocket and unlock your front door, heading inside. You make a beeline towards your kitchen to figure out a place for the champagne Dice had given you, when you look at the business card and finally untie the string. 

The front design is simple, yet elegant: his signature, written in cursive, as well as his occupation and the location of the casino. No more to be found. 

Until you turn it around. And when you do, your aching heart jumps right to your throat. 

Happy housewarming, darlin’. It was nice to spend the celebration with you tonight. Let’s continue to celebrate, over dinner at the Ritz. Just me and you. 

Meet me there, at the usual time. Next week. Don’t be late. 

~ KD

Chapter Text

The next Saturday, at 8:00 pm. The usual time. 

Except tonight, you don’t go to the casino, as you had fallen into the habit of doing for around three months now. Instead, you follow the directions of the note that King Dice had left you, the day you settled into your new home. 

You make your way to meet him at the Ritz. A quaint, expensive-looking restaurant, near the center of the city.

Dice is the first one to show, ever so quick. But he doesn’t worry–you were always one to be right on time. He has a feeling if he told you 8:03, you would show up at 8:03 on the dot. 

Not that he’d mind waiting, anyway. For you, that is. He’d wait all day if it meant the privilege of your company. 

Plus, it gives him time to think. 

This entire game of cat and mouse has been going on because, Dice figures, he’s been too much of a coward to actually treat you to something other than some decent alcohol at his own bar. You’ve proven yourself to be much more than some easy-to-swindle toy... you’re better than that. You deserve more, and you know it.

He should’ve known better.

He just hopes that he chose the right spot. 

You’re still fairly new to town, and Dice isn’t quite sure how much you get around, when you’re not at the casino. For your sake, he prays you haven’t been in this corner of the city yet–it’d be fairly awkward to take you to a restaurant you’ve already been to. 

Though, he supposes, the purpose of this date isn’t to give you a tour–it’s to celebrate, as he had said in the note. To celebrate finding your place in such a crazy and bustling town. 

And, of course, to find out more. To learn about what hides behind that beautiful mask of diligence you always have on display. He hopes to break down your walls, just a little more. 

To get just a little closer to what he wants.

~

You feel your heart pounding the more you approach the restaurant, but you can’t tell if you’re more hopeful or apprehensive. The smart, defensive part of you tells you to turn the hell around and go straight back home. That this is a bad idea. Too much of a risk. 

This is a dangerous game you’re playing, accepting the King’s offer for dinner, and you know in your head that the right choice would’ve been to decline. 

Not to mention, getting too involved with a man like King Dice has bad luck written all over it. 

But, as intelligent as you are, you’ve always followed your heart first. And all you can feel in your chest is an emphatic, resounding yes.

You may not remember much from the previous week, but you do remember the walk home. The moment he gave you his jacket. The champagne. The meaningless banter you two shared as you walked along the docks, listening to the sounds of the waves against the wooden frame. The way he looked, after he had surrendered his coat to you. 

The way he didn’t seem to mind when he caught you staring ungracefully.

He seemed different, that night. If you didn’t have any bias from other residents of the Isles, you’d have been a lot less resistant to him. 

Still, you suppose there’s no harm in seeing what Dice is planning. It’d be so rude of you to turn him down and skip out, after he had been so gracious with you the last time you saw him.

You might as well humor Dice, even if it’s just for tonight. Surely, folks around here don’t truly know everything about one man, no matter how scary he seems to be.

You turn the final corner, the dazzling lights of the joint hitting your eyes. Squinting a little, you focus your gaze on the floor to allow yourself to adjust to the brightness. 

However, in doing so, you forget that you’re in a rather populated city, and you’re bound to bump into someone if you aren’t careful with your step. 

“Oof-!”

“Oh, sorry! Excuse me.” 

You try to rush past the poor passerby you had bumped into, but before you get far, a deep, familiar voice calls you back.

“Hey now, where do you think you’re headed in such a rush? Without me, at least?” 

Your feet stop in their tracks, and you quickly whirl around to face the man you had bumped into, realizing that it was none other than the one who invited you here. 

“King!” 

“Hello doll,” Dice greets warmly, slightly bewildered in your choice of clothing. 

You look… goodness, you look incredible. It takes everything in the man not to gawk. 

He does his best to tell you so.

“You look simply gorgeous tonight. Did you really feel the need to put in all this effort, just for little old me?” He grins, crossing his arms as he gives you another onceover.

You try not to blush, flattered by the comment.

“Of course I did,” you smile and look at him obviously. “Is that not what you do when you go on dates with people? Plus, this old thing is nothing compared to these duds you’ve got on.”

You gesture to Dice’s own suit, which is a few shades darker than normal, lapels and vest lined with gold. He scoffs lightheartedly, gesturing a hand towards the restaurant. 

“Only the best, for those who’ve earned it,” he smirks, guiding you towards the front door and chatting with the maître d' about the reservations he made. You ponder his words as you both are escorted to your table, near the corner of the restaurant. 

For those who’ve earned it.  

Apparently, that includes you. You’re not sure how you’ve ‘earned’ anything, but you know better than to argue.

You sit across from each other, thankful for the quiet, peaceful spot away from the other diners. Your attention can be completely focused on one another, with nobody to interrupt except the wait staff. No slurring drunkards calling you to join them in a game of spoons. No overwhelming stench of cheap perfume and burning cigarettes. 

“I’ll admit–I’m rather surprised you showed up here,” Dice catches your attention, staring you down from his seat across from you. His smile is fixed, but the confusion etched in his eyes tells a different story.

“I was wondering if we had really made it this far. If I had earned it, or asked too soon.” 

“Well, it has been a few months,” you reflect, and realize just how long it really has been since you’ve moved into town. 

The weeks have flown by, especially with how busy you’ve become. 

“And with all the things you did for me last week, I figured I’d owe you one.” 

“Please, darlin’, it was nothing,” Dice insists, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. “I wasn’t gonna letcha freeze half to death, if I could help it. But if you’re so sure, then yes, I suppose this would be ‘payback,’ of sorts.” 

You nod stubbornly, and he stifles a laugh.

He watches as you shrug off your jacket, taking a look at your menu with interest. Aside from last week, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so relaxed. 

You look so comfortable around him now. There’s not nearly as much apprehension in your stance, as there used to be. All he can read from you is the indecisive furrow in your brow as you try and pick between two or three options. It’s rather cute, to see you so concentrated on something so small… 

He stops his train of thought before he can get too far. Thankfully, you help him snap out of his trance.

“What’s good here? What do you usually get?” 

You lock eyes with him as you look up from the menu, interest evident in your expression. A smile tugs at Dice’s lips as he tilts his head upwards in thought. 

“I usually come here when I want a good steak, since they’ve got all the great cuts. But if that’s not your taste, I’ve also heard good things about the salmon and the pasta.”

You nod slowly, focus coming back to your face again as you narrow your eyes at the menu. After a few moments you shut it and set it aside, seemingly satisfied with your choice.

“Figured it out?”

“I think so. I’m probably gonna go with the pasta, this time.” 

“Good choice, peach. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed,” Dice compliments, ordering a classic bottle of sweet red for the two of you to share when the waiter comes around. 

“So tell me, how’s that new cave of yours treating you?”

“It can get a bit loud sometimes, especially at night, but it’s loads better than that old shitbox I was livin’ in earlier. Closer to work, near the beach, and it just feels good to have control over my home. I surely would’ve been sent to the big house for manslaughter if I had to spend one more second near my old landlord.” 

“Ha! That woulda been classic! It’d be such a long time before I’d ever see you again, though.” 

“Nonsense, I could escape. Gimme a spoon and a lotta patience, and you’d be chatting with me again in a month.” 

A mischievous flash of emerald catches your eye as Dice snickers, resting his elbows on the table. 

“My word, darlin’, I never woulda taken you for such an adventurous type. Does your work toughen you up or something?” 

Your chest tightens, at the mention of your job. Of course. Dice would obviously still want to learn about you, especially when you two have the chance to talk in private. 

Not that your career is relatively secretive– hell, you’d even consider it boring, at times. But it’s still a big part of who you are, and you’re just caught off-guard at the question.

But it’s been a while since you’ve met him, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman to you. You figure that the time spent must count for something.

You sigh, huffing out a laugh and tracing the rim of your wine glass. “Nah, not really. Teaches me how to spill gossip, more like.”

“How so?”

“I’m one of the new journalists, workin’ at that radio station near Honeybottoms’ office. It’s not much, mostly just writing and organizing papers for my boss, but occasionally I get to explore and grab the juicy bits from the townsfolk. Great for getting to know people, but you can make enemies quickly if you aren’t careful.” 

A journalist. How interesting. How useful. 

For a second, Dice brushes over the idea of offering you a little side gig at the casino. He’s sure the Boss would be very pleased to hear about a new way to get all the hot gossip. To exploit it. You really would be one of the best in this business… 

“Well it’s no wonder I only see you once a week, you’re too busy gathering all the good bits! I’ll have to tune in every night to see the kind of fuss you bring about.” 

“It’s really no biggie, I don’t even do any voice work. My intel is more for the papers. When I’m not outside, it feels more like an office job.”

“Still, that’s gotta be pretty admirable. One way to build up a solid rep around here,” Dice grins, knowingly. He’s been in the biz long enough to know how quickly you could gain attraction by this line of work. 

“And I’m sure you already have.” 

You shake your head lightheartedly as the waiter comes by, filling up your glasses and taking your orders. You listen with curiosity as Dice chooses the ribeye for himself, ordering a few sides for the both of you to split. 

That’s a pretty hearty amount of food, for two people. 

Dice watches you speculate for a moment, laughing as he hands off the menus and turns back to you. 

“I see those cogs turning in your head, doll. If you’ve got a question, just shoot.” 

“Do you really think we can eat all this? That’s a lot of food.” 

“Don’t worry about any of that—I’m a pretty big eater when I need to be. Whatever you don’t finish, I’m sure I can take care of it.” 

“Do you usually get this much?” 

“Not typically, but I’d normally go for a tomahawk instead of the ribeye. That’s not really a ‘first date’ kind of dish, though,” he chuckles and stares out the window beside your table for a moment, pondering slightly. 

He said that last phrase with a bit more hope than he had meant to—he’s not totally against the idea of a second date, or even a third. Especially with someone as refreshing as you are. 

The problem would be more within himself, than anything else.

Relationships… don’t mix very well with him. Like oil and water. Dice isn’t certain he’d be willing to commit to something so huge. He’s got enough commitments already, and adding one more could make things messy for him. 

And he hates messes. 

Still, a man could dream, as hopeless as that is for a man like him. 

You caught the longing in his tone as soon as the words left his mouth, but you decide to put it on the back burner for now.

“A tomahawk? When I read the menu it said that piece of meat was 40 ounces!” 

“I know. And it’s delicious. But for nights like this, the cut I ordered will suffice just fine. It’s basically the same part of the cow, anyway–just smaller, and without the giant bone.” 

“You’re pretty knowledgeable on these things, King. You some kind of food critic in your free time?” 

Shaking his head, Dice spares you a fond glance. “Just one of the things I’ve picked up on over the years of fine dining,” he rambles, and before he knows it, he spills a secret that very few people know. 

“I didn’t have things like this growing up, so I learned about what actually good food was rather late, but you never really forget the taste of expired milk and stale crackers.” 

He didn’t mean to say it. And as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he wishes to take it back.

On the contrary, you lean forward in your seat, your curiosity piquing. So far, this whole discussion, as well as the last three months of drinks, have been about you. But, you know next to nothing about Dice, himself. If he’s so hesitant to share, it’s probably for a good reason, but your impulsiveness gets the better of you before you even realize what you’re saying.

“You’re telling me you didn’t have any fresh food as a child? Did your family not have all that much?” You start, your voice laced with a touch of concern. Dice quickly catches your dismay, and is quick to brush you off. 

He hopes that his dismissal convinces you to quit worrying, as well.

“Hey now, don’t you go on fretting about any of this. That was decades ago, dollface. Trust me, I hardly even remember it.” 

You slowly nod, buying his words, but still feeling a bit sad for him. You gently swirl the wine in your glass, nodding to him in sympathy. 

“Well y’know, I didn’t have that much growin’ up either,” you hum, quirking a small smile when you notice the upward twitch in Dice’s eyebrow. 

“How so?” 

“Just grew up poor,” you shrug, your answer simple. “No real sob story to tell–my parents just didn’t have a lotta money. It’s pretty common in the place I came from: lots of work, for very little pay.” 

Dice nods along with you, listening intently. You’ve got no idea how much he understands.

“That’s partly why I left, in a way. Wanted to find somethin’ better out in the world, y’know?” You snuff out a chuckle, drumming your fingers against the table. “Been city hoppin’ since I was seventeen. Didn’t wanna burden my folks with another mouth to feed, and I figured I was well old enough.” 

“Do ya still keep in touch with ‘em?” Dice asks, curious. 

“Eh, sorta–I write to ‘em every so often, and they write back. But, I think they’re still a bit sour over my decision. Makes sense, in a way–I did kinda just up and leave. They might’ve felt I abandoned ‘em.” 

“You were just tryna save their wallets,” Dice pushes, shaking his head. “That’s rather admirable, whether it hurt ‘em or not.” 

You chuckle, shrugging again and finishing your glass. Dice responds by pouring you another. 

“But I’m not too hung up on any of that, anymore. I’ve got what I need. More than that, even.” 

Dice smiles back at you, raising his glass to clink with yours. 

“Cheers to that, doll.” 

You grin, laughing and returning the sentiment. 

“Cheers to that.”

Your food arrives, and you both quickly find a new topic to pay attention to. You take a bite of the gnocchi you had ordered, your eyes lighting up at the light, fresh taste. You’ve taken the chance to indulge yourself in a few nicer restaurants in your time, but this is on a whole new level. 

Dice notices your enjoyment, and feels his chest warm up as he watches you try everything around you. He likes seeing you like this: not trying to watch out for yourself and allowing yourself to be carefree, even for a moment. You deserve it, after all you seem to have been through.

And that smile. He loves your smile.

It’s a real shame to hear that you probably didn’t get the chance to smile all that much when you were a child. Much more innocent. You shouldn’t have had to grow up so quickly–that’s not fair to you. 

Dice can relate to that.

Shaking his head, he turns to his plate in front of him. Your childhood– and his own– is not something he should think about, anymore. The man is starving. 

You glance up as Dice tears into his steak, smiling softly as you pick your fork into one of the other sides.

“You weren’t lying when you said you were a big eater, huh?” You tease fondly, chuckling as you work through your pasta and some of the potatoes he ordered. Thankfully, Dice laughs at your witty attitude. 

“I never tell a lie, doll,” he lies, holding back a chuckle at the irony. 

The next thing he says, though, is the full truth. 

“I don’t usually get a chance to have a full meal, so when I do, I tend to eat for two.” 

“Wait, really?” You ask, surprised. “Do you not get many breaks during your shifts?” 

“You forget that I’m the manager of that place. I take breaks whenever I want to. I usually catch a nap here and there instead of eating, though.”

“Alright then, when do you eat?”

“I typically just graze throughout the day. Some hors d'oeuvres, whiskey, and quick desserts go a long way. Besides, there’s always a chance for me to eat something filling after my shift. Don’t be fussing over me too much, sweetheart.”

Your throat closes up on you, and you nearly choke on the bite of food in your mouth.

Sweetheart. That’s a new one. You’ve been called such a name before, but not in a way as cunning as Dice just used it. 

His voice is so soft, when he calls you that word. So suave. And he says it with such fondness.

You like that. 

You finally regain the ability to swallow, and straighten your posture.

“Sweetheart, eh? You trying to butter me up or something?” You smirk, leaning forward as your fork stabs your plate once again. “Never heard ya use that one on me, before.” 

Catching the flirtation in your tone, Dice smirks right back at you, taking another bite of his ribeye. “Well, maybe I am. This is a date, after all. You like that name? Think it suits you?” 

You chuckle and shrug your shoulders, playfully feigning indifference. “I can’t say I hate it, but how can I be sure you meant it? I bet you say that to all the folks you take here.” 

“Nope, not one of ‘em. Just you.” 

Just you. Just you. He only calls you ‘sweetheart,’ and no one else. 

A man as striking as him, who has probably taken hundreds of people out on dates like this. Hundreds of people like you. But unlike the others, you are his sweetheart. 

Aw, hell.

“Well then,” you smile as the waiter brings the check, leaving it for whenever you both finish your food. “Yes, King. I do think it suits me.” 

Returning your mischievous grin, Dice takes a few Benjamins out of his wallet and neatly places them on the tray. 

“It looks like I’ll have to keep using that name on you then, sweetheart.” 

So that’s what makes you click, Dice thinks to himself as you both finish eating, throwing flirtatious remarks back and forth like a game of tennis. You like the nicknames he gives you. His honest attention. His focus on you, and only you. 

Well, he can deliver on that just fine. 

The two of you stand, and Dice shrugs on his tailcoat before helping you with your own. His wonderfully unfamiliar scent of lavender and clove brushes your nose, lingering on even after he steps away from you to push in your chairs. 

You both walk away from the table, leaving your empty plates behind, not even bothering to wait for the change. 

You wonder if he’d be kind enough to walk you home again, just as he had last week. It would be a shame for the night to end so quickly, even if you had dined for a couple hours. The question rests on the tip of your tongue, as you both leave the restaurant. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight, King. This was nice. Thank you for taking me here.”

Ask him. Ask him to take you home. Ask him.

“Of course, it’s not a problem at all. I had a lot of fun too, doll,” his voice is low, purring against your ear and sending chills down your neck. He’s making this departure so much harder than it needs to be. 

Until…

“But who says that the night has to end here?” 

As if on cue, a beautiful violet limo slides up the street and parks right in front of you, the small dice on the sides of the doors telling you exactly who the owner is. Dice smirks down at you, his hand snaking around your back and squeezing your shoulder invitingly. 

You feel a pleasant chill at his touch. That’s the first time he’s ever done that to you. 

It’s… rather pleasant. Addicting, actually.

You long for more, but you’d rather die than admit that aloud. 

“Whaddya say we get outta this place and continue the fun at the casino?”

Your heart sinks a little, disappointed at what he was insinuating. It was lovely to have some time just between the two of you, but as much as you’d love to keep the night going, you had hoped to do so somewhere different than your usual place. 

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m really not in the mood for some simple drinks and—”

“Not like that, darlin’. I’m talking my end of the casino. My quarters. Just the two of us.” 

Good heavens, what a tempting offer. He opens one of the doors for you, leaning against it as he waits patiently for your answer. 

Now that, you think, is something much more up your alley. You kick yourself a little for being unable to connect the dots, but you blame it on the wine.

That small, familiar nagging part in the back of your mind tells you no. Don’t do it. You could get yourself into trouble, sneaking around with Scratch’s most trusted confidant. If you take this risk, you could end up in a lot of hurt.

But you’ve never been scared of a little pain. No matter how this might end, at least you can say you enjoyed the ride. 

You smile and approach the vehicle, ducking under the car frame and climbing inside, much to Dice’s excitement. 

“When you put it that way, well, who am I to refuse?” 

Dice grins wildly at your answer, climbing in after you and shutting the door. The limo speeds off into the night, vanishing into shadows so dark that even the moon can’t reach.

Chapter Text

You watch the moving streets of Inkwell through the window of the limo as you relax in your seat, sighing softly in content. You’ve never been in a vehicle that rides so smoothly—you can barely feel any bumps in the road or any sharp turns. It’s different. Interesting. You could get used to it. 

After a few moments of contemplating, you turn your head to look at your company. The reason you’re riding in something as classy as a limo, anyway. 

He’s not taking you home, despite your initial plan after your date had wrapped up. Instead, he opted to take you back to his place with him, and as he put it, ‘continue the night.’ You wonder if that’s where you really wanted to go instead of home, anyway. 

Something tells you yes. You’re going in the right direction. You want this night to continue. 

No matter what it might come to. 

King Dice smiles seductively down at you, cocking his head to the side as you lock eyes with one another.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

God. That name. 

That damn nickname he’s throwing around, sweeping you off your feet without even trying. You nearly stumble on your words. 

“I have a feeling you know fully well what’s on my mind, King. You’ve always had a knack for reading people,” you murmur, leaning back against the leather of the seat and smirking up at him. “What kind of tricks have you got up your sleeve for me, other than this fancy limo?” 

“Whatever kinda tricks you want me to have, doll. It all depends on how adventurous you’re feeling, tonight.” 

A naughty grin parts Dice’s lips, showing off his perfectly square teeth. A sneaky arm curls back around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. Instead of freezing up or reflexively pushing yourself away, you welcome the touch. Melt into it, even. 

Your arm reaches up and rests your hand against Dice’s chest, pulling at the top edge of his vest. In return, Dice’s hand comes beneath your chin, his index and middle finger tilting up your chin, forcing you to look him in his icy, piercing emeralds. 

Those pupils of his are more dilated than they usually are, and if you look closely, they seem to grow little by little the more he stares at you. Your faces slowly inch closer together, silently asking each other for permission. 

You give in first. He takes his chance. 

When Dice closes the space between your lips, an unspeakable tingling sensation washes over your entire form, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut. No longer can you rely on your vision for answers–you see the world through touch. 

You see Dice’s world, without looking at anything at all.

Sparks dance across your blackened vision, traveling from your closed eyes to light a fire in your chest from the embers that had been starting to flicker. Your arm stings and tingles excitedly with every brush of his fingers. Your nose is overwhelmed with the scent of smoke and lavender. 

You nearly forget where you are. What’s happening around you. Your own name. Right now, it’s insignificant. Everything is. Nothing else matters to you, except for that dastardly charming mobster you’re swapping spit with. 

His lips are incredibly soft, almost like they’re made of silk. The more time you spend exploring his mouth, the more cinnamon you taste, and you realize that he’s wearing a scented lip balm. It tastes absolutely delicious. You want more. 

You need more. 

A soft groan escapes your throat, and you instinctively wrap your arms around Dice’s shoulders. In turn, Dice pulls you right into his lap, deepening your kiss as he thinks–no, hopes– you’d want. You straddle him happily, confirming his suspicions and gripping the sides of his head to keep him still as you both start to play a little more roughly with one another. 

Before you two can get very far, though, the limo pulls into the side of the casino, prompting Dice to slowly pull away. 

“While I gotta admit, I’m feeling very impatient right now, I feel that we would both have a much better time if we took this somewhere more comfortable.”

“And private,” you add with a playful grin, gesturing to the nonchalant Ace of Clubs sitting obediently in the driver’s seat. 

Dice laughs softly at your remark, gripping you with one arm as he kicks the limo door open. He steps out with you in his hold, shutting the door behind him and not once looking back. 

“Speaking of private, let’s use the side door. It’s quicker, and spares us the hassle of dealing with the looks of those drunkards. As entertaining as it would be to put on a show for these people, they’re the last thing on my mind right now.” 

You nod against his chest, and Dice hoists you up against his shoulder before carrying you off to the side of the casino, sneaking in through the smaller golden door that awaits you. 

The halls of the casino’s private section are much more grandiose than you thought they’d be, and you were expecting a lot. The ceilings made you feel practically like an ant, glimmering with a starry pattern similar to the main floor. The walls themselves are covered in floral murals on the corners of each panel, with golden pillars implanted between the spaces. 

It’s an unusual styling choice, but somehow, the different pieces clash together rather nicely. The space is beautiful and full of light. 

When Dice takes you into the next wing, however, the atmosphere completely changes. 

The ceiling stays the same in height and design, but the walls are a much darker purple, with golden floral designs stringing along the matching golden pillars. Candles are mounted to every other space, creating a dim and calming atmosphere. 

However, the comforting sights and scents from the walls and candles don’t compare to the hustle happening in front of you. 

A slew of butlers and servers, resembling a classic deck of Aces, catches your eye. The cards dash from room to room, across the halls and through the metallic doors with small, engrained labels. When they notice Dice walking with you, they shift a gear and pick up the pace, nodding to him in respect as they rush about, clearly to do someone’s bidding. 

Judging by their mannerisms when they come in contact with Dice, you assume that they follow his orders. 

A Clubs and a Hearts run into a particularly large door, coming out moments later with stacks upon stacks of papers. When you squint your eyes just right, you can read the label etched into the door. 

King Dice - Manager. 

No ‘kitchen,’ no ‘lounge,’ no ‘dining.’ A rather ominous label–at first, you can’t tell what it’s for. However, as an Ace of Diamonds rushes in, you can see a small glimpse of a desk and a couple large bookshelves waiting on the other side. 

Most likely his office, then. 

Dice reaches the end of the hall and walks towards the final door, turning the knob and walking inside. You lift your head up from his chest, and you finally spot the clearly carved ‘chambers’ label in the center of the doorframe. 

Dice’s bedroom. 

A switch is flipped near the door behind you, and the pitch black room floods with a warm, peach-colored light stemming from two large lamps, resting on even larger nightstands. Scratch was certainly generous with his right hand—there is plenty of space inside, allowing for another smaller desk, a wardrobe, the two nightstands, a bed in between, and a walk-in closet. 

A fireplace is embedded into the wall opposite of the bed, with a plush armchair nearby. The walls, much like the halls outside, are painted a sleek magenta, pairing well with the golden vines traveling along the edges. A set of dark violet curtains accompanies each window, allowing Dice to choose whether he’d prefer the light of skies or the comfortable darkness of his own room. Easy for sleeping in after long, hard days at work. 

Speaking of sleeping, that bed is humongous. 

Based on looks alone, you’d guess it’s an Alaskan king, with four sturdy bed posts shooting up from each corner. The posts travel a good five or six feet before a smooth, velvety indigo fabric connects them together and makes up a ‘ceiling’ over the bed. Each pole is paired with a large curtain, coming together to create a beautiful canopy.

Of course the man would have such a giant bedroom. It’s practically the size of your entire house. And this is just one room, in one wing, of the entire casino itself. 

Just how huge is this place?

A gloved hand on your back pulls you from your careful room inspection, guiding you over to the large bed you were looking at. Realizing just what you came here to do, you set your room questions aside and set your attention back onto your date, who looms above you with a wildly hungry look in his eyes. 

Just looking at him raises the same feeling inside, the rational part of you shutting off completely. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to get my hands on you, sweetheart.” 

His voice is a tad more gruff than you’re used to–your breath hitches slightly in pleasant surprise as he swiftly takes charge

Dice’s authoritative hand pushes you into the bed, and immediately, you sink a little into the unbelievably soft mattress. Feeling a pleasurable shudder travel down your spine and between your legs, you grin and rest your hands against the bed, staring at him with nothing but absolute want flowing through your veins. 

Dice notices, and acts on it. 

It’d be such a shame to keep you waiting, after all.

He approaches you slowly, setting one hand over yours as he leans down, tracing your side with his other. He tugs at your top, silently asking permission to take it off. You nod expectantly, lifting your arms for him. 

You’re surprised he doesn’t rip the damned thing, with how quickly he removes it. Dice tosses the top behind him, not caring where it lands. Longing for more, his hands take care of your slacks as well, tossing them near your shirt. In return, you carefully remove that expensive-looking jacket of his, neatly placing it beside you before turning to work on the buttons lining the manager’s vest. 

As you take your time, caring about Dice’s clothes, the man groans softly and rests his forehead against your shoulder, doing his best not to chide you for taking so long. 

Eventually, he’s had enough. 

Showing you that it’s okay to be rough, he takes his waistcoat and tosses it off the bed, allowing it to fall in a heaping pile on the ground with your other clothes. Surprised, your hands attach to Dice’s sides as you look at the crumpled fabric. 

“Oh, Dice, that looked expensive…” 

“Honey, I’ve got tons of those in my closet. I’ll live,” he grits, his hand squeezing your shoulders. 

“But I swear, if you don’t speed this up I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

Honey. 

Next to sweetheart, you don’t know which is better, or how many more of these new names you can take. 

Desperately following his orders, you quickly start undoing his dress shirt. In mere seconds, the cloth is ripped off and added to the pile to be dealt with later. 

Good Lord, you weren’t expecting such a toned form underneath all those layers of fabric. He looks absolutely heavenly, despite his rightful place in the pits of Hell. 

Every single muscle, scar, and curve glistens under the dim light, tattoos on his arms telling you so many stories in so little words. Your hands rest tenderly along his chest, gently rubbing along the small, dark hairs that dust it.

Dice undoes his belt, kicking off his slacks and pushing you deeper into the bed. 

Your head finds solace in the feathery pillows resting at the head of the bed. You lean back and allow Dice to crawl right overtop of you, staring down at you in nothing short of want. His fingers trail over your underwear before latching on with every intent to rip it to shreds.  

He wants you, just as much as you want him. You can tell by the throbbing tent in his boxers.

Unable to quell his itch to feel your touch again, Dice grabs your jaw and forces you to look back up at his face. Into his eyes, dilated and examining you closely. His lips, slightly parted and panting, breathe out the long awaited question. 

“You want this, doll? Give me an answer, now. Quickly.”

Your hands come up from their spot behind your head, latching onto his broad shoulders. Your breaths hitch in excitement as your nails dig into his skin, doing your best not to shout at him to take yourself as your underwear starts to dampen.  

“Yes, King. Please.” 

Dice nearly frowns, disappointed with your tone. It’s not as emphatic as he had wanted. 

So, he tries again.

“Louder.” 

“King…”

“Louder!” 

“YES! For hell’s sake, rip this off and give it to me!”

That’s better.

“There we are, ” Dice commends, grinning in triumph as he yanks off the one piece of fabric concealing the precious treasure that he had been waiting for. 

The pit boss has had plenty of nights like this in his bedroom, over years of service… and he’s never seen someone so enticing. 

You’re gonna be one hell of a loss once he’s through with you. He’s not sure he’ll ever forget about you, as much as he might try.

His boxers are off in seconds, and he tosses them, along with yours, off of the bed. 

Oh, wow. 

You give Dice another thorough onceover, taking in the utterly delicious work of art pinning you down. His genes certainly did wonders for his entire figure, from broad shoulders to toned thighs and legs. 

He’s nothing short of perfection, and you’re ready to appreciate every single inch of him. 

And there are… a lot of inches. 

“You think you can handle this?” Dice teases knowingly above you, reaching over you to rummage through his nightstand and grab a condom. “Or should I go easy on such a fragile little thing such as yourself?” 

Fragile? 

“If you even think of insulting me like that, I swear, I’ll pop your head off your shoulders and use it at the craps table,” you warn crudely, your nails digging deeper into his shoulders. 

“I am not some little flower, or precious china. You better go hard, and you better do it soon.” 

“Such little patience, darlin’. Just how bad have you wanted this from me? How much have you been thinkin’ about this?” He laughs, flipping you so you’re laying on your stomach. 

But he doesn’t start yet—his hands trail up and down your bare sides, your form trembling at his touch. He chuckles lowly at the sight.

“Look how undone you’re becoming already, just by the touch of my hands. I’ve barely even made a dent in you, and you already look like you’re about to burst. I bet you won’t even last five minutes.”

You hear the soft rip of the condom’s wrapper behind you, the last traces of his cruel laughter taunting you from above. You turn your head to the side to try and look at him squarely. 

“Give me a chance, King. Please. Let me prove you wrong. I’ll shove that cocky attitude right up your ass and give you a night you’ll never want to forget.”

“What an invigorating threat, sweetheart. But can you hold it out?” He sneers teasingly, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your neck. 

He slowly moves up to your jaw, following the bone to your ear and giving it a nibble. Then, as if he were playing with his food, he taunts you one more time, his breath hot on your cheek.

“You think you can take it? Huh? Do you?”

“Yes! I do! And I’ll prove it! Now quit your teasin’ and get on with it!” You beg, your face starting to catch on fire. 

Fortunately, Dice finally complies with your pleas, his hands holding your sides as he slides his cock inside of your ass without much warning. 

Oh, God.

Gritting your teeth, you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back, doing your best not to shout and letting your trembling body get used to his size and thickness. It stings, and yet, it feels so damn good. 

He fits you like a glove, hitting every single nerve inside you without even starting to thrust yet. 

Once Dice can tell you’ve adjusted to him, he begins to move his hips, groaning lowly in pleasure as his cock explores inside of you. His breaths are deep, labored, and shaky as he slides in and out, trying to take his time. Savoring every second. 

It feels exquisite. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a more perfect match in your life—there isn’t a single place he doesn’t reach. Every movement he does sends you to the skies, to the point where you see stars every time his hips come down on you. You bury your nose and mouth into the silk of his pillows, your half lidded eyes unfocused and glassy as Dice does his work. 

But then, you reach a point where his pace isn’t enough. You don’t feel the same life-changing pleasure as you did a few minutes ago, when you both were just starting out. You need more. 

Desperate to make ends meet without seeming like a beggar, you start to move as well, creating a perfect rhythm of slapping skin and raising the volume of the noises you both make. Dice’s thrusts are at a pace easy for you to time correctly, and for a while, you’re once again happy with the progress you both are making. 

Until you aren’t. 

It’s still not enough for you. The newness has worn off, and while it still feels amazing, Dice still hasn’t reached his full potential. 

So, as much as you’d hate to do so, you start voicing your needs. 

“Harder…” you groan seductively, your hands clenching the silky sheets. Your voice is soft, somehow still as poised as ever, despite your want to scream for him. 

Dice shudders from above you, his forehead coming down to rest between your shoulder blades. His pace stays the same–you haven’t earned his efforts, just yet. 

“Speak up, doll. I can’t hear you.” 

“Harder,” you obey, repeating your request louder and feeling the desperation rise up in your chest to leave you in a chokehold. 

But to Dice, it’s still not enough. In fact, it’s disappointing. 

He expected better. And he knows you can give it. You just need another push.

So, he gives you one.

“Do you even want me to continue at all? I said, speak up!” 

“Harder, dammit!” You cry out, squirming underneath his hold. “Please, King! I need it!” 

“There’s what I’m looking for, sweetheart,” Dice coos amusedly, finally picking up the pace. “Ya gotta gimme a little slack, here. It’s hard to hear you over your own whimpering.”  

“Oh, shut up,” you groan into the pillow as that overwhelming bliss returns to you, numbing all of your stresses. Effectively proving his point. 

Dice smiles wickedly as he gradually becomes faster, relishing in the sight beneath him as you slowly come more undone. It’s pathetic. Laughable. 

Absolutely beautiful. 

To think, Dice had started to doubt that he would ever even get the chance to take you out at all. That he’d ever become something more than a drinking buddy of yours. 

And yet, here he is, pounding into you, your shouts and whines of utter need filling up his eardrums like music from his radio. 

He’s sharing a bond with you that technically could be considered one of the most intimate connections possible, right when he had started to think he didn’t stand a chance. He had almost given up on you entirely. 

He had almost accepted defeat, to his own game. 

Now that he’s in this position, he realizes how horrible that would have been. As if he had forgotten just who he is.

A god, amongst mere men. The Devil, in human form.

He doesn’t just throw in the towel for someone who’s unusually cunning, and happens to have such a gorgeous face and figure. 

But goodness, you really do have him hooked. Just look at you… 

He’s seen this sight plenty of times, over and over again. Different people. Men, women, and everybody in between. Demons, even. Anyone who wanted even a taste of him, and would go so far as selling their souls for a chance. 

And every single time, every single person, he would get bored of. The excitement would die off, and it would feel like a chore just to finish the job. 

But not with you. 

In fact, he doesn’t know if he even wants to finish. You’re absolutely magnificent. 

The small smile that he can spot in your parted lips, even as your whole body moves back and forth with his thrusts. Your eyes, nearly completely closed, tears leaking from the corners and streaming down your perfect cheeks. Your soft, luscious hands, squeezing the hell out of the sheets beneath you.

He’s never seen you so needy for anyone, much less him. Wanting him. 

Him. 

Mere weeks ago you wouldn’t spare him anything more than your name, and here you are now, taking him wonderfully. Expertly. He’s never felt this good in his life. 

You’re one of a kind. The most beautiful rose in a world full of thorns and weeds. 

Dammit, right now he wants you just as much as you want him. He needs you. 

But of course, you won’t know that. He won’t admit it to you. Not yet. 

He’s not sure he ever will.

“King!” You suddenly scream, throwing your head back as Dice’s hips slam into you, his cock reaching lengths you didn’t even know were possible. 

“King, I’m getting close!” You cry to him, fresh tears of pleasure streaming down your perfect, grinning face. He resists the urge to kiss them away. “Please-!” 

“Please what, doll?” Dice demands, leaning down and biting against your shoulder to keep himself grounded. His breaths become more shallow and quick as he snaps back into what he’s doing, realizing that he’s getting close as well. 

“Please what?!” 

“Please! Please, help me-!”

“One more time-! Scream for it! Show me you deserve it!” 

Dice flinches a little in surprise at the sheer volume of the yell you let out, desperately leaning your head back as his teeth dig down into your shoulder. He tastes that all-too-familiar iron on his tongue, and knows he’s gone deep. 

You’ll be fine, though. You’re tough. Clearly. 

“King, I’m begging you! Just a little more-!” 

Satisfied with your answer, Dice puts every last bit of his energy into his final thrusts, his groans increasing in volume with every slap of your hips against his own. 

It only takes a few more pushes, before you finally reach your peak. You let out a final cry as you release, your seed exploding out of you and dripping down your trembling thighs. 

An ecstatic sob rips from your throat as you ride out your high, thankful for Dice’s hold on your sides. For his own curiosity, he opens his eyes and takes a peek at the aftermath of his hard work. 

The sight alone is enough to push him over the edge. 

He bites back down on your shoulder, hard, more of that metallic saltiness seeping onto his tongue as he muffles his own screaming. You gasp a little as you feel him release, his cock twitching inside of you as his spent fills up the condom.

Dice pants heavily as he pulls out of you, peeling off the condom and tossing it lazily into the trash. His breaths are shaky as he does his best to compose himself. 

His hands slowly remove themselves from you, allowing you to have more freedom to move if you need it. 

You take the chance to shift onto your back, reaching up and holding him steady as he goes through the most intense parts of his climax. 

A silent gesture of kindness and affection, after a whole evening of name-calling, biting, and yelling.

You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Your touch isn’t out of desperation, pity, or hopefulness. You aren’t trying to get another ride out of him, to continue having him to yourself. The more Dice feels your hands against his sides, trailing up to his shoulders, the less he wants you to stop. 

He doesn’t understand why, but you’re the only one who’s ever shown him true care after finishing. And he appreciates that about you. 

You really are a sweetheart, now that he thinks about it. He chose a good nickname for you. 

Eventually, Dice comes down from the high and collapses at your side, his muscles slightly twitching from the work. He’s still panting, breathing heavily, in an effort to catch his breath. 

You look over at the nightstand closest to you, and find a box of tissues waiting for you to use to clean yourself off. You reach for the box, grabbing a handful before wiping yourself down. You clean off every last drop of seed on your legs, wiping the sheets down of any excess that dripped into them.

Once you get off as much as possible, you toss the wads of tissue into a nearby waste bin and roll over to face your date, who’s barely even conscious. With a soft, tired smile, you grab a couple more tissues and clean him off too, carefully wiping off any sweat that glistens over his skin. Once you finish your handiwork, you set the tissue box back where it was, and slip underneath the silky duvet. 

Dice watches you, gratitude evident in his half-lidded eyes. He looks on as you curl up under his blankets, snuggling your head down on one of his pillows and letting out a soft sigh of content. You blink slowly, looking back at him with a warm, satisfied smile. 

“Thank you for everything tonight, King. I had a great time.”

Usually, Dice is silent. Too worn, or too bored to give his bedmate any more of his time. But for you, he returns the kindness.

“It’s no problem at all. You can sleep here, if you’d like.”

You nod wearily, letting out a gentle yawn and letting your eyes flutter shut with every intention to take advantage of the invitation. 

“You can, too. Goodnight, King.” 

You can, too. No one’s ever told him to rest before. Not in his line of work. 

One would think that that’s obvious–it’s his bed, after all–but it's rare for Dice to feel like he’s earned the right to sleep, no matter how hard he works. 

But you’ve changed that. For some reason. He can’t tell why.

You really are unlike all the others. 

As he lets out a content sigh and settles beneath the covers, Dice decides he’ll accept your offer, as well. He’s earned it, just as much as you have. You said so, yourself.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

Chapter Text

The warm rays of the morning sun peek through the bedroom windows, flooding through the curtains and landing right onto your face. With a soft sigh, you blink your eyes halfway open, letting them adjust to the newfound brightness.

As your mind slowly starts to wake up, you take notice of your new surroundings. You’re definitely not in your own room—this bed is much more comfortable, and triple the size. The sheets are a silky lavender, enveloping you in a warm embrace. You peer upwards and notice the large canopy adorning the bed, its curtains blocking out part of the light that had awoken you.

At first, you’re delighted. It feels wonderful to wake up in such a comfortable and quiet space, not having to deal with the loud commotion of the city. You’re nice and warm, the view outside of the large windows is spectacular, and you can even see a bit of the casino’s dramatic entrance.

The casino. That’s right… you went back with King Dice, instead of going home. Wait a minute.

You’re not wearing anything.

Reflexively gripping the sheets and pulling them up to make sure you’re completely covered, you slowly and cautiously roll over, facing the other occupant of the bed you’re in.

King Dice is fast asleep in front of you, a soft snore occasionally escaping his parted lips, lying on his side with his face half-buried into his pillow. His mustache is slightly messy, and if you look closely, you can see a very thin layer of stubble starting to form on the lower half of his face. The arm he’s laying on hugs his pillow close to his face, while his free arm keeps the duvet over his chest.

You’ve never seen him so relaxed, and unwinded. It’s rather nice to see him in such a new light, when for the most part, you see him in a pointed suit and watching over his casino like a hawk. Now, he’s peacefully resting next to you, wearing nothing at all.

Nothing at all. He’s naked as well, based on the pile of clothes and undergarments on the floor...

Shit.

‘Shit. Shit!’ You silently panic, untangling yourself from the sheets and getting up from the bed, getting down low to the floor in case Dice were to wake up.

But even if he did see you, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before.

You crawl over to the pile of clothes, fishing out your attire and underwear. Judging by the lack of movement and another snore coming from the bed above, you conclude that Dice didn’t wake up from your small freak out.

Thank Hell.

You scamper into the connected bathroom near the fireplace, quietly shutting the door to give yourself some privacy. Turning on the light, you give yourself a moment to collect yourself, standing in front of the large mirror with your hands gripping the sides of the sink.

Breathe, dammit. Breathe.

Your shaky hands turn the knobs of the sink’s faucet, splashing some of the flowing water onto your face to cool yourself down. The water feels heavenly against your skin, pleasantly distracting you from the red hot flush you feel against your cheeks. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re fine.

Nodding affirmatively to yourself, you slowly redress, trying to will away the redness in your face. Ignoring the bite marks on your shoulder, and the soreness in your legs. Soon, you look just as you had before you even left your house, not a single thing out of place.

Not wanting to waste your time thinking about it, you turn around and slowly open the bathroom door, peering back into the bedroom. Dice is still asleep, and you debate whether you should wake him up and talk about everything, or go.

You’ve never gotten this far with anyone before, much less with someone like him. You’re not sure you’re ready for it, or if you ever were.

You start to wonder if you should’ve listened to your head, and gone home. Who knows what kind of trouble you just signed yourself up for?

But despite your worry, the more you try to tell yourself what a horrible mistake you made, the more your heart convinces you not to regret it. The more confident in your decision you feel.

Your heart always does seem to come before anything else. Rationality, logic… none of it matters, if it’s not what your heart yearns for.

Though, your mind is right about one thing: you probably shouldn’t wake him. He looks exhausted, and letting him sleep will spare you from the awkward morning-after conversation. You should go.

But, you don’t want to leave him empty-handed.

Rummaging through his desk and finding a spare sheet of paper, you scribble down a quick note, leaving it on his nightstand with a glass of water for good measure. Then, you make your side of the bed, grab your wallet, and get the hell out of there.

You scramble down the halls of Dice’s quarters, running past his dutiful servants, his office, lounge, kitchen, all of it. When you enter the more familiar halls of the casino, you scan each and every door for the exit, making sure to rush past the door clearly labeled The Devil’s Office. You certainly wouldn’t want to have a run-in with Dice’s boss of all people, after your little endeavor.

Soon after, you finally find that gracious side door that you and Dice had taken in and head out, sparing yourself the shame of heading out through the main floor. Happy with your secret escape, you walk away from the casino, and Inkwell Hell entirely.

What you fail to notice, however, is the pair of beady yellow eyes watching your every move from the balcony of the casino’s main tower.

~

It’s around 11:00 am when Dice wakes up, slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar brightness from his windows. The sensation is strange to him—he’s not used to waking up on his own. Usually his ringing alarm is what gets him out of bed in the mornings, bright and early so he can maximize his time spent on the casino pit.

But not today, apparently. It seems that he forgot to turn it on last night.

Wait.

Last night.

Dice quickly sits up, immediately regretting it when a piercing ache strikes his head. Doing his best to ignore it, he scans the room for any signs of you. To his disappointment, he doesn’t find much at all.

Your clothes are gone. The side of the bed you had slept on is perfectly made. The only differences in the room he can spot are the slightly open bathroom door, and the lingering embers of your scent fluttering through his nose.

Shaking his head, Dice curses under his breath, turning over to look for his alarm clock on his nightstand. He finds it, but he also sees something he wasn’t expecting.

A note. From you.

Furrowing his brow, he picks it up and reads it. To his own surprise, he finds himself getting more frustrated the more he scans it.

Thank you for everything last night, King. It was a pleasure. I’ll see you around.

(Y/n)

…That’s it?

You couldn’t stick around, even for a little while? Sure, Dice has work he needs to do, but he still could’ve used your company, talking about the night before having to get up. But you just left. Didn’t even wake him.

He knows he shouldn’t be too torn up about it. He’s had to kick out at least a dozen desperate fools who didn’t want to leave him be–he should be viewing this as a blessing from you. A sign of respect to his work and his privacy.

But he doesn’t. He feels strange. Unpleasant.

Why isn’t he happy about this? What is he feeling, if not gratitude?

He doesn’t actually miss you, does he?

Shaking his head, Dice shoves your note in the top drawer of his nightstand, slamming it shut to deal with later. He takes a swig of the water you had left behind to clear his head before getting up, heading to his closet to get dressed and make himself presentable before even beginning to tackle any of his duties.

A knock at his door catches his attention as he’s straightening his bow tie, and with a sigh of annoyance, he heads to it and whips it open.

Instead of one of his cards, he’s met with a short, chubby purple imp, adorning peach colored gloves over his hands. His wings are the same size as all the other imps that scatter around the place, but with his body size, they’re disproportionate. Equally small horns, and a tiny tail that’s wrapped around his stubby feet. The demon looks up at Dice with a nervous smile, waving sheepishly.

“Sorry to disturb ya, Mr. King Dice, sir.”

“What is it, Henchman?” Dice demands, leaning against the doorframe expectantly. He’d rather skip the niceties and just get straight to the point, if the boss really needed to send the imp all the way to Dice’s chambers to get him.

“Well uhhh… Boss wants to see ya. Says it’s urgent,” the poor assistant hides his hands behind his back, gently kicking the ground with his feet.

Of course. Of course it’s something ‘urgent.’ Isn’t it always?

“Thank you, Henchman,” Dice sighs, getting off the doorframe and retreating back into his room. “Tell the Boss I’ll be there in five.”

“You got it, Mr. King Dice sir!” The demon salutes before flying off, making sure to carefully shut the door behind him. Ever so obedient, that one.

Dice grumbles under his breath as he heads to the closet, grabbing his shoes and slipping them on. Perfect. A chat with his boss is just what he needs right now, when his mood has already been soured.

Another day in hell, he supposes.

Gathering his pride, Dice finally steps out of his chambers, letting his cards come inside to tidy up the room as he walks down the hall. The fake, grueling smile he always uses in company is plastered on his face as he gets closer to the Devil’s office, and his teeth secretly grit in anticipation as he nears the door.

This can’t be good.

Henchman waits patiently outside the door for him, offering another greeting before opening the large, heavy door.

The Devil’s domain was significantly different from the warm, inviting aura of the casino’s public areas—much darker, and more sinister. One might not even necessarily call it an office, but more of a throne room.

Pillars of marble and metallic architecture stand from the floor to the ceiling, lining a very clear pathway towards the large, golden throne in the center of the cave-like space. The floor, contrary to the marble and the rest of the casino, appears to be made from volcanic earth, with bits and cracks of red hot lava coming from inside. It’s hot. Swelling.

If the room isn’t hellish enough, then the occupant of that huge throne in the center surely pushes it over the line.

Dark, soft fur covers him from head to toe, save for the two large horns protruding from his head and his clawed hands and feet. A long, pointed tail peeks out from between his legs, twitching in hostility and threat to anyone who dares get too close. His golden pitchfork rests at his side, perched against the arm of the throne. He’s unmistakeable. Unmatched. The infamous king of the underworld.

The Devil, himself.

“Dice!” Scratch claps once in greeting, feigning a pleasant, sharp-toothed smile as Dice cautiously approaches him. The Devil sits up from his lounged position, leaning forward in his seat as his right hand man joins him on the side of the throne. “There’s my ‘Number One!’”

“The one and only,” Dice keeps his grin fixed and nods to his superior, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. “What can I do ya for?”

“It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten the chance to chat with you! Please, do tell me: how was your night?” The Devil smiles, tilting his head to the side and resting it on his hand as he awaits his lackey’s response. His words are kind and friendly, but those dastardly yellow eyes of his tell a much different story.

Dice sees right through him.

“It was fine, not much to report. If this is all you wanted, perhaps we could catch up at a later time? I really should get back to work if you want those contracts signed by—”

“You mean you should start working, since you woke up a half hour ago?” The Devil sneers, his eyes narrowing and his gritted smile sharpening a little in frustration.

Dice looks off to the side, pursing his lips and scratching at the back of his collar. It takes him a second to come up with a response, having been caught red-handed.

“Alright alright, I… might have overslept a little.”

“A little is putting it rather lightly, don’t you think? It’s 11:30 am, you know.”

“Okay, fine, maybe a lot. But I’ll make up for it, if you let me get back to it.”

“Not so fast, Dice–don’t be so quick to run off. Since you’re getting used to taking things slowly, how about we continue to talk?”

“I just—”

“Listen.”

Dice opens his mouth to protest, but closes it soon after. There’s no point in fighting back—not with a boss as powerful as the furry figure sitting in front of him. Rushed and avoidant as he may be, he knows that messing with his superior won’t end well for anyone, him included.

So, he listens.

“Saw a pretty lookin’ doll, walking out the side door this morning. Sensed ‘em rush past my office, and decided to take a look.”

“Didja, now? What are you thinkin’?”

“They’re certainly quite the looker, and as I don’t seem to recall inviting any special guests recently, I’m thinkin’ they came from your wing of the casino?”

“You’d be right,” Dice admits, avoiding eye contact. He really wouldn’t want to get into the details of his night with Scratch, of all people.

“Of course I’m right! Aren’t I always?” The Devil laughs, kicking back and crossing his leg over his lap, assuming his relaxed position once again. “So tell me, Dice. Did anything come out of that splendid night you had? You have anything for me, like oh, I don’t know… a contract?”

Dice feels the pit in his stomach drop to his feet, and his earlier frustration starts to bubble in his throat.

Of course the Devil would be expecting a contract–Dice usually has one after bringing someone back to his bedroom. A night with him doesn’t usually come for free, after all.

Dice sighs, staring down at the ground like it was his mortal enemy. It’d be a shame to disappoint the boss, but truth be told, he’s got nothing. Unless that little note you left behind could count for anything.

He’s empty-handed, as far as any real profit is concerned. And despite his better judgment, he blames you for it.

“No, sir.”

“No?” Satan feigns surprise, shifting in his seat to get a better look at his underling. “You haven’t gotten their soul yet? Not even after you both slept together? Dice, haven’t you been going after this target for a few months now?” Beneath that lighthearted, curious tone of his is a bitter sting of impatience.

Dice’s face flushes red at his boss’s crudeness, and he shakes his head, turning away.

“This one’s just harder to nab than usual. Y’know how some people are–more careful. They didn’t even wake me this morning. Just… up and left.”

He knows that’s not the answer his boss wants to hear, but what else is he supposed to say? There’s really no reason for Dice to lie to him just yet, if at all.

“Don’t tell me my most trusted confidant’s lost his spark,” the Devil threatens, leaning closer to the side Dice is standing on and flicking his tail upwards in warning. “You’ve been slackin’, recently. On your paperwork. Not just in signatures, mind you–the soul counts these past couple months have been slipping, you know.”

“I am aware, sir.”

“If you’re aware of this, then I suggest you fix that count, before I start questioning your abilities…” Scratch snarls, his smile threatening to drop. “It’d be such a shame to witness how quickly the great King Dice of Inkwell Hell can fall to the slums of the streets. You’ve done it once, so I’d advise you to get your shit together quickly, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“I will, Boss,” Dice spits, unappreciative of the reminder of when he had once fallen from Scratch’s good graces.

They had come a long way since then, becoming closer than ever. Dice has brought in more souls than he can count, and has become much more valuable as the years passed by. But even so, Dice is still just an employee. A server. A pawn.

Despite his title as a ‘King of Hearts,’ Dice is merely a card in the Devil’s deck.

The king of hell watches his lackey for a moment, pondering his response in suspicion, before standing up from his throne. He steps over to where Dice is standing, looming over him and inspecting his expression.

He only needs to look for a few moments, before he finds what he’s looking for. He stands back a little, eyeing Dice closely.

“Tell me, Dice. You haven’t taken a shine to that mortal, have you?”

“What? No! Of course I haven’t!” Dice scoffs, crossing his arms and looking back at his boss like he was crazy for assuming so. “I’m serious, they’re just a hard catch! You’ve seen ‘em come by before, and they just take me a lot longer than most. This one is just another one of those times where I gotta take things slowly. I can tell what they’re after, but they’re just too stubborn to admit it. They’re smart. You know how hard the ones like these are to crack.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me, Dice. I’ve had my fair share of ‘hard nuts to crack,’ over the years,” The Devil purrs in understanding, smirking as he sits back down in his seat. “I’m just giving you a friendly reminder of your position. You’ve worked incredibly hard, to get where you are. How long has it been since we struck that deal?”

“Twenty years.”

“Ha! You hold that phrase with such pride, like a badge of honor. Use that to your advantage,” the Devil grins as he gets closer to the main point he wants to make. “Twenty years, we’ve known each other. Twenty years, you’ve been free from that wretched family of yours and from that alley you had barely survived in. Twenty years, you’ve been my right hand man–a far better position than where you’ve started, right?”

“Right, Boss.”

“Of course. And after being my right hand for two decades, I’m sure you’ve picked up on the sacrifices that come with such a high-ranked title.”

“Right…?”

“I see you need a reminder…” Scratch muses from his seat, turning his head to lock eyes with Dice again. “You, of all people, should know that your duties come first. Before everything–before your breaks, before your rest, before your feelings.”

Dice feels an odd pierce in his chest, unappreciative of having his hard sacrifices laid out in front of him. As if it were written on a scroll.

Though he’d hate to surrender to the truth, he nods slowly.

“Yes, of course.”

The Devil smiles sharply, simply adoring the way the manager falls right into the palm of his hand. Easily manipulated and shaped, like a ball of clay.

“Good man.”

“What’s your point, Boss?”

“My point is…” The Devil leans closer, his toothy grin fading into a stern look of warning.

“My right hand man, who is in charge of so much, doesn’t have time for something as useless as romance. Satisfaction and pleasure, sure. But commitment to anything but your work? You simply don’t have the room for that, anymore. You’re too occupied with much more important things, like manning the tables and keeping the soul count afloat. You don’t have time for ‘love,’ and you know it better than anyone. Ya hear me?”

It stings, hearing the Devil remind him what he can no longer have. It stings even more to know that he’s right–relationships don’t mix with him. He’s had a fling, here and there, but they’ve all ended the same way. All because he had been driven to a crossroad, forced to choose between it and work.

Dice will always choose work. He has to. He wants to.

Dice can’t, and doesn’t, have ‘love’ for anyone. It’s a sacrifice he had made when he signed his life away.

“I hear you, Boss.”

“One more thing, Dice. You remember what happens, every time you try and test those limits? How hurt you become, when you try to reach what’s no longer attainable? You get yourself in such a wreck, your game’s off for weeks!” The Devil warns, his long tongue flicking in hostility. “It’s pathetic. Disgusting, even. Seeing you mope about like that, lamenting your losses… I won’t have it anymore. You’re better off without those useless niceties.”

Dice slowly blinks, barely listening.

“I know.”

“Do not forget your position, and the responsibilities that come with it. You’ve come too far just to throw it all away for some toy of yours, you got that?”

“I won’t, Boss.”

The Devil watches in thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders, closing his eyes in indifference as he lounges back in his throne. “Alright, Dice. Whatever you say. But…”

“But what?”

“You’ll have to prove it to me. You can start by fixing these dropping charts, and by getting me that soul, as soon as the time comes. Get me?”

“I…” Dice stares ahead as he thinks about the work he’s done so far. The drinks you’ve shared together. That date. The night afterwards.

Though you had split that morning, he’d still count it all as progress.

Despite your stubborn intelligence, he can tell he’s slowly cracking you, and soon, your shell will be completely broken. When that happens, he’ll be there to snatch his prize. His boss’s keep.

Getting your soul, as soon as possible. That’s doable for him.

Though, a strange pierce in his gut leaves him uneasy.

“I gotcha, Boss,” Dice forces out, willing his tone to stay even.

Scratch grins from ear to ear, clasping his hands together in triumph as he nods to the pit boss.

“Very well. Now get back to work, you’ve got a lot to catch up on this morning.”

Henchman graciously holds the door open for his idol as Dice takes his leave, his heart heavy and his ego struck. The piercing in his gut grows into a gnawing feeling, threatening to gobble him up from the inside out. 

This’ll be harder than he thought.

Chapter Text

You head home from the casino with a knot in your stomach. 

Sighing quietly as you trudge through the front door on your porch, you kick off your shoes and head upstairs to your bedroom. Eager to change into something fresh, you slip off your clothes and toss them into the basket to wash later, stepping into your closet to find something else. 

As you rummage through your choices on the hangers, that knot starts to fester, eating away at your gut. Rising up your throat. Knocking the breath from your lungs. 

Standing back, you stare ahead in distress, wondering if the choice you made that morning was the right one. It had been such a logical one at the time, but now, you find yourself reaping an unexpected consequence.

Guilt.

You shouldn’t have left Dice’s quarters that morning–at least, not without talking to him first. Now that your head’s clear, you see how panicked and cowardly that move had been. 

Nothing exactly went wrong, per se–in fact, your evening with him was better than you could have hoped for. The food, the drinks, the talking, and even everything that happened afterward. Dice had spent all his time and energy into making your night perfect, and he did a damn good job.  

And what did you do? You left him with a simple note, and a glass of water. ‘See you around,’ you had said. 

What a cheap way of thanking him, after all he’s done for you.

At the time, you had felt that you respected his privacy by leaving without a trace, without having to worry about dealing with you. You weren’t desperate, like other folks can be. He didn’t have to tell you to leave, or feel obligated to do anything else for you. This was good, for both of you. 

But now, as you stand alone in your closet, you start to second-guess. You rarely ever have to do such a thing, and the thought worries you a bit.

Was it really good for you both? Or just you?

With shaky hands, you grab something quick from your hangers and rush out of the tight space, slamming the door behind you. 

You need a shower. 

Grabbing a towel from your dresser drawer, you head into the small bathroom next to your room and start the water. Eager to clear your head, you step under the shower and pull the curtain shut. 

The soft patters of the steaming water send small vibrations through your back as you wash away the remaining evidence of last night, from the small marks of chapstick kisses to the residual stickiness between your legs. 

As you run your soapy hand over your shoulder, an unexpected sting shoots across the area. Quickly, you wash off the soap with some water, and notice the very prominent bite mark on your skin. 

His bite mark. 

Dammit, Dice. Damn his stupid, sharp, perfect teeth. Maybe it is a good thing you left without waking him, it’d be his punishment for leaving this deep of a scar on you, right? 

The sting fades into a small throbbing, that hurts just a little more when you press against it. The pain is surprisingly something you don’t mind–in fact, you start to miss the way it felt a few seconds ago.

No, it’s not a good thing. 

You shouldn’t have left.

Not only would leaving the way you did be crazy for something as small as a bite–deep down, you know you want that scar to be there. You’re almost proud of it.

It’s also a way for him to mark you as his. 

But, what exactly is your relationship with Dice now? Is this what you are, now?  

His?

More importantly, would you like to be? 

The thought of it is certainly one that excites you, but starting to get serious after one date (and a one night stand) might be rushing it, for both of you. Dice is more reserved than that. You are more reserved than that.

But one can dream. 

There had always been some sort of tension between you two, ever since that third or fourth week you started coming by. You don’t know if others have picked up on it, or if your heart’s just trying to convince you that you’ve got a shot at what you want. 

But, it’d be hard to miss. You’ve never left his side, in that place.

He called you his sweetheart , of all things. A name that–according to him–had never been given to anyone before. He took you home, and showed you a side of him that you had never seen before. 

Surely, there had to be a reason for such an off feeling. The need to leave so suddenly, despite everything.

But, you can’t think of any. At least, not any good ones.

Worse, you’re confused.

You don’t know what to make of this relationship with him, even after half an hour of brooding in the shower. 

You stay inside long after you’ve finished cleaning yourself, thinking about your situation. Thinking about him. Lamenting over your rash decision. Trying to make sense of the dynamic you share with him. 

After so long, your mind comes up with nothing. You have no clue, but you need answers. Answers that you can’t find alone.

You need to go back. 

It would break your otherwise consistent weekly schedule, and you don’t know if he’d even be at his usual spot because of that. But either way, you don’t care. You need to head back and thank him properly for treating you so well last night. For letting you sleep in his bed. 

And, you need to ask him a few questions. 

You turn off the shower and step out, quickly drying yourself off and grabbing your clothes. After wrapping your towel around your head, you slip on your outfit with care, making sure it’s straight before removing the towel and tossing it in the laundry bin, with the clothes you had worn last night. 

Putting away your things, you slip on the shoes before dashing out the door, making your way through the twists and turns of Isle Three’s bustling city. Passing every street light and sign, all the way towards the cave.

~

If Dice signs one more contract, he’s sure his hand is gonna fall off. 

After his meeting with the Devil, he decided to skip the showboating on the floor and do some paperwork for the day instead. You obviously weren’t going to be there anyway, and quite frankly, the thought of having to entertain the masses while his head is flooded makes him sick to his stomach. 

Though now, after hours of writing his signature, he’s beginning to change his mind. 

With a heavy sigh of annoyance and a final flick of his pen, Dice sets it down and rubs his eyes in exasperation. He’s had enough of writing for the day. What he needs now is a decent drink.

He snaps his fingers, and instantly, two of his loyal cards rush towards him and stand straight, awaiting his command. Dice gestures to the stacks of papers flooding all over his desk, stepping past them and calling over his shoulder as he walks towards the door.

“Sort those out for me, would ya? Deliver whatever’s signed to the Boss, and alphabetize the rest.” 

As soon as the word is given, his cards get right to work, not missing a single beat. Just how he likes it. 

Feeling eased at the thought of at least one thing on his plate taken care of, Dice takes a sigh of relief as he walks to the floor, making a bee-line for the bar after half-heartedly returning the elaborate greeting his staff and his customers give him. 

Sliding into his stool, he rests his pounding head against his cramping hand and blearily looks at Ginette, who waits patiently for his order. 

“The usual, dear.”

She nods, empathetically, and turns to make his whiskey for him. After years of working for Dice, Ginette—and all of his Court, really—have gained plenty of experience in recognizing when their boss is particularly happy, angry, stressed, or even just tired. Dice can’t tell if he’s more grateful or annoyed at the thought of his inner turmoil being so visible to those who work for him. 

He’d hate to appear weak to them. To anyone, really.

The martini-headed bartender slides the prepared scotch right into Dice’s waiting hand, and leaves him to have some peace as he lets himself think. 

The icy glass sends a chill through his gloved fingers as Dice stares down into his drink, glaring at it in thought. From waking up alone when he least expected it, to being confined to his office all day, signing paper after paper just to catch back up… he could say he’s had better days. 

Not to mention, the earful he had received from the Devil for taking too much time with you. But how is that his fault? You’re just… really good at playing the game. 

You’re almost too good.  

So good, he starts to question if continuing to play is worth it. 

Grunting in frustration, Dice shakes his head and takes a swig of his drink, the glass almost shattering in his tight grip. His head is too full. That headache from this morning is coming back in full swing, and he almost feels dizzy with the overwhelming thoughts swarming in his head.

You’re beautiful. Outstanding. But you’re not what he’s supposed to be after. 

Oh, but if he could… 

He wouldn’t mind sharing a special bond with you, of all people. Really, if there’s anyone that Dice is most interested in playing around with, it’d be you. His sweetheart. 

His annoyingly difficult and evasive sweetheart. 

“King?”

Well, he’ll be damned.

Dice’s slightly hunched form raises at the sound of your voice, his head turning in your direction with a surprised look. He’s a little shocked–he didn’t think he’d get the chance to see you until the next week (or really, at all), let alone the next day. 

‘See you around,’ you had written, after all.

“Well look at you, breaking your usual schedule… I wasn’t expecting to see ya so soon. You didn’t come all the way here just to see little old me, didja?” 

You offer him a soft, non-hostile smile as you approach him, sitting in the seat next to him and resting your elbows against the counter.

“Well, maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You should know by now that I do my own thing, here,” you chuckle warmly, drumming your fingers against the counter. 

“Then again, it’s charming how you notice when I do somethin’ different, or unexpected. Shows me you’re paying attention, y’know?”

Dice watches you closely, his eyes narrowing slightly before he gives you a nod, staring back down at the counter as he takes another swig of his whiskey. Oh, he’s paying attention, alright.

“Yeah.”

More than you know. 

An alarm rings in your ear, and you try to ignore it. You didn’t like that tone. 

You shift awkwardly in your seat, ordering a drink from Ginette, staring ahead as she diligently makes your usual scotch. 

Dice is off his usual demeanor, and you can tell. To anyone else, he’d seem like his usual curt self, but you feel like you’ve earned the right to see past that facade. You know better than to believe the front that he puts on display. 

It’s even easier to tell, when that usual approachable smile he has is nowhere to be found. When instead, his eyes are heavy, a scowl graces his lips, and he practically stares his whiskey down like it offended him, gently swirling around the ice cubes floating in his drink. 

There’s something on his mind. Something that’s bugging him pretty bad, if it’s got him looking this torn up. 

You have a pretty sick feeling in your gut that tells you it’s got something to do with you. 

The minutes pass by, tense and uncomfortable, and the two of you don’t say a word to each other. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Ginette hands you your drink with a pleasant nod, and you slip her a twenty, quick to distract yourself with your booze. 

You can feel Dice’s icy stare on you as you take a few thoughtful sips of your cocktail, watching your every move. Each time you blink, or the subtle flare of your nose with every breath you take. Your unfocused eyes darting back and forth, every so often, as anxiety crawls into your veins. 

He’s making you nervous. You’re an expert at hiding it, but Dice has always been a master at reading people’s tells. Including yours. 

He’ll never tell you aloud, but he likes seeing you get so worked up, especially over him. He’s surprised it took this long to finally start seeing it.

He’ll consider it payback.

“So, I…” Dice breaks the silence and stares at his drink, making no move to turn towards you and open up the conversation. “Got your note.”

“Oh, did you?” You let out a quiet laugh, running your finger over the rim of your glass. “I was afraid it wouldn’t reach you.”

Normally, Dice would play off of your teasing, and engage in a friendly back-and-forth with you. It hurts a little, when he doesn’t share your humor this time. 

“Well, considering you just left it out in the open, hours before I even woke up to see it, who knows?” He casts you a glance, still refusing to turn towards you. “Someone could’ve waltzed in and taken it.” 

“Y’know, something tells me that you wouldn’t allow that to happen, at all. From what I remember, your bedroom is practically guarded for privacy.” 

“One of my cards could’ve come in and snatched it up, thinking it was some sort of paper that needed sorting. Or a piece of garbage,” Dice sneers lowly, finishing the rest of his scotch and beckoning for Rumulus to top him off. 

The guilt you had been fighting starts to finally lose, and you regret leaving a little less. 

‘A piece of garbage.’ 

As much as you expected him to be less than happy with your hasty departure, for him to regard anything you’d give him as trash is a type of petty you just won’t take. 

“Garbage? Really?” You quip right back, glaring at the brooding figure next to you. “I know it was certainly crass, I’ll admit it, but garbage? That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so, but you gotta cut me some slack, here. We’ve been at this silly charade for months now, and after everything I’ve done for you so far, all I’ve gotten in return is a silly note and a glass of water.” 

“Well you know what, that’s part of the reason why I came here tonight in the first place. I had meant to make it up to you, but now, all I’ve got is questions,” you chide, turning to face him fully and not caring one bit if he wouldn’t do the same in return. He doesn’t. 

“I’m a little confused with what exactly we’re doing here, King.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Listen. We’ve been talking for months, yes, but you gotta admit that our conversations haven’t been much. They were a bit blank.”

“Blank? Now—”

“Hold your horses,” you raise a hand to silence him, continuing with your statement.

“Before last week, at least. Because then, you’ve started gifting me all of these nice things. The champagne. The coat. The note. Your time. And then, yesterday happened, and not only did we spill the details that we had been hiding from each other for so long, but we slept together in your bed. Out of nowhere. 

It was a split second decision from the both of us that happened in the heat of the moment. I will say, I do not regret it at all, but I’m just… unsure. We’ve gone from simple comrades to locking lips all in the span of barely two weeks. This has been going faster than I had meant it to.” 

“What are you getting at?” 

“King, what exactly is this thing we’ve got between us, now? Are we drinking partners? Friends? Friends with benefits? Or are we, well…” 

Your voice gets a little quieter, for your sake and for his. 

“Are we more than that?” 

Dice finally turns his body to face you, his eyes wide. It’s not what you asked him–he’s heard the same question countless times before–it’s how you asked it. 

There’s a twinge of hopefulness in your tone, one that you had prayed he wouldn’t catch onto. One that Dice hopes is genuine. The answer should be easy. He’s been thinking about it since he woke up. Maybe even before that. 

But yet, he’s at a loss for words.

Why is it so difficult to answer your question? Obviously, you two are friends, at least. He likes chatting with you, and spending time in your presence. He doesn’t mind spending on you, either. That’s gotta count for something, right?

“I…” He hesitates despite the way you lean forward expectantly, eager for his answer. 

His pathetic, useless answer. 

“I’m not sure.” 

You blink, unsure how to respond, at first. He sounds hesitant–you’re not used to that, coming from him. That confident man you had spent so much time getting to know was gone for the moment, replaced with a softer, more timid shell. 

But, even if that answer isn’t exactly as helpful as you hoped…

He’s being honest, you can tell. It’s a start. 

You’ll take it. 

You soften a little, and your irritance fades away. His answer may be a deflection, sure, but you’re not upset with it. In fact, it’s an answer you seem to prefer. 

Because you aren’t sure either, as much as you’d like to be. As much as you’d like to think you have everything together, with every piece of the puzzle lined into place. 

But it’s okay that you’re not sure. It’s okay that he isn’t, either. 

With uncertainty comes opportunity.

Slowly, gently, you reach out and rest your hand over Dice’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture earns you a small, stifled gasp from the man beside you. Your touch is soft and tender, barely able to hurt a fly, but it’s enough to knock the wind right out of the flustered casino manager. 

“That’s alright, King. We can figure it out.” 

Oh, hell, you really do know how to send Dice’s heart spinning. 

That look in your eyes. The way you seem so ready to keep going with him, whatever that entails. And, you look at him with a face that tells him that you’ll only work through this if he wants to, as well. 

The ball is in his court, just as much as yours. 

He shouldn’t, really. Not when his boss is now counting on him for your soul. 

But that can come later. In due time. He needs to get to you, first. He wants to.

He nods, painfully slowly, his eyes darting from your face to your hands, over and over. The pit boss can practically feel his cheeks burning up at the unfamiliar gentleness in your touch. 

Happy with his silent answer, you chuckle to yourself and give his hand another squeeze before kissing his cheek, patting him on the shoulder. 

“And now that I’m here, I suppose I’ve gotta thank you, King. Y’know, for last night. I really did have a great time, and I appreciated the gesture. I’m sorry it took me so long to show some proper gratitude.” 

“It’s… not a problem, doll. Not at all.” 

You smile fondly and let go of him, finishing the last of your drink and taking your leave. You had come here to do what you needed to do, and even though there’s not quite an answer yet, you aren’t leaving with nothing.

And if there’s one thing you’ve learned about gambling, it’s to quit while you’re ahead.

“Have a swell night, then. I’ll see you soon.” 

Your signature goodbye. You say the same thing almost every time, but Dice isn’t sure if he could ever hear it enough. 

He watches you leave, wishing for you to stay more and more as you approach the door. Once you’re gone, he sighs in frustration and rests his frazzled head against the wood of the counter.

God, what is the matter with him?  

He closes his eyes for a spell, needing to block out the bright lights and the sight of drinks. He just needs a second to think. 

‘My right hand man, who is in charge of so much, doesn’t have time for something as useless as romance.’

His boss’s words replay in his head, over and over again, like a broken record player. Like a radio that’s got a couple screws loose, stuck on one annoying channel. Dice doesn’t have time for love. Romance isn’t in his schedule. He’s in charge of so much, just like Scratch puts it—he doesn’t have time.

It brings him nothing. It’s useless.

‘That’s alright, King. We can figure it out.’ 

We, you said. Not you, or I. You’re not putting this completely on Dice, or on yourself. You’ve offered to work with him, together, to see where this fling takes you.

Dammit. 

You really think that you both have a shot at something more. Something deeper than what you already have. And you wouldn’t even be wrong for assuming such. 

Because as much as Dice would like to deny it, your relationship certainly feels that way.

It shouldn’t, though. It really, really shouldn’t.  

Maybe you were right to leave so hastily–to panic, and wonder if the decision to come back with him was the right one. Dice thought it was a good idea, all the way up until five minutes ago. 

But now, he isn’t so sure.

With an agonized groan, Dice leans back in his seat and downs the rest of his whiskey, setting the glass on the counter. Ginette moves to refill it, when he holds his hand up and waves her off. 

“No need, Gin. I’m done for the night.” 

“Alright, Boss,” Ginette watches as her superior lazily stands from his stool and heads off, the clacking of his shoes echoing across the room and over the casual chatter of the patrons spread out across the floor. With a soft sigh, she picks up his glass and dumps out the half-melted ice, grabbing a rag to wipe it clean. 

With a soft click of the door, Dice confines himself in his posh yet isolating office, walking over to his large desk where a considerably smaller pile of unsigned, alphabetized contracts awaits him. Now, the casino manager looks forward to the distraction. He needs a break from the voices of you and his boss, swirling in his head and fighting against each other like two rabid dogs.

Funny how he thinks that will disappear just because he wants it to.

He sits, and he writes. His pen travels a mile a minute as he zips through each contract, getting lost in his own work as the radio echoes its soft tunes throughout the room. He’s calm. He’s numb. He’s focused. 

Sort of.

The boss is right, he thinks. But, in a way, so are you. It’s frustrating, not knowing which path to walk. How he wishes for both. 

But, deep down, Dice knows it’d be foolish to try. 

With a sigh, he decides what he should do. It pains him slightly to think about taking such advantage of you, but in the long run, he’ll get over it. This little infatuation he’s been stuck with will eventually fade, just as always. 

Because for someone like Dice, love is foolish. A waste. Impossible.

And yet, so irresistible.

Chapter Text

You start coming to the casino much more often. 

Instead of once a week, it becomes every five days. Then, every three or four. Eventually you’re in the casino every other day after work, spending money and getting more involved. 

And every second you spend is near King Dice’s side.

Much to Dice’s surprise, you finally start to break away from the simple drink-sharing at the bar, and join him around the felt-tops. Indulging in the occasional round of poker or blackjack, while he deals. Graciously accepting his arm, whenever it’s offered. 

You laugh so easily, your hand clasped around his forearm as you both stroll along the floor, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil bubbling in Dice’s gut. 

He does his best to ignore the way his cheeks burn up, with every gentle squeeze you absentmindedly give him. He hopes, for everyone’s sake, that no one notices. 

Secretly, he chides himself for letting you weave your way through his shell before he could stop you. If you hadn’t, Dice’s job would be so much easier to do. 

And the worst part is, there’s no way he could ever tell you about his dilemma. He’d hate to take away that joy on your face, long before he has to. 

But unfortunately. Dice knows that one day, he’s going to. It’s inevitable. All he can do right now is delay your fate. 

He watches closely, every time you crack a smile at something going on, every small wrinkle that forms near your eye. He searches, fruitlessly, for a way to go through with swindling you whilst keeping you relatively happy.

He knows that it’d be impossible to keep you as bright and lively as you are now, but he wonders if there’s a part of you that wouldn’t mind giving that up. And if so, what the price would be.

What would you give up your soul for?

At first, Dice feels the same as he had the entire time he’s been trying: there isn’t anything. You’re just too satisfied with what he’s already offered you—and he partially blames himself for that. 

Perhaps he’s already given you too much, too soon.

He wonders if he was too kind, since you came. If he should’ve been more alluring, rather than welcoming and informative. 

Maybe if he had kept you reaching, you’d have been begging for him to give you more, just like the rest. He wishes he had thought of that beforehand, when things weren’t this far. 

The pit boss is at a loss—unsure of where to go. There’s not much else he could possibly offer you, that would push you to give in. To him, it looks like you already have what you need. 

…Almost. 

He remembers the conversation you shared, after your first date, his mind starting to click. 

The question you asked. The lingering traces of longing, in your tone. 

‘Are we drinking partners? Friends? Or, are we more than that?’

How he wishes the answer were that easy to find. He knows what he’d want, but his duties prevent him from making that jump. 

But… Maybe they don’t have to. 

Deep down, Dice knows what it is you’re after. He’d be a fool to question it, still, after learning what makes you tick. The way that despite your reservations, you now seem to be glued at his side every chance you get. 

The question you had asked him back then was rhetorical, and he knows it. You hope things will escalate.

You hope that you can become more than simple companions. 

And now, with you coming by as much as you can, becoming more bold with your actions by the day, Dice knows that you’d do just about anything to make that happen.

You might even give up your soul for it, if he plays his cards right.

~

You smile to yourself as you head towards the front of the casino, stepping over each little crack and crevice you had memorized in the ground. Excited to see the manager, your arm reaches for the handles of the main door, when a deep, muffled voice reaches your ears before you can walk inside. 

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play amongst the stars…” 

Intrigued, you finally open the doors, much more gently than you had initially planned. 

The casino is much quieter than what you’re used to—typically there’s applause and voices so loud that you can hear it even a good distance away outside. Curious to see what’s so different tonight, you slowly close the door behind you, careful not to make too much noise and distract the other guests from whatever they were doing. 

Or rather, whoever they’re watching. 

“And let me see what spring is like, on Jupiter and Mars…”

The sight before you takes your breath away. 

Typical drunkards and perfume-covered dames crowd around the central area, looking up in awe at the large, bedazzled stage before them. The stage’s front edges are covered in lights, all shining upwards to the main star of the night, who sits on a stool with a mic to his chest. As his band behind him plays a smooth tune, the singer bellows his lyrics in a sultry baritone, captivating just about every guest in the room. 

Who knew that King Dice had such a voice?  

With the knowing smiles of his Court and the quiet, excited chatter amongst the patrons, it seems that everyone did. Except for you. 

Figures.

You carefully make your way through the floor, passing by the quiet gamblers conversing in the tables and the distracted patrons listening to the man on stage. You want to get closer. To see him better. To hear him, loud and clear. You squeeze through the huddled crowd of adoring fans and partygoers, stopping at about the fourth or fifth ‘row’ that had been formed. 

Fortunately for you, that’s just the amount of room you need. In the middle of his song, Dice spots you, and his smile noticeably widens as his eyes light up, ever so slightly. 

They never leave you, for the rest of the performance. It’s like he’s singing to you, and no one else. 

“In other words, please be true…”

As you watch, everyone else slowly fades away from your peripheral vision. You no longer hear the awed murmurs and whispers of his admirers, or see the tall heads partially blocking your view. The background of the stage and his band blurs into simple spots of color, allowing for you to place your full attention on the singer. Your no-good, wicked, dashingly handsome conman. 

You wish you could stay like that for eternity.

“In other words, in other words… I love you.” 

You swear you saw him wink at you.

Dice finishes his song and takes a bow as his fans reappear in your vision, hollering from their places as applause rings through the air, nearly bursting your ears and snapping you back into reality. You join in on the praise, clapping along, but inside, your head is thumping. 

As Dice makes his way off stage, dozens of folks push and shove around you, trying to get closer to him. The suffocating aroma of cheap perfume rushes up your nose, worsening your oncoming migraine. 

The lights brighten back up as the casino jumps into full swing once again. Tables are rearranged, guests filling up the spots, drinks passing around.

Except now, you’re right in the middle of the crowd. You long for escape, just to ease your aching head.

“You alright there, doll?” 

There it is. That unmistakable voice that had been the star of tonight’s show, asking if you’re okay, through the noise of all the others surrounding you. Whether it’s by some miracle or distraction, your headache eases up a bit. 

You turn and smile brightly at the showman who seems to have summoned beside you, ignoring the patrons’ cheering and cries for more.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, but King?! That was amazing!” You praise, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him gently. “I know you told me that you like to sing in your free time, but I’ve never heard you actually do it before. You’re incredible.”

Dice grins down at you, ignoring his rapidly increasing heart rate as he processes your touch. He’s flattered that you enjoyed the music enough to tell him, but really, it’s your touch that sends him to blazes. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to that.

You let go of him and laugh softly, scratching at the back of your neck. “I’m sorry I missed some of the show, I didn’t even know you were doing something like this tonight. It was a pleasant surprise, I’d say.”

“Don’t sweat it, sugar. Since you’ve started coming more often, you’ve gotten a little more unpredictable with your drop-ins. I don’t think you’ve ever been here on Wednesdays–that’s typically music night,” Dice smiles coolly and leans down closer to you. 

“Next time, I’ll have to send you a letter. It’ll getcha over here quicker.” 

You shudder slightly, cursing the way your ears grow hot.

With a wink, he nudges his head beyond the muffled chatter of the crowd, over to where the golden Employees Only door lies, calling both of your names.

“Now that you’re here, though, whaddya say we get outta the action for a while? We could share some wine in my quarters and have a little bit of us time, if you’re interested.” 

You feel your grin widen across your face, to the point where your cheeks start to sting. Thank goodness, really–while Dice’s songs are wonderful, they certainly don’t help keep the others’ attention away. 

Nodding politely, you extend your arm towards the door’s direction.

“It’s like you’ve read my mind.” 

Grabbing your wrist so you don’t lose him, Dice makes his way through the crowd. You notice the shocked, heartbroken faces of some of the admirers, absolutely dejected at the thought of missing their shot.

How pathetic. 

You both slip behind the door and make your trek down the long and virtually empty hallways, save for the occasional imps and cards running off to work. Dice stops a couple, an Ace of Clubs and one of Spades, ordering them to bring up a classic sweet red and some hors d'oeuvres to his chambers. 

As they dash off to fetch what Dice requested, the showman opens his bedroom door for you, allowing you to step inside. 

The place is just as large and comfortable as you remember it, with the curtains covering the windows and a small fire being kept alive in the fireplace by an Ace of Hearts. Dice shoos the servant out and has it shut the door on its way, as you sit in front of the fire and warm up your hands with it. 

He smiles warmly and joins you, sitting beside you as you both wait for the wine. It’s quiet. Comfortable. 

The small talk you share is mundane, and Dice hopes you’re not bothered by it. You hope he knows how much you need normalcy. 

He asks you about your day. You answer, telling him about work, and shooting the question back. He tells you about a drunken fight he had to break up, and cracks an insulting joke about the swarm of people who wanted it to continue. You laugh, genuinely, as you try to ignore the subtle rush of heat to your cheeks. 

He’s always been so funny. 

Dice watches your laughter, and he can feel the seconds slowing down. As if time were freezing, right in front of him.

Have you always had such a beautiful voice? 

A few minutes later, the two cards from before rush into the room, one holding a dark bottle of wine and the other carrying a tray of small appetizers for you both to split. Dice takes the items and dismisses them. 

You smile softly as he pops the cork off of the bottle and pours you a heaping glass, handing the drink off to you before pouring some for himself. He joins you near the fireplace once again, and your glasses clink together in a simple toast as you drink together, snacking on the treats plattered on the silver tray. The fire crackles soothingly in front of you, its gentle embers providing the room with a dim, warm amber hue. 

“I think I like these sort of moments together the best,” you suddenly remark as you take a sip of your wine, smiling softly at Dice from your seat. “Just the two of us, the wine, the fire, and no one to pester you. It’s nice.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Dice smiles back at you, taking a long look at the flames in front of him. “Finally, some peace and quiet… it’s funny how two completely different settings can exist in the same, crazy place.”

You laugh softly and nod, your head slowly coming down to rest against his shoulder. The soft, velvety fabric of his jacket tickles your ear. Feeling a buzz of confidence, likely from the alcohol, you find the words slip out of your mouth before you can catch them.  

“Just like how two completely different personalities can coexist in the same, wickedly handsome man.”

Dice nearly chokes on his wine at your words, coughing and clearing his throat before turning to look down at you, his already tinted cheeks deepening in their reddish color.

“Jesus, sweetheart, is that you or the wine talkin’?”

You chuckle at your successful attempt at getting him flustered, shrugging your shoulders and casually leaning back to take another drink from your glass.

“Maybe a bit of both.”

The showman snickers and polishes off the rest of his drink, setting the glass down and sighing softly. He shucks off his jacket, neatly folding it in his arm.

“Getting warm?”

“A little. The fire is certainly helping.”

You nod, grabbing a tartine from the plate and shoving it in your mouth as your gaze travels to the window. The soft, orange of the sunset you had seen on your way to the casino was now gone, and you can see quiet hues of navy at the entrance of Inkwell Hell’s cave.

Dice notices where you’re looking, and snuffs out a quiet laugh.

“Y’know, even though the ‘sky’ here's not quite the same as the one outside, we actually do get the occasional view of some stars.” 

“Really?” You turn to look back at him, face lighting up. “I figured since we’re in a cave, you wouldn’t see any.”

“Well, that is true–but there’s a spot just above the casino gardens that opens up to see the sky. It’s a way to see what time of day it is, besides looking at the entrance. Also, to provide sunlight to the plants.”

“Wait, wait, wait…” You feel your chest well up with excitement, and you set your now empty glass down to rest your hands on Dice’s shoulders. “King Dice, you’re telling me that this place has a garden? Promise me you’re not lyin’ to me.” 

Dice grins in amusement, nodding calmly and resting his gloved hands over yours. He makes no move to pull yours away from where they’re clutched onto.

“I swear on my mama above,” he promises, nudging his head to the door leading to the hallway. “I could prove it to you, if you’d like.”
You quickly nod, jumping to your feet and pulling Dice along with you. “Please!” 

Dice laughs, dusting himself off and stretching a little.

“Alright, darlin’. No need to send yourself into a frenzy.”

By the time he finishes his reply, you’re already nearly out the door, impatiently waiting for him to take the lead. With a smile, he offers his arm to you and guides you back into the hall, a faint tint of pink on his cheeks that if asked, he’d insist it’s from the wine. 

The casino gardens are generally closed off to the public–out of distrust in the common mortal who may have had one too many drinks. Inside the building is the place to make a mess, whether it's spilled wine on the marble, blood from a drunken bar fight, or hell knows what in the bathroom stalls.

Not the garden. 

The flowers, specifically chosen to match the theme of Hell, are planted with care in the finest of soil and brimstone. No one knows how the roses and lilies alike are kept in such good condition especially in a place with little moisture–but many suspect some of the Devil’s magic would surely be thrown into the mix.

Neat, circular beds of various flowers–from sweet roses, to colorful tansies, to peachy begonias–trace the rail of the stone-chiseled balcony in an exciting maze, with the occasional velvet bench resting in its designated spot between patches of plant-covered soil. Near the center of the large patio sits a tall fountain, three stacked stones in the shapes of poker chips carved in the middle as gently flowing water surrounds the centerpiece like a moat. 

You let the sweet scents of marigolds and buttercups sway you towards the patches, Dice’s footsteps carefully guiding you into a pleasant stroll. 

“Whaddya think, sweetheart?”

“Oh, King,” you sigh happily, looking around at the flowers with a lovestruck smile. “They’re absolutely stunning.” 

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, doll. How about you take a look up, for me? Straight into the sky, like you’re trying to find the moon.” 

Slightly confused, you look straight upwards, your heart fluttering at the astounding sight.

Just as Dice had said, a narrow pocket of sky cuts through the top of the cave like the hole of a volcano, giving you a perfect view of the full moon, bright and glowing as ever, wrapping you up in a pocket of warmth and light during an otherwise chilly night. Surrounding the moon are tiny little sparks of stars, dancing around the navy sky like fairy dust. 

A small shred of heaven in a world of hell, you suppose. 

“I… this…” 

“Beautiful, right?” Dice emphasizes, leading you to one of the benches and taking a seat. You sit beside him, still latched to his arm, your head finding solace against his bicep. 

“How do you even manage to pull yourself away from here? If I had a garden like this, I swear I would never leave.” 

You swear you’d never leave, huh?

Dice smirks slightly at your proclamation, gently removing his arm to grab his jacket, draping the fabric over your shoulders. The familiar velvet on the outside tickles your neck slightly, and the silky inside wraps your shoulders nice and snug.

The coat is still warm, from when Dice had previously worn it. It smells just like him, too.

Just like when he had walked you home.

You bring the lapels of the waistcoat closer to your chest, wrapping yourself up further and casting him a grateful look.

“Thank you, King.” 

“Anytime, darlin’.” 

The two of you sit and stargaze for a while, with you eagerly pointing out a shooting star every so often, and Dice laughing harder each time you tell him to make a wish.

Wanting to get a better look at the flower beds, you suddenly stand, and Dice watches in thought as you pace along the marble path, examining each patch of dirt etched into the stone, like it was meant to be there. 

You really do like it here, don’t you? 

Dice doesn’t show many people the gardens. He typically doesn’t need to, nor does he deem anyone special enough to see the flowers up close. No one so far has been thoughtful enough to deserve the chance. 

But you’re different. 

He sees you bend down, particularly entranced with the black dahlias, and his chest tightens. The way your hand gently grazes over the dark petals of what appears to be the biggest one, before carefully picking the flower out of the pack. You’re so… careful with the way you handle it. Like it’s a living being with its own thoughts. Like it can feel pain. 

Yes… you deserve to be here. Not just in the gardens.

You deserve to live here. 

The manager stands as you return to him with your prize, grabbing the lining of his lavender vest and carefully threading the small stem through the cloth. You smooth the vest back down and look at your handiwork with a satisfied smile, winking up at him and nodding back towards the surrounding garden.

“It goes with your eyes,” you tell him, gesturing towards the dahlia. “I mean, your whole outfit does. Purple and green.” 

Dice chuckles softly, taking your hand as you both take another tour of the patio. “It’s funny–they’re called black dahlias, even with their deep violet color.” 

“I suppose that’s a simpler name than ‘dark purple dahlias’ though, right?” You snicker, stopping with Dice as he peers down at a patch of white tulips. 

“You’d be correct, sweetheart,” Dice muses sweetly, leaning down to pick a tulip himself, grinning back at you as he cups your face. His thumb brushes against your jawline as he sticks the flower behind your ear, humming in approval. 

“Goes with your eyes,” he repeats adorably. The color of the tulip he picked is not your eye color, nor is it complementary. 

You burst into quiet snickering, shaking your head and playfully hitting his arm.

“Are you kidding? The whites of them, maybe!” 

Dice can’t help but laugh with you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you take another lap around the balcony, losing yourselves in conversation and playful splashing near the fountain.

“Who’s to say they have to match? You should know that white goes with just about everything…”

~ 

“You tired, darlin’?” Dice asks fondly as you yawn for the third time in five minutes, smiling knowingly as you nod and slump against him. 

“I don’t even remember how long we’ve been out here. You can’t even see the moon in that hole at the top, anymore.” 

Dice looks up towards where you point, and nods in agreement. “I suppose that’s our cue to head inside,” he murmurs, glancing near the cave’s entrance and watching a few drunk patrons stumble towards the exit. “Things are quieting down, anyway.” 

“I should probably head home too, then. I wouldn’t want to be late for work in the morning.”

For some reason, Dice’s heart throbs in dejection, but the man ignores the slight sting and casts you another warm smile instead. “Well, if you insist, allow me to walk you to the door?”

You smile back, squeezing his forearm and holding the lapel of his jacket steadily over your shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

You two head back inside after taking one last look at the balcony, silently saying goodbye to the flowers as you walk along the familiar corridors. 

Dice’s mind wanders once again as you lean against him for support, humming quietly to yourself the same tune that he had been singing on the stage when you arrived. 

He enjoys your company. Truly. He figured as much, when he felt hurt at the thought of you leaving him for the night. 

He doesn’t want you to go. He wishes you’d stay. 

He wishes you wouldn’t force yourself to go to work every day, when you could stay here, with him. 

Forever, if you really want to. 

And, with the way you’re practically buried into his side and clinging to the warmth of his coat, Dice believes that you just might. 

Maybe… maybe this is something he should bring up again. Even further, maybe Dice has found his way to have both the boss’s favor, and your affections. 

This is his chance. His chance to finally have everything he’d ever need in this life without giving anything up.

He takes it, while he can. 

“Hey, darlin’? Y’know how you said we’d… figure this whole thing out? Together?” 

You open your heavy eyes a little wider, suddenly waking up a lot more upon hearing his question.

God, yes. Yes you do. You’ve practically memorized that day. He wasn’t sure, and you weren’t either. But you were both willing to find that answer together. 

And with how things have been going, you feel like you’ve made up your own mind. And, perhaps, Dice has as well.

“Of course. King.”

Dice’s smile deepens, as he watches you fall right into his hands. You’re right where he wants you. He was right.

This is it. The moment he’s been waiting for ever since he met you. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve got my answer.” 

“I’d say the same,” you chuckle softly in relief, and Dice winks charmingly at you before taking a slight turn, guiding you towards his chambers once again. Too tired to protest, you follow his steps, heading through the door and waiting patiently as he sits you on the bed, turning to his nightstand and rummaging through it. 

What’s he looking for?

You wait eagerly as he pulls out a golden slip of paper, smiling as he walks back over to you and sits beside you, handing it over. You take the paper and scan its contents, feeling a sense of confusion and a pang of disappointment flow through your veins. 

A contract. 

A soul contract.

“You could be with me, for the rest of our days. Sit in those gardens for as long as you please, day and night. Join me for drinks at the bar every evening, never having to walk all the way home. You could live here, with me, and never worry about a thing ever again. All you’d have to do is sign this paper. It’d hardly take even a minute, sweetheart.” 

You stare at the blank line at the bottom corner, waiting for your signature. 

So that’s what this is. Dice would give you a lifetime of commitment, riches beyond your wildest dreams, and a chance to frolic in his adoration and pleasures. But it would cost you, and not in the way you’d thought. 

It’d cost you your very soul. 

You’d said if you had the chance, you’d never leave that garden. Is this Dice’s way of trying to give you that chance?

Is this his way of trying to say ‘I love you?’

“Well? Whaddya say, doll?” 

He looks at you with a smile, a spark of hope and longing flashing in those beautiful greens of his. Matching perfectly with the dahlia you had pinned to his chest. 

Dear God, he looks like a happy puppy. An excited little boy on Christmas Day. It’s so adorable, despite the circumstances.

It’s…

It’s simply hilarious. 

What a sweet display of emotions, for something so out of the question. You love him, dearly, but your soul is your eternity. And there’s no way you’d surrender it to the Devil, even if it would earn you Dice’s hand. 

What a ridiculous offer. You can’t help but laugh.

Dice’s smile slowly drops as you burst into a fit of cackling, curling in on yourself to hold your sides. You can barely breathe. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. As you slowly calm down, you think about the offer Dice had made, and your giggling starts right back up again. 

He watches you, in utter dismay, as you laugh right in his face. His hard gaze doesn’t falter, even as you toss the paper back into his hands and shake your head, wiping a tear away with your finger. 

You’re laughing at him. Almost making fun of him. After he had shown you a side of hell almost no one has ever seen.  

After he gave you a deal of a lifetime. 

What has gotten into you? How, why?!

No one has ever laughed at him like this before. He’s done everything right. He’s charmed you, allowed you into his chambers, he’s been vulnerable around you, gave you an ear when you needed someone to trust, and spent so much time making you happy. 

Dammit, he’s earned this! He’s played all his cards perfectly! Why is it so different this time?! Why are you laughing at—

Dice’s train of thought is interrupted when a pair of soft lips make contact with his cheek, and his eyes snap back to yours as you look at him in amusement, shaking your head softly. 

“I think our definitions of ‘figuring it out’ are a little misaligned, King. Lemme make one thing clear, right now: I’m not going to be the product of a silly little deal with the Devil, and frankly, you shouldn’t either,” you wink at him, grinning at his look of shock as you get up from the bed. 

“Though, that was certainly a spectacular performance! I admire the effort. Thank you for such a tempting offer!” You laugh again as you take the tulip from your ear, carefully spinning the stem and kissing the bud. Dice watches you in outrage, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say in response to your sudden change in attitude.

All this time. Months. Months of trial and error. And yet, as much progress as Dice thought he made, it ended up being quite the opposite.

He was stupid, to think you had changed. He should’ve known, with how stubborn you’ve always been. 

You are just as concealed and defensive as you were the first day you two met. He hasn’t made a single dent in your walls. 

All his work has been for nothing. 

“I’ll give you some more time to think this through, King,” you smile, carelessly, taking off his jacket and hanging it up on the hook as you turn on your heel and begin walking towards the door. 

“I’ll see you in a while. Next time though, don’t shove a paper in my face like a banker to a debtor. It’s not very cunning, for a gentleman such as yourself!” You laugh, turning your head back and blowing him a kiss. A gesture that would usually leave Dice a bumbling mess at the bar. 

Now, it only infuriates him.

You’re leaving so quickly, no longer giving him the chance to walk you to the door, like you had said. 

He calls after you.

“Now wait just a—”

The door shuts, before he can even get a word in. He stares at it, his eye twitching slightly as he fights every bone in his body to force himself not to chase after you. To drag you back into his room and give you a piece of his mind. To ask you why you thought shutting him out was a good idea.

He just… how dare you?! 

You can’t just leave him like that, after everything he’s done for you–selling your soul wouldn’t even be a big deal, considering what would be your takeaway. A lifetime full of riches and fame. You wouldn’t have had to do a thing. Usually, those indebted would have their fun, and then be stuck in a life of misery as they anxiously await their pathetic afterlives. 

But you? Sure, you’d bear the same fate in your afterlife, but at this rate who wouldn’t? 

The difference you’d have, among the others, would be the years of enjoyment before the thought could even cross your mind. You’d be with him, just like you want, for the rest of your life! How could you not accept such a deal?!

Does some useless afterlife really mean so much to you? 

Dice lets out a frustrated curse before getting up, shucking off his shoes and carelessly nudging them underneath the spot where his tailcoat hands. 

Dejected, he snuffs out the fire, letting himself collapse onto the bed. He turns to lay down, glaring at the side you had slept on when you spent the night with him. 

He can’t even think straight. 

He grabs the contract you had rejected, shoving the damned thing back into his nightstand drawer and slamming it shut. On any other occasion, he’d be lulled into sweet slumber at the thought of you near him. 

But not now. 

He falls into the worst sleep of his life, after a half hour of cursing your name. The act has never been so challenging. The lingering scent of the black dahlia on his chest has never smelled so bitter.

Dice has never felt so helpless.

Chapter Text

The shrill, unforgiving alarm clock rings throughout King Dice’s quarters, earning itself an annoyed groan and a slam of the clock’s bell. The exhausted manager lies still for a moment, gathering the will to refuse slumber’s calling, before slowly opening his eyes to slits. 

Somehow, some way, Dice wakes up more drained than when he had fallen asleep. Though, he feels just as irate as he had when he laid down. He purses his lips, frustrated at his plight.

Now, that’s just not fair. Isn’t sleep supposed to help you? 

He takes a look at the outside world through his window, squinting slightly as the sunlight nearly blinds him. 

The night sky that you’d always found so fascinating, and would point out to him every chance you had...  

You. 

Dice shakes his head and forces his bitterness aside, finally forcing himself to sit up and stretch a little before he clambers out of bed. As the covers fall from his chest, he’s met with the same clothes he wore the day before, slightly wrinkled with a more floral scent than he’s used to. 

He looks down at his chest, and finds the reason why.

He picks off the slightly wilted dahlia on his vest, shaking his head and tossing it in a nearby waste bin. Grumbling something about the stupidity of plant life, he heads into the closet to get himself redressed. 

Once he’s presentable, he emerges from his quarters, trudging down the long corridor towards…

His office. 

Normally, Dice would opt to make his morning rounds before even thinking about signing some papers, but a very irritated part of him wonders if he’d be able to restrain himself from taking his anger out on some poor fool who didn’t deserve it.

Likely not. 

There’s just no motivation to please a crowd. Plus, with how often you’ve been coming by, he can’t even think of what he’d do if you were to show up.

He debates whether he’d laugh or scream as he walks inside and towards his desk, littered with various overdue contracts that his cards had laid out for him to sign.

Carelessly, he turns on his beloved radio, quickly switching past the news channels to soft, melancholy jazz. Then, he writes.

A few of his cards stand by in loyalty, silently awaiting any orders as Dice picks up his pen. He writes, paying them no mind as they watch intently. 

An hour passes. Then, two. But to Dice, the seconds feel like minutes.

Every contract is a stinging reminder of you. What you were supposed to be. What you had refused.

He’s angry. Annoyed that he doesn’t see a single parchment with your beautiful handwriting scribbled across the front. That wonderful cursive that he both misses and curses at the same time. 

You plague Dice’s mind, spending every waking second reminding him of what he doesn’t have. What he should have. 

Your voice mocks him, slowing his writing hand. 

“I’m not going to be the product of a silly little deal with the Devil.” 

Shut up. 

Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

“And frankly, you shouldn’t either.” 

Dice sets down his pen and grunts irritatedly, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand. He snaps his fingers, and one of the waiting cards immediately steps forward. 

“A whiskey, bourbon. And make it quick.” 

With a salute, the Ace of Spades hurries off to grab his drink, as Dice sits and rests his fingers on his temples. 

God, how did it all come to this? Why do you have to be so different from anyone else? 

And worse, why, why in Hell, is Dice so willing to give up everything for you? Your soul? After all, you’re just one person. One stubborn, mysterious, wonderful person. 

How is he supposed to explain this to Scratch?

He mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head. He hadn’t planned for things to turn out like this.  

You were meant to be at his side, aimlessly watching him write his name underneath yours, rolling up your contract and sealing it tight with a kiss. You were meant to be linked to his arm as he marches into his boss’s throne room, plopping the sacred scroll tight into his lap. 

You were meant to be with him, a soft, beautifully numb smile on your face as his boss offers his praises to him for his work. 

But, it feels like now, he’ll have nothing. 

He picks his pen back up and continues, barely noticing when his card returns with his whiskey. He downs the whole glass in one shot, grimacing at the bitter taste left on his tongue. 

Yet, he embraces the burning in his throat, welcoming such a distraction.

“Another.” 

~ 

A week passes by since you turned down Dice’s deal, and you finally decide to return. 

Your shoes clack loudly against the brimstone grounds of the cave, letting out a soft sigh of relief as you step towards those unmistakable golden doors of the casino’s entrance. The sulfuric air smacks you in the face slightly, but you can’t help but greet it warmly. 

You had missed it.

You wish you could have come by sooner, but with the rising demand of newsletters worth their dime in a good story, you’ve been caught up in your work. Exploring around the city, quietly gathering the stories of anything relatively interesting. 

Unfortunately for you, no one really wanted to hear about Inkwell Hell in their newspapers. It seems that the residents would rather save that sort of talk for the horror novels. 

Plus, perhaps Dice needed the time to get his head straightened out.

You know walking out the way you did was rather crass, especially after having done it once before, but the contract he gave you was just so… ridiculous to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to regret leaving, this time.

Not that you wouldn’t enjoy sticking by him, permanently–in fact, you’ve flirted with the idea longer than you’d like to admit. You’ll never tell anyone, but in your heart you know you’d give just about anything, for the chance to have him to yourself. 

But, you still have your limits, and your soul crosses the line. 

You’re not stupid. You know the kind of eternity you’d sign yourself up for if you had agreed to that offer. 

You playfully shake your head to yourself, tsking in amused disappointment as you grab the doorknob.

If only Dice had known better, as well. 

But that’s behind you. Now, all you can think about is sharing a drink with him again. You miss him. 

Unfortunately, when you walk inside and head over to the bar, your drinking partner is nowhere to be found. 

Deciding to wait it out in case he’s busy with something else, you sit anyway, greeting Ginette and Ol’ Ethan with a smile as they welcome you warmly. 

You order your usual liquor, and Ethan fixes your drink as Ginette opts for a chat. 

“Welcome back, dear! It’s been a little while since your bubbly face has come back to the bar.” 

“Jeez Louise, have I been coming here often enough that one week is starting to look like a while?” You laugh, crossing your leg over your lap. “It’s good to be back, though. I missed your cheeriness—it’s refreshin’ to see, in a place like this.” 

Ethan slides your drink along the countertop. You slide him a twenty in return, refusing your change, and he nods in gratitude. Ginette smiles warmly.

“You’ve been showin’ nearly every day for the past month or so, now. A bartender takes notice very quickly, especially of a well-kept fellow amongst the poor saps just lookin’ to guzzle the foam. And besides, it’s become unusual for the boss’s arm to be so empty, without you clasping it.” 

“Speaking of ‘the boss,’ where exactly is he, anyway? It’s rare that I don’t see him here with a scotch in his hand. What, did he mosey outta town for the day or somethin’?” 

Ginette sighs in sympathy and shakes her head, cleaning a snifter with care. “Somethin’ like that… the boss has been out of sorts for the last week or so, now. Rarely leaves the office. I guess those contracts pile up quickly when he usually spends most of his time on the floor.” 

“Hah!” 

A laugh interrupts your conversation, and you both look over to see a man with a cigar for a head, smoking a smaller cigarette held between two fingers. “Ya think the boss’d let a few papers keep him from comin’ out here? I reckon the bastard’s got himself into a tizzy over somethin’. Either a fight with the head honcho, or…” 

He smirks in your direction, giving you a knowing nod. 

“He might be fussin’ over you. You do seem to have a way of tamperin’ with his head, after all.” 

You look at the man in contemplation, as Ginette scoffs lightly. 

“It’s quite rude to assume such things about a man who isn’t here to defend himself, Wheezy. Besides, shouldn’t you be scouting for bar fights, anyway?” 

“I am watching, from right here,” the man, ‘Wheezy,’ shrugs thoughtlessly and takes another pull from his cigarette. “Besides, ‘ts not like King’ll come out of the office to give me an earful, anyway. Too hung up on personal matters to care too much.” 

You smirk, deciding to bite back with a question. 

“You seem awfully close with the King to know so much about how he handles his feelings, don’t you? What’s your story with him?”

Wheezy laughs and waves a dismissive hand. “Eh, I’ve just worked with him the longest. He’s a slimy prick when he really wants to be, which is most of the time,” he casts you another knowing look, giving you a sly chuckle. “But I’m no expert on the man’s personal endeavors. That’d be more your specialty, I’d say.” 

“Wheezy!” Ginette exclaims, shocked at his implications. “How crude of you to imply such a thing!” 

“Aw come on, Gin, we all know it’s at least a little true!” 

You watch amusedly as the two banter, downing your whiskey as you mull over what Wheezy had said. 

Could Dice really be this thrown off over you? Over the contract? Still? 

You laugh a little, just thinking about your last conversation you had with him. 

‘All it takes is a signature, and you’d be his. For the rest of your life.’ He had said it so easily.

Except, life doesn’t last forever. Not for a mortal, like yourself. And the eternity of suffering that lies behind that contract isn’t worth a thing in this world. 

Perhaps, that fact took a jab at Dice’s ego. What, did you hurt his pride? 

Another laugh escapes your throat as you hang your head low, your mind trying to wrap around the idea. 

King Dice, the “big bad wolf” of the town, infamous for being Old Scratch's first advisor, thrown for a loop at the actions of someone like you. 

Well, you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised at such a thought. You are pretty great, after all. 

Though still, you can’t help but be curious. 

“Is he taking any visitors?” 

Ginette and Wheezy shut their traps right in the middle of their bickering, staring at you in shock at what you had just asked them. They share a look of concern before Wheezy turns his head away, going back to eyeing the customers as Ginette approaches you warily. 

“Well, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she starts, her nervousness blowing right over you. 

“The King, when he’s like this, can be a little… intimidating to folks who get too near him. Even we have to watch ourselves, and we’re all pretty close with him.” 

“I appreciate the concern, Ginette, but I ain’t scared of no thunder. Plus, if he’s been locking himself in that office for a week, it wouldn’t hurt to at least take a peek at him.” 

The bartender sighs softly in defeat, nodding along to your statement as she wipes down the counter after taking your empty glass. 

“Well, as much as I may worry, I can’t stop you from trying. All I wish is for you to be careful, darling.” 

You shoot her a smile and a wink, tapping the counter confidently with your hand as you stand. “Don’t you fret about me, now. And hey, if I really do get the boot, I’ll just come back and spend some more money on some booze. How’s that sound?” 

“That sounds like a plan. Go get ‘em, doll,” Ginette smiles once more as you head off towards the Employees Only door, wiping the rim of your glass as you disappear behind the frame. 

Wheezy huffs out a chuckle and takes another hit, blowing out thoughtfully. 

“That one sure is somethin’ else, ain’t they Gin?”

“That’s for sure. The boss scored big this time with them–let’s hope he can play his cards right, and keep up the luck.” 

~ 

Having the whole place practically memorized at this point, you make quick work of the long trail over to Dice’s quarters and slip behind the large door. Your strained eyes silently thank the immediately dimmed lighting and the deep purple hues, allowing you to rest your head as you scan door after door for that special one with Dice’s name on it. 

Several Aces slip past you left and right, with signed papers and various broken pens, not even noticing the familiar guest as they trek along to do their duties. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have such assistance with your own job. Surely, you’d be able to sort papers and gather intel much quicker if you had some helping hands like this. 

You eventually find the door you’re looking for, judging by the last shrewd of cards dashing out of the room. 

King Dice - Manager. 

Not bothering to knock, you softly push the door open, getting a much closer look at the neatly kept office that you had seen the first night you came by. 

Of course, it’s larger than life. And it’s simply beautiful. 

A huge desk near the back center, with two grandiose windows accompanied by those similar dark violet curtains from his bedroom. A charming desk lamp illuminates the papers brightly, allowing for the occupant to see what he was doing much more clearly. A small, portable radio is perched neatly close to the edge of the desk, completely turned off.

You take a deeper look at the surroundings as your feet quietly step over the lush, oriental carpet covering the floors. 

Two couches with matching throw pillows rest on either side of the room, a small coffee table accompanying each to combine the office with the idea of a tiny living space to wind down. 

Apart from the window panes, the walls on both sides of the room are nearly covered with tall bookshelves, a step stool neatly placed on the edges to use when a book from the higher places may need to be grabbed. A chandelier, made of pure gold and glittering crystal, sparkles marvelously from the ceiling and sprinkles the dim office with gentle stars of light. 

A stunning office room, spacious and comfortable enough to keep anyone working for hours on end, but yet, the room is empty. 

And the desk is covered corner to corner with various papers, a few hanging off the edge and threatening to fall off completely

A beautiful arm chair rests behind it, but you have yet to see it be used at all. Based on the papers scattered about, surely Dice still has a lot of work he needs to do. Where is he, if not working? 

Did he go back to the main floor and slip past you? 

The door slams shut behind you, causing you to jump in surprise. Quickly, you turn around to face the source of the noise, and yet, you find nothing. Curious and cautious, you hesitantly approach the door to see what sort of wicked magic might have possessed it to shut like that. 

Before you get too far, a gloved hand grabs your arm, sending a warning chill through your spine. You turn around and open your mouth to call out before you hear another hand smack against the door behind you, darkness overtaking your vision and blocking your view from the rest of the room. 

You blink repeatedly in an effort to adjust to the sudden change of sight as you slowly tilt your head upwards to get a better view of what—or who— is standing right in front of you. 

Even though you see barely more than a silhouette, those icy, hostile green eyes couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else. 

King Dice stands before you. And he is pissed. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming into my office and snooping around like this after that little stunt you pulled a week ago.”

You watch him in surprise, shocked at the unfamiliar hostility. You’ve never seen him so upset before—you must’ve really struck a nerve with him after leaving. 

“C’mon, it’s really not—”

“Quiet. I don’t wanna hear what you have to say right now. You had your chance to stay and talk about all this, but what did you do instead?” 

You answer him with silence, and in exasperation, he fills in the blanks.

“You left! Left! You laughed in my face, kissed my cheek, and got outta dodge before I could even blink!” 

You listen, staring as he steps back and rants, pacing in front of you. For a second, it’s hard to tell if he's chastising you, or just talking to himself.

As much as you feel like you should be afraid, taking his dangerous tone seriously like anyone else would, you can’t help but watch with a small, half-turned smile on your face. 

It’s interesting, how different the two of you are. How differently you think.

“We could’ve had everything, for the rest of our lives–and you laughed it off! I can’t believe the audacity you have! After all that I’ve done for you, this is your thanks to me? And— why are you laughing now?!”

You snicker and shake your head, smiling up at him with nothing but innocent adoration.

He’s incredibly out of his mind, to think that you’d give in to a deal like that so easily.

And that’s what you love about him. Those big dreams of his have always been so captivating.

“Sorry Dicey, but the contract was just not doing it for me. Besides…” 

You send him a wink, just as you had the night you left, smirking and walking close to him. Your hands gently grab his and interlock your fingers together, giving him an assuring squeeze. 

“That kiss to your cheek was technically a goodbye kiss! So that’s gotta count for something, right?” 

Dice’s eyes widen in outrage as he stares down at your hands, disgusted at how gently you’re holding them. 

And that… that name you used. As if he’s some child you’re trying to entertain, using baby-talk. 

How humiliating. 

Even worse, he doesn’t want to pull his hands away. He can’t bring himself to do it.

“You… you think a damn kiss is enough for me to forgive you for leaving like that?! That’s pathetic, and you know it! After all the strings I’ve pulled for you! Do you even know who I am?!” 

His voice raises slightly, his agitation multiplying, but yet, he still makes no move to push you away or snatch his hands from yours. His words may be tough, but his actions are uncharacteristically gentle. 

You wonder if it’s because he’s simply that chivalrous, or if there’s something else hiding behind that tough exterior. 

You smile softly, running your thumbs over his gloved knuckles. 

“Oh, come now, Dice. I know exactly who you a—”

“Don’t call me that, anymore. It’s KING.” 

His voice cuts through yours like a knife through butter, effectively silencing you as he wanted, but you don’t physically react like he expects you to.

You should’ve flinched. You should’ve cowered away, surrendering to his fury and letting him win. You should’ve done anything else. Anyone else would’ve. 

So then, why do you smile the way you do? 

As if he didn’t just shout at you, you give him a warm, kind look and give his hands another squeeze. You’re soft, in the way you handle him. 

You’re a sweetheart, just as he’s always called you. 

And Dice should hate the gentleness in your touch, and the fondness in your smile. He should waste no more time with you and snatch away what should be his. 

But he doesn’t. 

“You have no idea the kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. I’ve gotten people killed for less than this, you know that? The ice you are walking on right now is so thin I could shatter it with a tap of my shoe. You don’t know how easily I could ruin you–you are standing here at my mercy.” 

He’s right, and you know it. You know his influence. He could destroy your life, and move on like you never even existed. 

But you’re not scared. Not in the slightest. 

Because as much as he could ruin you, you know deep down in your heart that he won’t. You can tell, by the way his fingers stay grasped in your own. Slightly trembling, but gentle.

It’s adorable. 

“I should be kicking you out of here right now. I could make it so you never have the chance to come here ever again. Better yet, I should take you to the boss, and see how he feels about this. God, you’re so-!” He grits his teeth and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he does his best to compose himself. 

“You’re so stubborn! And at first, it was fine, but now you’ve gotten on my last nerve! All it would have taken is a signature! One simple name on the paper, and you could’ve had everything you ever wanted! Riches! Fame! Me! Am I just not enough?”

He looks down at you in agony and desperation, and for a moment, you feel your gentle heart crack for the much more cold one in front of you. 

Does he really think that you don’t love him, all because you don’t want to give up something that determines your eternity? No wonder he’s so upset—he probably thinks you did the equivalent of dumping him. 

Still, being too lenient can cause more harm than good to both of you. If soul-gambling is how Dice thinks he’ll earn you… 

You’ve got a lot of work to do, to change his mind.

“You think you can mess with me and just get away with it? You think you can turn down a deal like that, when so many others would have given everything to be in your position?! I could’ve given you the world, and you just couldn’t sign the damn paper! Why, I oughta—”

Dice’s words are cut short when he feels a sudden weight pressed against his chest, and a pair of warm arms reaching around his shoulders. His heart races as he feels your smile against his coat, his muscles tense as you hold him steadily in your embrace. 

He stares, eyes caught like a deer in headlights, watching you suspiciously as you reach up with your beloved hands and cup his cheeks. 

“Wha… what are you…”

Your hands. Good Lord, your hands. 

They’re soft and warm on his cold, ceramic face—a part of him can’t tell if the suffocating heat he feels is from you or his own overwhelming emotion. He can’t see himself in a mirror, but judging by the way you’re looking at him in delight, he’s sure he’s as pink as a peach. 

He’s supposed to be pissed off at you. Furious. 

You’ve been steering him away from his job for months, setting him behind and throwing his whole life upside down, all for nothing. And after he finally gets the chance to let it off on you, instead of apologizing or asking to see the contract again, you hug him. Touch his face. 

Dice should be furious. He is furious. Truly. 

However… he doesn’t want you to stop. 

The pit boss has not gone soft for someone as simple as you. Your touch is just… foreign. Way more careful than what he’s used to. It’s throwing him off. Again. You always throw him off, and he hates it. 

But he wouldn’t mind staying in this position, just a little longer. 

Your thumbs glide over his cheeks like feathers, barely putting any pressure, but Dice can still feel the butterflies settling in his stomach. His heartbeat flutters against your own as you rest against him, smiling at him with every ounce of love you can muster. 

Dammit. Damn your smile. 

That smile is the only thing he ever wants to see for the rest of his life. 

“Easy now, King. I know you’re upset, but keep yelling like this and soon you won’t have a voice to sing with.” 

Your pathetic attempt to calm his frustrations should’ve been met with a shove and a door to your face. He wants to scream at you. 

Hell, what if his boss were to walk in and see this? What would he say, seeing his right hand man crumbling at the hands of some peasant?

A part of Dice, the smallest, most humane part of his warped mind, tells him that he wouldn’t really care what the Devil has to say. 

And that is what scares him the most. 

That, and the fact that you don’t seem to be wary of him in the slightest. 

“You’re not… you’re not afraid? Of me?”

Confusion renders the showman motionless in your arms. Stiff. Barely able to breathe. 

Usually, his last resort is to show his victims who he really is—someone dangerous. The true monster inside of him, festering throughout his bones and eating away at his humanity. The prickliest of thorns, hidden beneath the prettiest of roses. 

His targets are at his mercy in seconds. On their knees. Begging for him to give them another chance. Just one more chance. Dice barely even has to raise his voice; it’s usually a harsh glare and a sharp warning through gritted teeth that does the trick. 

Yet, he yelled at you, and you barely even twitched. 

How? 

How, in hell, are you so calm right now? How do you have the courage to stand here and hold him? And why can’t Dice bring himself to push you away, grab your soul right from your chest, and finish his work?! 

“Now, why would I be afraid of you, King?” You smile, warmly, lovingly. 

“I know what you’re trying to do, here.. You’re trying to be intimidating, and while I admit it would definitely work for others… all I see is a handsome, confident, adorable man in front of me. I’m sorry for not getting the message, but you’re just too cute to be afra—”

“I am NOT cute!” Dice refutes in shock, shaking his head and glaring daggers down at you. His bright eyes flash at you in a warning, daring you to try and call him such a patronizing name again. 

But to you, the way his eyes glow when he speaks in such a tone, the frustration laced in his voice, that rosy shine to his cheeks, and the way the manager still hasn’t moved away from you? 

That’s nothing to be scared of. Not at all. 

But to save his ego, you wouldn’t dare tell him that. 

“Alright alright, whatever you say, sugar cube,” you chuckle softly, gently patting his cheek and pulling away from him, allowing him to breathe properly once again as your hands find their rightful place back in his own. “I won’t argue.” 

Dice finally has the nerve to peel his stare away from yours, looking back down at your hands. They’re so small, compared to his. He could crush them in seconds, easily. 

He tells himself to pull himself together– now– and remember why he was so angry at you in the first place. 

The words that come out of his mouth make him want to vomit.

“You… you mean that?” 

It barely comes out as a whisper. You almost don’t even hear it.  

But you do. And your smile widens, as your hands give him yet another soft squeeze. 

“More than anything.” 

More than anything. You meant it. You think he’s… cute. He’s adorable to you, even after he had just spent the last fifteen minutes telling you off for dragging him on. 

He’s going to be sick.

The grandfather clock standing between the spruce bookshelves suddenly strikes ten, and you take a look at the time as the loud, insistent dings of the chimes strike your ears. 

It’s getting late. You should go. 

But not before you bid him a proper goodbye. Something to make up for your absence.

You cup his face once again, caressing his soft, porcelain cheek. He lets you. 

Slowly, you lean upwards, standing on the tips of your toes to get closer. He lets you. 

You plant a long, faithful kiss to his lips, your free hand holding onto his shoulder for balance. 

He lets you. 

“I gotta run, King. I’m sorry if I took you away from your duties, and for… well, this whole week,” you nod reassuringly once you pull away, lowering yourself back down, your hands running along the fabric of his lavender tailcoat. 

“I promise you, next time I see you, we’ll talk properly. We’ll crack open a bottle of booze and drink to our hearts content, my treat.” 

Like some kicked puppy who only wishes for affection, Dice silently nods, staring down at the floor. God. He can’t even look at you anymore. 

He’s too flustered to do so. 

“I’ll see you soon, you have my word. But next time, I’d prefer to meet at the bar, like always. Don’t make me seek you out again.” 

With that signature wink you seem to have perfected, you see yourself off, letting Dice watch in longing as you softly shut the door behind you. 

Dice is left alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company. 

His heartbeat rings in his ears like a deafening pendulum as he steps back towards his desk, sitting in his chair and turning around. He stares out the window. Patiently. 

Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for. 

Dice watches you as you strut away from his domain, towards the bright city lights coming from outside Inkwell Hell. You walk with confidence, your head held high as you make your path towards a better tomorrow. 

He keeps looking out for you, even after you disappear from his sights completely. 

‘More than anything.’ 

More than anything, you meant it when you said he was cute. You held him. Calmed him, until he could breathe normally again. When he showed you some of his worst, you stayed. 

No one has ever done such a thing before. 

It’s supposed to take nothing but resilience for Dice to bring himself out of his distress. Alone. He never even lets his staff get near him, even less his own customers. In fact, anyone who would try to help him would have their heads bitten off before they could finish walking through the door. 

So, why are you so different? 

You’ve always been different. 

You’re so special.

Dice feels his heart race back up again, the beats pounding in his eardrums. Quickly, he turns from his position at the window and looks back at his work. 

Anything. Anything else. 

His trembling hand reaches for the pen, but he can barely even pick it up off the ground. He’s so weak. What the hell happened to him? 

What did you do to him?

He knows exactly what you’ve done. He wants to shout. Cry. Maybe both. But more than anything, he wants to thank you. 

More than anything. 

Dice feels dizzy. He can’t stay in this room any longer. 

He stands, abandoning his week’s worth of papers and checklists, finally allowing himself some fresh air as he steps out of the office. The showman is suddenly much more aware of the cricks in his back from sitting in that chair for so long. Exhaustion overtakes his body, slowing him down as he trudges to his chambers. His eyelids, heavy and dark from overuse, beg him for some rest. Just for a few hours. 

You’ve snapped him out of whatever work-induced trance he had fallen into. Dice feels like a human again. 

You’ve always made him feel like this. Since that first date you had together. That first night you spent with him in his bed. That’s what makes you different. 

It hasn’t been said aloud, but you’ve never been one to use your words to convey something so meaningful.

You need not say it. He knows. 

You love him. Truly. Flaws and all.

Dice kicks off his shoes, letting his waistcoat fall to the ground as he shuffles over to the bed, flopping down onto the mattress and letting the soft material engulf him in a comfy prison of sheets.

He grabs the pillow you had previously used, the same pillow he had disregarded just a week ago. His face buries itself into the soft and silky fabric, his eyes finally closing as his nose clings to the leftover traces of your scent. 

He… oh, Hell. 

This cannot be happening. 

This isn’t about your soul, anymore. He wonders if it ever was. Or, if he was just trying to tell himself that. 

After several deep breaths of the sacred pillow you had laid your head upon, he concludes that it most likely wasn’t, at all. 

Why does he get in such a frenzy over you? The answer has been dangling in his face the whole time. Now, he’s backed himself into a corner, forcing himself to admit it. 

He shudders, fists clenching the fabric tighter. 

King Dice loves you.

Chapter Text

The upbeat chatter of the guests on the casino’s floor quickly rush into momentary hushed silence, as their long-awaited ring leader finally steps out from the staff’s door and makes an appearance. 

As King Dice steps out, his patrons cheer and happily welcome the man, but he simply waves them off and steps towards the bar, barely casting them a glance. 

The voices die back down, and the talking continues like clockwork. Except now, the tones are slightly hushed. 

The struggling pit boss can only think of one thing as he slides into his seat and taps the counter expectantly, waiting for Rumulus to pour him his usual drink. 

From the touch of your hands, to the smile on your face. All he can think about is you. 

It had been that way, for a while now. For some reason, it had just taken Dice this long to notice. 

Now that he sees it, all he can do is fret about it.

He loves you. 

A cold surface coated in condensation nudges against his gloved knuckles, and Dice wastes no time grabbing the drink. Rumulus nods in his direction before turning to count the wine stock, and Dice takes a long swig of the scotch. 

The cold yet burning liquid travels down his throat, coating it as the bitterness swells on the back of his tongue. He sits there, glaring at his glass, for longer than he should. 

He’s at a loss, dancing between ideas of should and want.

His work-oriented mind tells him he should take your soul anyway, while he can. 

You’d just… you’d look absolutely delicious with your soul plucked right out of your chest, blankly staring at him. Watching helplessly, as he twirls it between his fingers. Cold and terrified. 

It’d be such a treat to have you all to himself, following him quietly, staying close to him even after he trades your soul for the Devil’s praise. Power. 

Dice can’t help but feel a little giddy over the thought—he’s always been such a greedy man by nature. It’s how he’s been raised, and later trained. It’s just who he is, and he loves it. 

But… his aching heart thuds erratically against his chest, begging for something different. 

Despite the good it would mean for him, Dice doesn’t know if he can take the pain of losing your spark, anymore. 

You’d lose that beautiful smile. Your eyes, glimmering with mischief and laughter, would be dull and void. You wouldn’t be able to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t have any freedom. Your speech would be minimal, if at all. 

All you would be able to do is stand with him, staring blankly forward, living in a husk of what you used to be. The remaining pieces of the person Dice had fallen in love with. 

That lavished life he’d promised you was likely a well-intentioned lie, anyway. You wouldn’t be as happy as he said you’d be.

That trust would be gone. While he would still have you near him, you’d hate every second. Your life would be miserable, full of numbness, no matter how Dice would try and save your wit. Your personality. 

And how would that be fair to you, or to him? 

After all, you’re the one person who is different from the rest. You dress better. Smell better. You’re much more poised, collected, and you can easily hold your own against those who try and challenge you. 

You’re just… you’re just that. You’re just better.

You treat him like he’s somebody. His own person, with his own feelings and thoughts. You remind him that he has options, and you are more than happy to be one of them for him. All you’d ask is to keep your soul. 

How generous you are. The complete opposite of a selfish man like him. 

A soft groan of despair leaves him as he holds his head in his hand, flipping a spare poker chip with his thumb. 

'I'm not going to be the product of a silly little deal with the Devil, and frankly, you shouldn’t either.’ 

He was angry when you had said that, at first. But as he sits and mulls over you, he understands what you had meant. You weren’t trying to tell him how to do his job, or scolding him for his offer to you. At least, not entirely. 

You were trying to remind him that he had a choice, too. And he still does. 

…He needs another drink. 

Rumulus refills Dice’s whiskey silently, sparing his dignity by barely casting a glance. Dice blinks slowly, watching the small ripples of the drink’s surface slowly travel outwards to the edge of the glass. 

With a sigh, the manager sips and swallows his sorrows. 

And just his luck, the very object of both his affections and his misery makes their appearance. 

You’ve always had a knack for popping in at the right place, at the wrong time.

“There’s my favorite consigliere,” you greet him warmly as you slide into your usual seat beside and say hello to Ol’ Ethan and Ginette, who smile back at you. “So good to see that you’ve finally graced the casino grounds with your presence again. I was wonderin’ if you’d ever come out of that office of yours.” 

Upon hearing your voice, Dice turns his head in your direction, looking at you with an embarrassing amount of hope as he slightly sits up. He didn’t know exactly when you were planning to come back, but he’s thankful you came sooner rather than later. 

He missed you. 

“Well, I finally had a reason to come back,” Dice says truthfully, looking at you in thought before his gaze trails back down to the counter, staring at one spot as he quietly drinks. 

“Oh, really? And what would that be?” You ask, a bit softer, matching his tone. You have a feeling—or rather, a hope— that you know exactly what he meant. But, you want to hear him say it. 

“I’ve got a feelin’ you know fully well,” Dice huffs out a quiet chuckle, the first time he’s given any sort of laugh in a while, and takes another sip of his liquor. He swirls the leftover liquid in his glass for a moment before setting it down and shifting his body towards you. 

“I… missed how things were.” 

Those dashing, bright emerald eyes, staring at your own with a hint of want. The sight sends another pleasant chill down your spine. 

You missed this. You missed him. 

You offer him a more genuine smile, shifting from your previous smirk, and pick up the glass of wine Ginette had poured for you. 

“I missed you too, King.” 

Dice falls silent, watching closely as you bring the wine to your lips. 

Internally, he chides himself for hiding away for so long, even if it was only for a week. You both could’ve been over this whole fiasco, instead of him holding such a stupid grudge. It wasn’t even for a good reason. Sweet Satan, what was he thinking? 

“Anything new, since last time I saw you?” 

You ask, curiously, silently hoping that he’d be willing to hash out the elephant in the room. Though you left by choice, the thought of everything that’s transpired still plagues your mind, and you’re starting to become desperate for release.

What you’d like, is a definite answer. 

To your gratitude, Dice seems to catch on. 

“I think it’s time we had that talk, doll,” the showman guzzles down the rest of his drink and slides his empty glass away. You feel a smile curl up on your lips, and you mimic his action, finishing off your wine.

You open your mouth to start off, but Dice holds up a hand before you can speak. 

“Easy, easy. We’ll talk, I promise, but I really don’t think this is a conversation for the casino. Too stuffy and crowded,” he gestures to the rest of the floor, packed with the typical drunkards and bustling with music and games. 

“Whaddya say we get outta here and head somewhere more quiet? I know a place.” 

You feel your chest tighten a little, a bit skeptical towards the idea of heading somewhere you’ve never been, to have such an important chat. 

But despite your doubts, you’d have to agree—it’d be less meaningful to have such an important conversation in a place where the nosey folk could tune in. 

You look back at Dice, who waits expectantly for your answer. You chuckle softly and shrug your shoulders, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of waiting. 

“Lead the way, sugarcube.” 

~

Dice sneaks you out the side door of the casino building and walks you towards the cave entrance, seemingly set on taking you somewhere in the city. It’s not that you doubt his expertise in fine places around the Isles, but it’s been such a long time since the manager has taken you somewhere outside of his workplace entirely. 

You can’t help but feel intrigued, wondering what sort of ‘private place’ Dice knows about if he lives in the casino, anyway. 

You walk beside him as he takes you through the city of Isle Three, navigating quickly through the turns and twists of the streets and guiding you through all his shortcuts. You’ve lived in the city for months now, but even so, you find yourself taking mental notes at the new, faster routes Dice takes you through. 

As you both slip past the strolling city folk and speeding cars, you head towards a reddish-orange die-shaped building that acts as the barrier between Isles Three and Two. Beyond the bridge lies the carnival, where the sounds of screams and laughter echo as children play and have their fun. 

Dice gestures towards the door with his arm, allowing you to take the lead as you step towards the strange-looking building. You turn the knob and swing the door open, stepping inside and allowing Dice to follow closely behind you. He shuts the door for you, allowing you to fully take in what’s in front of you  as you pull back the red velvet curtains. 

A beautiful empty ballroom greets you back, with faded gray and white tiles and circular windows granting you a closer view of the carnival on the other side of the bridge. The walls are painted in the same floral fashion as the casino, but with slightly different colors. 

You walk across the wide corridor to the other side, curiously noting just how similar this building is compared to the casino. Ceilings just as tall as what you’ve seen before, with the same golden chandeliers hanging neatly above, with pillars coming down to the floor from their rightful corners of the room. This place would truly be remarkable for some sort of party room, with music and dancing to last for hours. 

Your ears catch on to a beautiful sticcado of jazz, and seconds later, you hear Dice’s smooth voice sounding across what sounds like a radio. 

“I’m Mr. King Dice, I’m the gamest in the land…” 

Dice watches with a hint of fondness and amusement as you listen and look around, gauging the room in fascination. It’s rather sweet, seeing you so interested in his line of work.

“I never play nice, I’m the Devil’s right hand man…” 

You laugh softly, turning back to Dice with a knowing smirk on your face. “Ever so humble, aren’t you King?” 

Dice scoffs playfully and continues leading you towards his destination, taking you past the red curtains on the other side. 

“It’s nothing short of the truth, darlin’. I’ve worked hard to get to this point, who says I can’t be proud of the title?” 

You smile defeatedly as he takes you through another golden door hidden behind the curtain, leading you to a spacious and luxurious lounging area, smelling of faded smoke and roses. Two sofas facing each other and several chairs line the center of the room, with a large coffee table placed in the middle. There are no windows on this side, allowing the space to appear dim and alluring, with wall-mounted candles providing just the right amount of light. 

There’s a low, long dresser near the back of the room, with two columns of drawers and a lovely display of rose vases placed along the top. A larger radio sits near the corner of the room, practically hidden between a few more potted plants, echoing the same tune you had heard from the ballroom. 

As the chorus starts to play, Dice makes his way over to the radio and switches the music off. It stings your heart to miss the chance of hearing the rest of the tune, but you know that this would be the better option. 

And maybe, if all is well, you’ll get to stay and listen to the song in its entirety.

The showman urges you towards the couch, beckoning for you to sit as he opens a top drawer of the dresser, pulling out a small box. He comes back over and sits beside you, opening it to reveal an organized row of cigars, wrapped to perfection. He takes one out for himself and offers another to you, lifting the box in invitation. 

Accepting, you grab the one next to the empty slot and wait patiently as Dice lights his up and takes a long pull, exhaling softly and letting the smoke seep out from his lips. You expect him to hand you his lighter and allow you to light up your own, for yourself. 

But instead, Dice has his own way of lighting yours for you.

When you look at him in waiting, your cigar brought up to your mouth in preparation to light, Dice simply leans forward and presses the glowing tip of his cigar against your dull one, letting the two ends mingle together in a fiery dance. Yours starts to become brighter, and after a couple more silent seconds, Dice leans away and nods towards you, letting you know that you’re free to take a hit. 

You let the smoke shoot into your lungs as you inhale, the burning sensation in the back of your throat pairing perfectly with the gentle hints of sweet clove on your tongue. Then, you release your deep breath, the smoke from your mouth slightly fogging the room. 

It’s comfortingly addicting, like nothing you’ve tried before. You’d need to be careful with these, before you get hooked. 

The two of you sit in silence for a little while, simply enjoying the peaceful silence and the wonderful smell of smoke. Dice gratefully lets his mind rest from all the chaos in the main floor, while you take comfort in spending the alone time with him that you had so desperately wanted.

Eventually, Dice breaks the silence, and your heart right along with it. 

“I’m not a man of love.”

Six words, and you can already feel yourself crumbling. Of course. You should’ve known better. This never would’ve worked out, and you should’ve seen that sooner. 

But you were too caught up. You hadn’t been careful enough.

“It’s not…” Dice struggles to find the words, losing his trail of thought before sighing and taking another small breath of smoke. 

You wait, respectfully, keeping your head up and refusing to show any reaction until you’ve heard him out a little more.

“It’s just not in my forte. A man like myself is just… it’s hard to explain. I didn’t think that I’d ever know what that felt like. At least, not something genuine. The ‘love’ I’ve had for people, if you can even call it that, has always been for my personal gain.”

You hold your cigar in your hand, but can’t bring yourself to smoke any more. If you do, you might just get sick.

“I enjoyed the attention it brought me. I’m the epitome of greed when I really want to be, but I’m also lustful. That’s the kind of infatuation I’m used to having—pure, selfish want. Desire. But, I had no interest in fully committing to anyone, for anything. I’ve always flown solo, and the folks would come and go as I pleased, in a transactional sort of fashion. And I was fine with that. I was happy with where I was, and I didn’t want any of that to change.” 

You bite your cheek in annoyance, moving the cigar away from your face as you try and keep your dejection down. 

This is too much. It isn’t fair. 

He doesn’t have to love you back, but is he really so selfish he’d boast about his endeavors to your face? What was the point? 

“King, listen. If you brought me here just to brag about how stone-cold you are, then I’m just—”

“But then, you came along.” 

“…What?” You question as you sit up more straightforward, urging him to continue with the silent promise that you’d let him finish his whole sentiment. 

“You walked through those doors that night, all those moons ago, and you changed everything. From the moment you sat down and ordered that whiskey. It’s pretty sad of me, letting a patron swing me by their finger the way you do without even trying to, but I just can’t help it. 

You never threw yourself onto me or begged me for a thing. In fact, I ended up becoming the one to beg you just to let me buy you a drink. To tell me your name. To let me walk you home. To take you out. 

Suddenly, I was coming to you, offering you everything just for a moment of your presence. Just to see your smile. To hear your laugh. Jesus, sweetheart, you just came in one night and turned my entire life upside down without even knowing it.” 

You feel the air in your lungs catch in your throat, rendering you breathless. The cigar in your hand continues to slowly burn its way down, creeping just a little closer to your fingers. You don’t even notice it.

“At first, I tried to convince myself that I only wanted you as a target, just like everyone else. A ticket to make Scratch happy. I wanted to get rid of these unwelcome feelings I had, and deliver your soul to prove that this was all just my excitement for something new in my job. For the longest time, I was doing everything in my power just to get you to give in. To do what I wanted you to do. Offering you so much as to stay with me, for the rest of your life, and all you had to do was sign it away. But…” 

Dice shakes his head, cursing quietly under his breath before taking another pull of his cigar, which is nearly finished. 

“But then, you rejected that contract. You told me that you weren’t about to be tied to some end of a bargain. I was so, so angry, because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing wrong–why you were being so stubborn. But also, I was scared.” 

A brief pause, that feels like a lifetime, until you finally speak. 

“Scared of what, King?” You ask, barely above a whisper, nodding for him to keep going. 

Dice sighs softly in resignation, closing his eyes for a moment before putting out the butt of his cigar on the ashtray rested neatly on the table. He’d have to bite the bush sooner or later, and he figures he’s been toying with you enough. 

“Scared of wanting a relationship. Y’know, a real one. I’ve seen and felt the affection you’ve been holding towards me. I know how much you want me to return it to you, but I’ve been too afraid to do so.” 

If you were holding onto any residual resentment for this waiting game you’ve been forced to play, it vanishes before you can catch it, the crushing weight of uncertainty lifting from your shoulders. Your cigar joins his own in the ashtray as you scoot a little closer to him, your lack of response encouraging him to continue filling the gaps. 

“I…” Dice groans in frustration and hides his face behind his hand, silently chastising himself for having such a difficult time pulling his thoughts together. 

He’s usually never the one at a loss for words. It’s always him to render other people speechless, not the other way around. The feeling is awful. 

Yet, that’s why he loves you so much. 

Much to his chagrin.  

“And I’ve been so confused, on top of everything. I didn’t quite know what I was looking for, and I think that’s what’s been scaring me too. I’m so used to just having the answers in the palm of my hand, knowing exactly what to say to get what I want. But for a little while, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted.”

You tilt your head to the side, waiting for him to finish. Patiently. Letting him get the weight off his chest. 

“But, I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said, the night you rejected the contract. Before that, when we talked about figuring this out. I didn’t have a concrete answer, even with the contract I suppose, but now I think I’ve finally got it.” 

Your breath stops, your heart racing a mile a minute as your fingers gently grip the edge of the sofa. 

Please. Say it.

“I don’t think I’m after your soul. I doubt I ever was. At least, not for my own enjoyment. I... I want you, doll. Even though I’m not too keen on this whole ‘love’ shenanigan, I can’t help but want to try. Just once. With… with you.” 

His words die off as he stops himself from continuing. Dice’s lips slowly close as he retains eye contact with you, unable to speak but hoping that the truth will show in his expression. 

He’s never been good at the whole ‘feelings’ talk—in fact, there’s really nothing he hates more. His words are choppy and all over the place, and he wonders if he’s making even a lick of sense. He hopes, desperately, that you can piece together anything missing so he can finally shut himself off and stop.

Fortunately, you do. You hear him. You see his intentions, clear as crystal. 

You’ve always been good at reading between the lines, filling in the gaps in his words when he can’t bring himself to, on his own. 

It’s a skill that both honors Dice, and terrifies him at the same time.

“King…” you start, softly, not daring to look away.

“Dice.” 

You stop in your tracks, breath caught in your throat. 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘King.’ I know I said the opposite, last time I saw you, and that others call me that as a sign of respect. But, I promise this time, ‘Dice’ will work just fine.” 

Your lips turn from an awed expression into a warm, caring smile as you scoot even closer, your hips almost touching his. Your knees gently press together, sending shivers down both of your spines as you capture his gaze in your own. 

“Alright. Dice,” you start, your smile widening as the name you rarely use for him glides so perfectly off your tongue. “I’m not willing to surrender my afterlife, under any circumstances. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now–I’m a little different than your usual kind. However…” 

You take his hand, and Dice twitches slightly at the gesture. You’re so careful with him, it almost hurts. He’s not used to this kind of affection from anyone.  

He questions if he’ll ever get the chance to be.

As if to assure him, you gently squeeze and allow your thumb to stroke the back of his glove. The tension in the showman’s muscles slowly starts to wear down, as he relaxes slightly in your touch. 

“If you really do want me, well, you have me. Free of charge, as long as I get to keep my soul,” you laugh softly, leaning in closer. “I’m yours, as long as you’d be mine.” 

Dice slowly nods, silently, practically entranced by your voice. The way your hand fits perfectly into his larger one. That intoxicating scent of your cologne. If anyone else were to see him like this, they may not believe it. 

The cold hearted monster of a pit boss, Inkwell’s most charismatic soul-stealing grifter, reduced to a glob of putty in your hands. A puppy, waiting obediently for its owner to pick him up and hold him tight. 

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and as dangerous as that can be for Dice, he doesn’t regret that.

“I…” Dice starts again, and you listen intently. “I’m not sure how this’ll go, darlin’. ” 

“That’s okay, Dice. These things are rarely ever perfect,” you promise with a wink, watching fondly as Dice’s cheeks heat right back up into an adorable pink hue. “But that’s the fun of it.  Plus, there’s no harm in trying, right?”

His eyes dart around the room for a moment as if to make sure no one snuck in behind you both. The last thing he’d want is for someone he doesn’t trust to see him so utterly helpless. 

He sighs in relief before letting out a quiet laugh, squeezing your hand back and nodding along to your words. He may not know much about the ‘love’ department, but if it’d please you, well, he’s willing to learn. 

Even if he’s gotta make some of it up as he goes. 

“I suppose not, sweetheart.” 

A grin plasters on your face, showing your teeth as you move your hand up his arm, resting against his shoulder. Your other hand reaches up and tilts his face towards you, and you lean upwards, asking for permission. 

Dice accepts by closing the gap between the two of you, locking his lips onto yours. His arms wrap around you and hold you tightly, his rough demeanor mixing with your gentle and slow touches. You melt right into his embrace, losing yourself in the aroma of smoke, cinnamon and lavender. 

It’s not the first time you two have shared a kiss by any means, but this one feels different than the rest. There’s no trace of competition, or hesitation. You don’t have to fight for air, just to keep your lips together a little while longer. 

It’s almost like he’s helping you breathe, without pulling away. 

You let yourself grin against him, feeling the triumph of finally earning the pit boss’s heart. The more you two stay together, the more relaxed Dice feels inside, and in turn the softer your kiss becomes. He rubs your back, the sensation jolting invigorating zaps of warmth up your spine. 

The feeling is new, for both of you. 

You’ve never loved someone as deeply as you do now, and the insistent tugging at your heartstrings is still a bit strange, but not unwelcome. 

Dice himself feels uncharacteristically awkward, letting himself go in front of you. In front of anyone. It’s uncomfortable, and even if only for a second, the man second-guesses his choices and debates backing out. 

But before he can break away and take it all back, your hand finds his own once again, fingers interlocking together in a perfect fit. Like a lock and key. 

He feels the soft, soothing touch of your skin through his glove, and ultimately, decides against his doubt. 

He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

They never truly warn you of just how much you truly get to know someone, once you fall in love.

And King Dice is no different. 

A relationship with the Devil’s right hand man is rather complex, no matter the kind. Let alone a romantic one. As the first chance at love he’s been willing to take, you’re introduced to a plethora of your own sort of ‘firsts’–you experience things that no other person had ever come close to even seeing. 

As exciting as such an adventure can be, that also means you’re the one writing the book. 

You’re taking things from scratch. 

Luckily for you, Dice is in a similar state. Each time his hand finds its place in your own, and simply stays there, seemingly without a concrete goal in mind… it confuses him. There should be something more to that gesture. Something you’re after. 

It had made much more sense before, when you weren’t an item. Because to Dice, that was what you had wanted, just as much as him. 

But, now that things have changed, it seems he’s lost his blueprints. He’s not sure what more you could be wanting.

He’d ask, and you simply shrug, giving his fingers a squeeze. 

“Nothin’, love. Just you.” 

It feels strange. Unfamiliar. It’s almost uncomfortable, receiving such soft gestures without the expectation of everything in return. 

He should be giving back to you, just as much. There’s no way you’re just looking to hold his hand, of all things. You want something. You’re just not telling him what that is.

He wants to find out. 

Eventually, he’d offer for you to live in the casino with him, believing that perhaps you were looking for an invitation. Not that he doesn’t want you to live with him–he does, if you’d be willing–but Dice just doesn’t feel the need to outright tell you. 

To his surprise, you had peacefully denied his offer. His shock wasn’t hidden well.

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to stay in such a place, when it’s be so easy for you to come in with me. You’d always be right where I am even when I’m working, and you’d never have to leave. You’re sure that you’d rather stay there, than here?” 

“Dice,” you shook your head with a smile, resting a hand on his arm. “I’m not gonna sell my home after I’ve just gotten it for only a few months, now. It’s something I take some pride in–it’s a home that I can personally call ‘mine’. It’s more than just a place to live, y’know?” 

He sighed, looking down at where your hand rested, focusing on your touch. That same gentle kindness that he still hasn’t gotten over. He doesn’t know if he ever will. 

So, it’s not a new home, you’re after. He shouldn’t have been so quick to assume, now that he thinks about it–you had never been one to search for money that you haven’t earned yourself. 

“Alright, doll. If you say so.”

You grinned, kissing his cheek, turning back to the book in your other hand. Dice’s gaze lingered on you, likely for longer than it should have, before he turned back to his papers. 

He felt a little more hurt than he thought he would, at the soft rejection. It’s not that you made a bad decision, just… an unexpected one. 

Your thumb brushed over his knuckle, and his hand flinched on instinct. It took every ounce of will in him to relax it, and hide his unease from you. 

It’s not quite you, that makes him antsy. At least, not entirely. 

It’s the fact that every single touch feels like a request for something. And what makes Dice on edge, is that he doesn’t know what.  

He wishes he could just read you, like he usually can with others. It’s always so easy… but now, he feels lost. 

Dice wishes you’d at least just tell him what you’re after, so he can get it to you. Just tell him. 

“What is it you’re after, sweetheart? Y’know I’d be able to get it for you, right?” 

You raise a confused brow, stifling a laugh as you close your book, setting it on his desk. You turn back towards him, showing off your pearly teeth. 

“Dice, I’m telling you, I really don’t need anything. Just you.” 

…He finds that very hard to believe. 

Not that he’s not something many people are after, no. Quite the opposite. But you’ve got a notable habit of being unpredictable. 

“Well,” he drums his fingers along the desktop, hoping you’d ignore the nervousness in his fidgeting. “You’re welcome here any time, y’know. Maybe come by more often, if you’d please.” 

You finally let your chuckling run wild, your shoulders shaking slightly as you lean back, your head on his chest. 

“Not that I’d need permission, but I’ll keep that in mind, sugarcube.” 

Keeping your word, you start coming by every day. Usually after work, or earlier on your off-days. Many times, you stay later than other patrons, retreating with Dice to his office, or even his chambers for a while.

Other times, it’s Dice who comes home with you, sucking it up and dealing with his petty displeasure of your living space. If it means he’ll spend more time with you, as he feels you’d enjoy, he figures it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. 

Anything for you, after all.

…Except when it comes to touch, it seems.

You know that it’s not your fault, but Dice is so apprehensive about touch. He had no problems before, and he doesn’t completely block your advances now, but the caution in his movements does not go unnoticed. 

And sometimes, it’s like he’s completely forgotten how to operate. 

He’s so… so tense, when you share an embrace with him or snuggle up with him. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with his arms—they're practically attached to strings that you control with your fingers. 

For someone who’s a master of passion and infatuation, Dice has absolutely no knowledge on how to take things gently. How to relax in someone’s touch, and just take it easy, without needing to think about how to “even the score.”

It breaks your heart for him, truly. Has he really been viewing everything as a transaction? A ploy for business?

When you ask him, he assures you that’s not the case, doing the best he can at easing your worries with his charming voice. 

He’s usually better with his words, anyway. 

“I promise sweetheart, I’m just trying to get used to it, is all. I’ve never truly had this sort of affection before. There’s a lot to it that I still don’t know yet.” 

You can relate to that, in your own way.

There’s a lot to Dice that you still don’t know about yet, even after months of knowing him and your short time sharing your love. 

Why he’s so scared to hold your hand, especially in front of other people. Not to mention when Scratch graces the floor. 

At least, you’re eager to find out more, however risky that might be. 

Well, that sort of risk is for Dice to know, and for you to hopefully never have to find out.

He’d hate for you to realize just how terrified he feels, at the state of not knowing. At the abilities of his boss, if he figured out the truth. 

It’s a sickening sensation.

Fear is something that Dice should never have, especially with his line of work. He may as well paint a red and white target on his back, sending himself into the lion’s den to be feasted on. 

Anxiety invites vulnerability. Vulnerability brings defeat. Defeat brings tragedy. And if Dice lets the Devil sniff out the panic that shocks his bones?

Tragedy would most certainly strike. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows it. Now that he no longer feels comfortable at the thought of swindling you, he’s sure that the boss will be taking your soul himself. If that happens, Dice won’t just lose you–he will lose everything. His status, wealth, his job. His life. 

If Dice were smarter, he wouldn’t have let you get this close to him. For both his sake, and yours. He’ll never truly regret taking this chance, but instead, the fact that he has it in the first place. 

He’s got nothing but trouble, written all over him. The sensible, humble part of him that somehow sprouted because of you, wishes you could see that and heed the warnings. 

But you had promised him you’d stick with him. No matter how hard it would get. After hearing those sacred words, Dice supposes there really is no harm in trying. Besides, you’ve always made it so difficult to say no.

So, cautiously, he lets you in. Little by little. 

~

Dice’s shoulder casually brushes over your own as he makes his usual rounds through the casino, his eyes scanning the floors and tables for any signs of trouble. He laughs it up and chats with the regulars, extending his most enticing greetings and guiding any stray newcomers to the tables. 

The unfamiliar faces are immediately drawn to Dice’s low voice, and the poor fools are so quick to trust him. To fall for his tricks.

You shudder a little, imagining their undeniable fates. 

To think, that could have been you, if you had let it be.

You wonder if, even after everything you’ve been through, you trust Dice wholeheartedly. Just like they do, so easily. Whether he’s earned it. 

Before you can hold it back, you cast him a slightly apprehensive glance. When Dice catches it, you can see his icy eyes soften slightly, and he gives you a small wink of encouragement. His smile widens just a little more, coaxing one of your own to appear.

Yes… you suppose he has. 

You feel yourself start to relax in his presence, winding down in front of the other guests. The more you allow yourself to loosen up, the more open you become, and soon enough you are the one doing some of the talking for him. 

A part of you starts to understand why Dice loves his work so much. You can’t lie–the attention you receive for even being associated with him feels oddly wonderful.

Drinks are passed around as you and your beloved settle for a quick round of dealing at the Blackjack table–a scotch for Dice, an old-fashioned for you, and various boozes and wines for the other players. 

The chair that Dice rests in could be mistaken for a throne, as all the other players find solace in their measly stools, waiting anxiously for their dealer to shuffle. He obliges, picking up the deck and letting his fingers methodically sift through each card. 

A sneaky Ace of Hearts slips up his sleeve, completely unnoticed by everyone else, but picked up on by you. A smirk curls against your lips as you see what’s unfolding, keeping quiet as you share the same wicked grin with your partner. 

He passes the deck to the five players in front of him, sliding two cards to each before setting a neat pile down in the middle, for those who’d like to hit. 

A crowd gathers around to watch, ready to see the match unfold. As the skeletons and other demonic creatures perch behind the players to view the hands at play, several dames flock towards Dice to rest near his seat, offering flirtatious greetings and leaning close, much to your annoyance. 

What increases your frustration, is when Dice returns said greetings. 

He offers the group a smile, humming smoothly as they all swoon beneath his gaze. 

“Well don’t you ladies look wonderful, tonight. Come by to see the magic?” 

They nod eagerly, giggling in excitement over the small moment of attention, watching the match with expectant eyes. You scoff slightly and send Dice a warning dagger, and he barely offers a shrug. 

The players fret over their cards, a couple choosing to hit until they reach the highest score they can. One confident skeleton chooses to stand from the start, clearly happy with his hand. Dice watches with unbothered eyes as he expertly swaps a spare Queen with his Ace. No one but you notices a thing, too focused on the group surrounding the table. 

Once everyone stands, Dice gestures for them to flip their cards around to show off their scores. Pretty decent hands—you spot some eighteens, a seventeen, a nineteen, even a twenty from the cocky player from before. 

Surely, he’s got this one in the bag, everyone thinks. The odds are certainly in his favor.

But what the newbies never seem to grasp about the Devil’s Casino, is that the house always wins in the end. 

Dice gives a simple nod of acknowledgement to the group before smirking and showing his pair of cards, much to the players’ dismay. In the pit boss’s perfectly white gloved hands rests a King of Hearts, with a matching Ace to go with it. 

Blackjack. A perfect score of twenty-one.

The women from before cheer happily in congratulations, and the spectating crowd gawks in amazement at Dice’s perfect hand. You clap quietly, reserved in your support.

The skeleton with the twenty hangs his skull in defeat as he and the rest of the players slide their money towards the dealer’s spot to be collected by the other staff. Chips and the Domino twins make quick work of the funds, sending an eager look towards their boss as they head off to store the money. 

Dice offers the forlorn group a sympathetic smile as he stands, his arm securing around your shoulders just as it had before.

“Tough luck, fellas! You played a good game. Don’t let the loss trip you up—I’m sure you’ll have much more luck on your next round, if you give yourselves another shot.” 

You know that tone in his voice. Manipulation. Undetectable by anyone else, who might not know him like you do. 

Those players are hopeless and you both know it, but the casino’s gotta bring home the bank somehow. 

To Dice’s expectation, the players lighten up, offering their hands in sportsmanship before heading along their merry way, like they hadn’t just suffered any losses. Chips, as if on cue, takes Dice’s spot at the dealer’s chair to allow his boss to enjoy himself. 

“You count the stacks, Chips?” 

“Faster than a blink! About 6 Benjamins, with the five wagers added up.” 

“Perfect. Give ‘em hell.” 

“You got it, Boss.” 

Dice whisks you away from the table, allowing his lackey to do his job. He looks down at you, his smile faltering slightly as you don’t return his gaze with quite the same energy. Something’s off in the look on your face, even when you try to smile back at him. 

Now, he knows there’s something you’re after. He feels more comfortable, with your hand on his arm.

“What’s eatin’ at you, darlin’?” 

“Dice, could I ask you somethin’?” 

Dice raises an eyebrow at your tone, suspicion etched on his features as you both head to the bar, so you can be blessed with a little privacy. 

“Anything.” 

You knock your head back to where the crowd had dispersed, gesturing towards the women who have moseyed their way to the Poker tables.

“Listen—I know you’re a big shot around here, and we’re still kinda keeping this fling on the down-low, but must you always return the affection of those who give it to you?” 

Dice tilts his head to the side, struggling to see the problem. 

“I mean, I’m not not gonna acknowledge others’ presence, when I see it. The fans are the biggest part of the job, since they fuel the fires of the casino all together. It’s pretty important to keep up appearances.”

You let out a disgruntled sigh and nearly facepalm, shaking your head in disbelief. That’s not what you were talking about. 

“Dice, I’m not talking about simple conversation–I mean the flirting. Y’know, with those floozies from before? And now that I think about it, some other fellas, from these past few weeks? Hell, anyone who’s got their hands all over you?” 

Dice thinks for a minute, before nodding slowly in recognition. 

“Well, I wouldn't think much of it at all. You know where my heart’s at, don’t you? The others don’t mean a thing to me.” 

“That’s great and all, but instead of telling me this, how about showing it?” You sigh, doing your best to keep your voice lowered to keep the conversation to yourselves. The last thing either of you need is for the public to eavesdrop. 

Dice frowns at you in skepticism.

“Do I not already do that? We spend every waking second together when you’re here, what else could I do? What is it you’re looking for?” 

“Dice, you can’t keep flirting with other people and making it seem like you’re still available. You’re not on the market anymore, whether we keep this relationship a secret or not.” You rest your chin on your hand, casting a forlorn look to the rest of the room.

“It’s a bit painful to see you give other people that kind of treatment when you’re already with me. I’m not tryna tell you to not talk with anyone else, just to cut it with the charms and the winks, alright? That’s all I’m sayin’.” 

The man lightens up a little as you speak, taking in your request as he mulls over his glass of scotch. 

Eventually, he sighs and smiles slightly, looking back at you with those half-lidded eyes that you had fallen in love with a long time ago. 

“Well, that’s not nearly a big request as I was expecting, baby. I think I can do that, just fine.”

So, that’s all you really want. He really should have seen this coming. 

It’s his attention that you’re after. Something so easy to give. For you, he’s got that in buckets.

You return the smile once again, humming softly in approval as your hand finds its way on top of Dice’s, patiently allowing his hand to twitch slightly before relaxing in your grip. 

“Thank you, Dice.” 

Dice waves his hand dismissively, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. 

“It’s no biggie darlin’, don’t worry about it. If that’s what you want, I’ll deliver.”

“No, really, thank you. I know it’s tough, getting used to having your focus on just one person like this. It’s somethin’ new, I get it.” 

You’ve got no idea, Dice thinks to himself as he gives your hand a squeeze of affection. If only you knew. 

“Listen, if you’re happy, I’m happy. No more flirting.” 

You chuckle, running your thumb along the crease running down the side of his glove. 

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with flirting in general, as long as you do it with the right person…” 

Dice catches on to your words, a smirk forming on his face as he leans in closer to you, his grin turning more playful. 

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, then.” 

You both share a soft laugh, quietly clinking your drinks together in harmony before finishing what’s left, leaving the empty glasses behind for Ol’ Ethan to take care of. The two of you sit for a while, letting the alcohol take control of your senses as you watch the floor, occasionally chatting with one another about an exciting game or a comedic display of desperation from a poor fool down on his luck. 

An hour or so passes, and you decide you’ve had enough for one night.

“I’ll be heading home, my love. Stay as long as you need, I know you’re still on shift for another couple hours,” you smile warmly, sneaking a quick kiss to Dice’s cheek as you stand and gather yourself. “If I have the privilege of your company tonight, you know where to find me.” 

“I’ll be there sooner than you think, sweetheart.” 

Satisfied, you hastily kiss his cheek goodbye, giving him another smile before taking your leave. With a wave, you disappear behind the golden doors, leaving Dice in his welcomed solitude. 

As you step closer to the edge of Inkwell Hell’s cave, you feel a chill run down your spine. 

It’s not particularly cold out–it’d be strange if the weather were the cause. Besides, if it had been the air outside, the chill would have gone away by now. 

But it lingers, traveling up your back and sneaking around your shoulders, enveloping you in an uncomfortable icy tremor. 

Instinctively, you whirl your head behind you to check and see if anyone’s following your footsteps. 

No one. 

The casino’s bursting lights and the echoes of the ruckus happening inside are all that greet you back. With a suspicious squint, you slowly turn back around, picking up your pace as you leave Inkwell Hell with the chill following your tail. 

A pair of glowing, beady yellow eyes, the same as the day you first left Dice’s quarters, stay glued to you as you make your exit. Watching you closely, with every step. 

Once you’re gone completely, the casino owner steps away from his spot at the balcony, retreating indoors to make an appearance on the main floor. 

There’s a certain pit boss that he needs to see. 

~ 

The lonely manager turns in his seat, having had enough of people-watching for a while as he traces the burls of the wooden counter, finding quiet comfort underneath the shroud of chaos that graces the rest of the floor. The rowdy arguments over unlucky pulls of the slots and the laughter of the groups at their tables becomes muffled as Dice loses himself in thought, his mind guiding him back to you, and the conversation you both had before you left. 

He’s seen his fair share of jealousy come from other people when Dice doesn’t give them the attention they think they deserve–some even make their possessiveness known through their words, or their actions. The display usually fills the man with utter annoyance as he watches his prey fight over him, tearing each other apart like wild dogs. He has no tolerance for such behavior. It’s pathetic. 

You, however, are a different story. 

You said nothing, only giving him a look when he flirted with that group of characters, earlier. Now that he thinks about it, you hardly said a word when he had similar encounters with other people, in earlier times. 

He thinks about how it’d feel, if those roles were reversed. If instead, it had been you receiving some longing remarks from folks who don’t matter. 

Dice isn’t sure how he’d handle that. He questions whether he’s ready for that to happen. If he can be as reserved as you are.

He really landed a good one. You’re extraordinary. 

“There’s the man of the hour! Just the guy I’ve been lookin’ to chat with. Ey Rum, the usual.”

Dice jolts in his stool at the sudden newcomer, turning to the side to meet face to face with Scratch himself, his furry form perched neatly in the seat you always sit in. He flashes Dice a toothy grin as Rumulus quickly places down a glass of spirytus, sliding the drink towards the Devil’s seat. 

The demon king picks up the glass and downs all of its contents in just one swig, sending a shiver down Dice’s spine.

That drink is nearly pure alcohol, and yet, his boss drinks it like it’s water.

“Somethin’ you’re hankering for, Boss?” The lavender-clad man starts, carefully, leaning back against the counter in hopes that his superior just stopped by for a friendly chat. 

Even though that'd rarely be the case. 

“You could say that, Dice…” The Devil replies casually, waiting with an expectant claw as Rumulus refills his empty glass with the deadly vodka. “But we’ll get to that. How’s the funding lookin’?” 

“Same as always, I’m sure. Money’s multiplyin’ by the hundreds, waiting for you in the safe room.”

“Good, good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Dice fidgets awkwardly in his seat, trying to think of the best route out of this conversation. 

The small talk is practically unbearable. A tool for the Devil to keep Dice where he’s sitting, toying with him and beating around the bush, building just the right amount of suspense for the elephant in the room. 

“So,” the showman begins, hoping to distract his boss for a spell. “It’s been a while since I last saw you make a grand appearance on the floor. Must be nice to get outta the office for a while, eh?”

“Oh, you’re tellin’ me! The throne room’s great and all, but I pick up on some interesting things when I finally get the chance to step away. Speaking of, you’ll never guess who I saw trekkin’ it outside of Hell just a little while ago!” 

There it is.

“Really? Who might that be?”

“Your little friend, Dice…” The Devil seethes expectantly, his forked tongue clicking against the back of his fangs as his claws drum against the countertop. “Y’know, the one who I still have yet to see a signed contract for.” 

“Right,” Dice nods, showing his attention, cutting his chatter brief. “That one.” 

“Which, by the way, I can’t help but notice that they’ve been comin’ by a lot more often, nowadays! And ninety-nine percent of the time, they’re attached right to your hip. How funny is that?!” Satan bellows a laugh, but Dice knows better than to return the energy. The beast is not looking for niceties. 

That laugh is a warning. 

“So, what I’m hankerin’ for, right now, is answers. Tell me, Dice. How is that target you promised me coming along? Any progress on that ‘tough nut to crack’ as you had previously put it?” 

“Tougher than ever.” Dice quickly searches through his vocabulary, scrambling to find the right words to say. The correct answer to the puzzle that Scratch had laid out in front of him. 

Reflecting his boss’s words would be a good place to start.

“But I’m making good progress, that’s for sure. Like you said, they come by every day now, and each day they fall more and more in love with the place. I reckon I finally have them settling down, and when the right time comes, I’ll have their soul in a snap.” 

“In a snap, you say? Really now?” The Devil laughs again, guzzling down his alcohol rather crudely. 

“You’ve been having this attitude for a good few months now, Dice. You say that same line over and over again, but you have yet to deliver on these promises. I’m starting to have my doubts,” he sneers, leaning close to his lackey and scanning for any signs of bluffing. Any traces of hidden malice or betrayal. 

“You sure I can still believe those words?” 

“Of course you can! Especially now that I’ve got ‘em wrapped around my fingers like this,” Dice shoots back, returning the move easily without a single crack in his voice.

“I’ve got ‘em coming every day, tempting them more and more each time… I promise, the contract will soon be yours, and I will have proved you wrong,” he lies, easily. Expertly. 

Just as he’s been taught. 

“Hmm…” Scratch muses, his claws scratching against the polished wood, carving out a couple splinters. “Alright, ‘Number One,’ I’ll let you off. I trust you. Besides, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties too long, after all. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to me, am I right?” The toothy grin reappears, his eyes glowing a bright yellow as they bore into Dice’s emerald ones. 

“Just remember where your loyalties lie, Dice.” 

“I wouldn’t dare forget, Boss.” 

“Oh, and before I forget! Perhaps, this will help you remember for the future. Maybe even the next time you see ‘em,” the monster beside Dice purrs lowly, forming a pristine, golden scroll with a snap of his clawed fingers. 

He snatches the levitating paper with ease, rolling up the parchment and tying it off with a crimson ribbon. With a smirk, he tosses the scroll into Dice’s hands, watching with knowing eyes as the die examines the crisp edges. 

A contract. 

A contract that, if Dice follows his boss’s orders, will soon be yours. 

Again.

A familiar lump crawls into Dice’s throat, leaving him unable to answer as Scratch lets out a hearty laugh, grinning sharply as the manager slowly places the contract into his breast pocket. 

His heart pounds against it like a lifeline, thudding over and over as a reminder of the impossible task that’s set before him. 

Heartburn floods through his chest like it’s on fire.

“Good talk, Dice. Always a good talk between us,” the Devil concludes in his friendly, untrustworthy manner, tossing his newly empty glass to Ginette for her to polish up. He stands, offering Dice a firm pat on the shoulder, his tail flickering in warning as he retreats back the way he came, slipping behind the large Employees Only door that leads to the hall. 

Dice releases the breath he was holding, finally allowing himself to let down the front he was keeping. 

His heart never stops thumping. The room becomes slightly warmer than it was before. It suddenly gets a bit harder for him to breathe. 

Dice should’ve known that the Devil wouldn’t just ‘forget’ about one person. Especially when that person is so close to him.

Why didn’t he see this coming?

He turns back around, resting his head against the coolness of the wood as Ginette pours him a spare glass of dry wine. The showman accepts it in melancholy, sipping at it sparingly as he tries to quell the inner turmoil that he didn’t think would come back so soon.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he tries to think through the nerves bubbling in his stomach, feeling the weight of that unusually heavy piece of paper tucked away on the inside of his jacket.

“Yeah… good talk.”

Chapter Text

Dice stares down his half-empty wine, seeing nothing but the Devil’s laughing face within the dark liquid. 

His heart races, frantically searching for a way to burst out of his chest entirely, but the heaviness on his chest keeps it at bay. 

It thuds desperately against the scroll of paper hidden in his tailcoat, growing helpless by the minute. 

With a heavy sigh, the manager rather inelegantly downs the rest of the glass, ridding the image of his boss and quickly sliding the glass down the countertop for Rumulus to clean. He nods to his staff, silently thanking them before making his way back around the floor. 

The rest of the night is rather uneventful, and maybe even boring for Dice’s tastes, but he welcomes it. He’d rather just get the last hour done with, and get out of there for the night. To go to your home, embrace you, and eat something. 

The skeletons lazily converse over pints of ale, cheering haphazardly when the telltale rings of the slot machines announce a new winner. Demons of every kind surround the felt-top tables, either watching excitedly or trying their hands. 

Same as always.

When he’s checked every table, ensuring that nothing–and no one –is out of place, he makes one last stop at the bar. The man quickly counts the wine stock in his head, paying less care than he should, before bidding farewell to Ginette and Ol’ Ethan, begrudgingly putting Mr. Wheezy in charge of the night hours. 

Once Dice is sure that his staff will be fine, he darts out the door, hoping that the distance from the Devil’s domain will ease the pressure in his chest. 

His heart still pounds harshly against the contract. The contract that now, he doesn’t want to have. 

His pace is quick as he strides towards the edge of the cave, eager to leave the life he had grown so accustomed to behind, even if only for a few hours. 

An awful chill shoots down his spine, and Dice knows exactly where it comes from. He curses under his breath, refraining from whirling around and shouting towards the casino’s tower.  Shouting for his boss to get his eyes off of him.

Dice shudders out a breath, refusing to look back as he leaves the cave. Though the chill dwindles, it never completely disappears. 

He frowns as he walks the streets, ignoring the hushed whispers of those whom he passes by. 

What’s a man like him to do? 

The Devil is certainly no idiot–if he doesn’t act quickly, he’ll piece the whole story together. He’ll easily discover Dice’s affair with you. Even with all the years of undying submission to him, how would his boss react to such disobedience? 

He wishes not to know.

Unfortunately, he’s less off the hook than he’d like. Dice had heard the frustration in that tone he had used. Saw it in his red, gaping pupils. Felt it in his touch, from the shoulder pat that the pit boss still has the sting from. 

Scratch is suspicious, and Dice had already gotten the warning. 

And one warning is more than enough.

He mulls over his choices as he walks along the docks, the gentle waves crashing against the pier. He watches the water closely, taking a gander at his reflection that trembles with the ripples. 

He weighs his choices, the contract still heavy on his heart. 

Does he tell you what’s happening? Does he let you know that even though he loves you for you, it’d be in your best interest just to sign the contract anyway? For both of your sakes? If so, how would that conversation even go? 

How is Dice even supposed to ask such a hard thing from you? What would be your benefit, aside from what you already have? And why, why should he expect you to make that sacrifice for someone like him? 

He shouldn’t, really. It’s not your place to save him from his own decisions–he doesn't need to be a genius to know that much. You don’t deserve that, and you know it. 

Perhaps, he can toss the scroll into the harbor beside him, and simply forget. If his boss asks, he’ll say he lost it.

Or, if anything, he could forge your signature and pluck out your soul while you’re sleeping… quick and painless, and even though you might hate him for it, you’d still be alive. He’d have saved you from the horrible pain that could’ve come your way.

But, something tells him that such secrecy, even well-intentioned, is not what true love is about. 

…He’ll come back to that. 

What of his boss? 

The King of Hell? A fully fledged demon lord, who has been tricking poor mortals for millennia? How is he supposed to outsmart Satan?! Does he follow his will, as he’s been doing for the last two decades? Look at where he stands now, because of that decision. He’s made a pretty great life for himself, so surely there wouldn't be too much harm to continue to do so, right? 

Or, on the contrary, what if he were to… challenge the Devil? 

Break the rules of his contract, and disobey direct orders? Surely, he’d lose everything. His money. His fame. His power. You. 

Perhaps, even his own life…

Is there a chance that he’s overreacting? That he could get away with this small act of defiance? Would it be worth the risk? 

…Dice needs a smoke. 

He pauses in his tracks near a light pole perched at the edge of the docks, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a spare cigar along with a lighter. With slightly trembling hands, he quickly lights up the tip and takes a hit, exhaling softly as he leans against the pole for support. 

He’s fine. It’s fine. Catastrophe isn’t here yet, and as long as Dice can pull himself together and think for a moment, it won’t be here for a long time. He just needs to breathe.

In. Out. 

The tobacco fills his lungs and hazes his mind, allowing the overwhelmed manager to rest his eyes for a moment and reflect. As he exhales, a small bout of smoke escapes his lips and pools around him like a warm, intoxicating embrace. 

The sensation reminds him of you, in a way. Sweet with a bite of fire, and subtle enough to keep Dice grounded without overtaking him entirely. 

This is doable. Dice just has to think. Search for an answer. Anything. 

He needs more time.

He extinguishes his cigar against the pole, leaving a considerable ash mark against the steel before continuing his route, his mind traveling down one path after another as he figures out what to do. What to say. 

A lie.

He’ll lie to his boss. He’ll tell him that he had started to back off, because you had gotten close to figuring things out a few times, and he no longer wants to take such a big risk. He’ll be more careful, and he will do the Devil’s bidding of course, but it will take a lot longer than he thought. This’ll buy him some more time to figure out a more permanent solution. It’s not the best course of action, but it’s all he’s got. 

Dice finally approaches your home and steps onto your porch, gathering himself as he prepares to knock against the door. Before he even taps his knuckles against the wood, the door swings open and you step out, grinning at your partner in greeting. 

“There you are! Come inside, you made it just in time.” 

Dice lets himself smile in relief, following you inside the house and shutting the door behind him. He removes his shoes on the door mat, lining them up perfectly next to yours at the corner near the door. 

He nearly rids himself of the coat as well, but the red ribbon that threatens to peek out forces him to stop dead in his tracks.

A sudden, delicious aroma reaches his nose, warming him up from the outside chill and causing his stomach to growl a little. 

Sweet Jesus, that smells incredible. 

“I stopped by the market on my way home earlier and saw some celery that was for sale, so I decided to whip up some soup. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s warm enough, right? You hungry?” 

If Dice were to have any less dignity in his bones, he would have already rushed to the kitchen and eaten the whole pot. His stomach growls again, his mouth watering slightly as he continues to take in the aroma. 

Smiling softly, you watch in amusement as nods eagerly. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” 

Yes. Absolutely.  

But, as starved as he is, Dice can’t bring himself to eat just yet. 

He’s gotta take care of what’s in his jacket.

“You have no idea, doll. Sit tight for me, will ya? I’m just gonna put this in the closet real fast.” 

“Of course, Dice. Supper’s not going anywhere.” 

Feigning a smile, Dice walks up the stairs, ducking slightly to keep his head from hitting the small doorway before stepping into the hall. Once he’s sure you can no longer see him, he quickly dashes into your bedroom, searching for a vessel. 

He makes a beeline towards the bed, opening up the top drawer of the nightstand on his usual side. He shoves the contract that Scratch had given him into the mix of various possessions. 

Eager to get the damned thing out of his sight, the showman slams the drawer shut and shoves his coat onto a hanger, placing it on a rack before shutting the closet door. 

Out of sight, out of mind.  

Relieved at the weight of that contract being lifted off his chest, he retreats down the steps he came from, returning to your smiling face and allowing you to lead him into the dining room. 

You urge him to sit at the small table you share together before heading into the connected kitchen to fix a bowl for him. He waits, as patiently as he can, until you set the steaming hot dish in front of him. 

“Some champagne to drink?” 

“Please.”

He stares down at the bowl as you pour him a heaping glass of the offered beverage, his stomach doing somersaults. The broth is beautifully golden, piping hot, with wonderfully colorful bits of chicken and vegetables peeking above the surface. Beneath the pockets of broth, beautifully crisp dumplings await, sweetly inviting Dice to have a taste. 

The man could cry. 

“Go ahead, honey,” you smile as you suddenly take your seat beside him, your own bowl in front of you. “Please, eat. And tell me what you think—I just came up with this on a whim, so don’t be shy about your opinions either.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

Dice picks up the spoon you had given him, gathers a spoonful of the steaming broth that sits in the bowl, and takes a sip. 

He isn’t sure he’ll ever make it to heaven, his soul has been doomed to hell the moment he struck a deal with his boss. But hell, if this is what’s offered to him on Earth? Heaven be damned. This is close enough, anyway. 

You’re right—it’s nothing fancy. It’s no filet or any hors d'oeuvres. There’s not an ounce of gold leaf or black truffle in sight to soothe Dice’s expensive palette. You used cheap ingredients from one of the markets on the corners of the city streets. 

And yet, Dice hasn’t ever tasted something so wonderful. 

He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully through the meat and vegetables, savoring the perfect seasonings and finding immense comfort in the way the warm broth travels down his throat. It’s been years since he’s had a home cooked meal like this. 

The last one he remembers is his mother’s. 

His hand takes hold of his glass and takes a small sip, realizing this was the same champagne that he had given you all that time ago, when you had first bought your home and celebrated with him. 

It pairs with the soup exquisitely.

Another bite. And another. In seconds, Dice is devouring his food, focusing solely on the harmony of different flavors and textures happening in his mouth. The conversation you two share as you eat is mostly one-sided, with Dice being the listener, for a change.

You watch, amazed and slightly worried, as Dice quickly finishes the bowl you brought for him. You’re thrilled that he clearly enjoys the happy accident you threw together, but with the way he’s eating, you wonder if it’s because he actually enjoys the food, or if he’s just hungry. 

“Dice, have you eaten today?” 

He hesitates for a moment, swallowing his bite and sipping on the wine. 

“Well, I had some drinks of course, and I’ve been grazing in between breaks like I usually do.” 

“I don’t mean some small bites. I’m talkin’ an actual meal. Have you sat down and given yourself time to have lunch? Breakfast?” 

“Well, it’s been a busy day today, so… no.” 

You stare at him in shock, your head reminding you of the first date you two had ever had together. It had never really stuck you until now, but you remember Dice’s confession about his busyness getting in the way of his eating, during your first date. 

You didn’t pay too much heed to what he had said, but now that you think about it, he eats like this all the time when you two go out. When the cards bring your meals after work and you stay with him. He eats like it’s the last meal he’ll ever get. 

All because he just doesn’t have the time. 

How does he live like that?

“Dice, that’s awful!” You scold gently, taking another bite of your own soup in dismay. 

“You’re on your feet ninety percent of the time, and you work long hours. How have you not fainted yet? You cannot keep eating like this. You need to have at least two larger meals per day, I insist on it!” 

Dice sips a bit more broth, his movements slowing a little in surprise. You’ve both been together for a few weeks now, and this is just now coming up? He thought he explained all this to you, why haven’t you said anything sooner? 

Has he been slacking so much that his habits were just that much more visible? 

He looks at his bowl, nearly empty now, and understands why you’re so concerned. He’s still hungry. 

Maybe you’re right—he’s gotta get a better daily routine. Even a quick breakfast before work oughta fix this at least a little. 

“I didn’t know it bothered you so, darlin’. I barely notice, myself–I’m surprised that you could pick up on these things so fast.” 

“Of course I do, Dice. I have to, because you’re too preoccupied to worry about these things yourself. I see how hard you work, constantly, with barely any breaks. I’m just picking up on the subtleties you miss when you’re too busy to notice.”

“Alright, but why?” 

You furrow your brow, as if he had asked you the craziest question you’ve ever heard. 

“I–Dice, because I love you.” 

Dice feels his breath catch in his throat at the sudden firmness in your tone. You both have told each other that same phrase, many times now, and Dice had thought he had gotten accustomed to it. 

Truth be told, it’s gotten easier to dish it out and take it, but there’s something about the tone you used in this particular time that throws him off. Leaves him awestruck. 

“I love you too, sweetheart, but what does that have to do with anything?”

You sigh, resting your elbows on the table and leaning forward, barely batting an eye as Dice picks up the bowl and drinks whatever remaining broth is left. It’s clear that he needs every last drop—you make a mental note to get another fixing for him once you’re done talking. 

“Loving someone is much more than saying the phrase, my dear. It’s about showing it. I don’t think you realize it, but you show your love through gift-giving. Flirtations and charming words. I show it through things like this. Acts of service. Finding what’s wrong, and making an effort to fix it. Even if sometimes, it means I gotta drill it into that marvelous, yet dense head of yours.” 

You chuckle slightly as you finish, the sound allowing Dice to ease up a little. You’re not truly angry at him, not at all. Just concerned, and a little dumbfounded at his lack of awareness. 

Dice stares with slightly parted lips, unable to help feeling awed. You love him tremendously, and though Dice clearly hasn’t noticed before… you show it in so many ways. 

Through problem-solving, as you said. Obviously, through patience. Through thoughtful gestures, such as cooking him dinner or waiting up for him when he works late. Doing the small things that you really don’t have to do, all for his sake. 

Love is such a fickle thing, isn’t it? 

“I guess I never really noticed until you pointed it out. I’m sorry I haven’t noticed or said anything about the things you do behind the scenes.” 

“Eh, don’t fret. I would’ve said something if that were a problem to me. Like I said, you work incredibly hard, Dice. So hard that you forget things–including to take care of yourself, sometimes. I’m simply filling those gaps for you when you need it.” 

“You work just as hard, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

You laugh, sending a triumphant look his way. 

“Of course I do. I’m just so amazing that I can do both.” 

Dice can’t help but laugh along with you, raising his drink to you in affirmation. 

“That you are, my love.”

You both share a smile with one another, clinking your glasses together and sipping away at the sparkling drink. Your free hand snakes under the tablecloth and searches for Dice’s, locking your fingers together as soon as you feel the silky fabric of his glove. 

The surprised twitch you’ve grown used to nudges against your hand, but Dice squeezes a little faster than the other times you’ve locked hands together. Much less hesitantly. As if he’s more accepting of the affection, now. 

Dice’s eyes flicker back and forth between your gaze and the empty bowl in front of him, his face going slightly blank as he thinks about what he should say next. He doesn’t need to think for long, though. You can read those beautiful greens like an open book. 

“How about I get you another bowl, sugarcube?”

“I’d appreciate that, sweetheart.” 

~

Once you’re sure Dice has had enough to eat, you pick up your bowls and head back into the kitchen to put away the leftovers and give the dishes a wash. Feeling slightly out of place, Dice follows you, having the decency to at least see what he can do to help you out. With a grateful smile, you allow him to take care of drying, while you wash. The sink turns on, steaming water flooding into the sink as you roll up your sleeves. 

Both of you fall into a peaceful rhythm of washing, drying, and hanging the dishes on a rack to be put away later. 

As you hum quietly to yourself, your mind thinking of mundane activities in your nightly routine, Dice listens intently to your improvised tune. Sparing you a couple glances as you both work, the man finds himself joining along, picking apart your gentle melody and following behind it with a deeper, lower harmony. Upon hearing the new sound through the clanking of dishes and the running water through the sink, your smile widens. 

This. 

This is all you’ve wanted for yourself, right here in this room. A simple home in the city with a stable job, shared with someone you love. Just the two of you, humming together as you bask in each other’s presence, doing simple chores. No words needed.

The lights come off as you both step out of the kitchen, your arm brushing against his as you lead him up the narrow stairway. The only sounds are the quiet creaks of the steps, protesting against your weight as your feet lay down pressure against them. You both are like mischievous children, grinning silently with one another as you sneak off into your bedroom. 

Like Dice makes sure to tell you every time he comes to stay with you, your room is simple. Small. But for you, it’s perfect. Plenty of space aside from the bed, with a small closet in one corner of the room. The moonlight shines through your humble window, its dimmed rays falling over the quilt you had laid out over the mattress. Two nightstands are on each side–one in the corner with a simple lamp for you, and another for Dice, in a similar fashion, including three drawers beneath the top surfaces.

You don’t dare look inside his, allowing your beloved to have at least a little shred of privacy in your space.

Dice sighs softly as he sheds his vest, draping it over the chair of the small desk you keep near the closet door. You smile warmly to yourself as you watch him unbutton his dress shirt, heading over to your closet to change yourself and to fish out something for him. 

Slipping off your outfit to change into some simple sleep clothes, you grab a spare set from the rack and step out. Taking a couple seconds to admire as you walk over to him, you smile and rest your head on his bare shoulder, handing him the clothes with playful hesitation. 

“As much as I’d love to tell you otherwise, I suppose you should dress for the night…” 

Laughing slightly at your teasing lament, Dice slips on the clothes and runs his hands up against your sides, guiding you to the bed and sitting with you on the edge. 

“Well, don’t be too discouraged. I’m sure they won’t stay on for long, if you’re really that interested.” 

Dice tilts his head a little and stares down at you seductively, waiting patiently for your answer as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

Your response, though, shuts him off.

“I would love to, but I can’t tonight. I gotta get up early to meet at the news station for a conference. The entertainment column has been slow for a little while, so we’re debriefing to figure out a plan.”

“That’s showbiz, I presume,” Dice muses understandingly into your ear, his hand on your side lowering ever so slightly. “Such a shame, though. I’d been looking forward to having you to myself for a little while longer tonight…” 

You’ve got half a mind to abandon your instinctive need for rest to satisfy Dice’s (and your) cravings for each other, but after a long minute of hesitation, you exhale dramatically and shake your head. 

“Sorry, sugarcube. It’s just for tonight, I promise. I’ll have much more time to make it up to you tomorrow at the casino,” you purr, your lips turning upwards into a smile. “I’ll treat us to some drinks, if you’re interested.”

Dice hums softly in delight, but his smile isn’t permanent. 

He cringes a little, remembering what had soured his mood in the first place.

As much as he’d like to entertain your fantasies… he just…

‘Just remember where your loyalties lie, Dice.’

No. He can’t let you back in that place. He needs to keep you separate, for now.

“I don’t think so, doll.”

You pause, your mouth twisting in confusion as you lock your gaze into his. Leaning forward slightly, you beckon for him to continue. 

“It’s just…” Dice grimaces slightly and looks away from you, his arm scratching the back of his collarbone. 

An unsettling feeling rises up in his stomach, nauseating him and causing him to feel slightly dizzy. The words spill from his tongue like a firehose, as much as he wants to close his mouth and shut the hell up. Just leave it there. 

Instead, he makes up an excuse. 

A lie.

“Things are getting pretty hectic at the casino, right now. It’s why I had to come home late tonight anyway–the boss needs some extra help with paperwork, and funding’s been pretty scarce since last month. The patrons are getting as rowdy as ever, too. I think you’ve seen it for yourself, recently. I just don’t think it’d be wise for you to spend so much time on the main floor–it’s much too chaotic, even I’m having a hard time enjoying myself out there.” 

You furrow your brow, looking at him with suspicion towards the sudden change in attitude. There was nothing overly crazy that you had seen on the floor today, or the last several times you’ve been there with him. 

Why is it no longer a good idea for you to spend time with him at the one place he spends most of his time? 

“Well, I suppose avoiding the floor makes sense… but the casino in general? Could I not just meet you at the side–”

“No.”

You stare at him for a moment in surprise, not expecting such an interruption. Looking for answers in his tense, icy emeralds, all you see is firm resolution. You’ve never seen him look so sure of his answer. 

His eyes soften slightly at your shock, his resolve cracking a little. He twinges a little, at the tone he used. He didn’t mean to suddenly snap like that, but you’re making this way harder than it needs to be, and Dice isn’t sure how long he can keep this up. 

“It’s only for a while, until I can figure out a way to smooth things over and get everything back to how it once was. Reserved. Enjoyable. Right now it’s just not a fun place to be. Even in the private wings, it’s all just papers and hustle.”

“But Dice, what does that have anything to do with me? It might be that way for you, but why do I have to stay away?” 

Dice thinks for a moment, and settles for a half-truth. 

“I don’t want you stumbling into something you can’t get yourself out of, even though I know that you’re smarter than that. I just don’t want to take the chance. As someone whose job is all about risk-taking, there’s too much room for error. You understand, right?”

No. 

You don’t understand, at all. In fact, you’re positive that there’s something more than what Dice is telling you. 

He’s hiding something from you…

You sigh, pondering your words. You don’t necessarily appreciate being hidden from whatever’s really going on, but if there’s something going on over there that Dice really wants to handle on his own, you suppose you can respect that. He’s the manager of that place, and you’re simply a customer. 

And, he’d never steer you wrong. 

“I mean, if you really think it’s that bad, then I suppose I’ll try to avoid it until you say otherwise. But what about you? It looks like we won’t be seein’ each other as often, in the meantime.”

Dice sighs as the biggest weight he’s ever felt is lifted off his shoulders. You won’t buy the excuses for long, but at least now he has some time to think of a better solution to his problem. 

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments as the manager thinks of an answer. 

“I’ll just keep comin’ home to you, then.” 

“Really?” You raise a brow, casting a knowing look his way. 

“You? Coming here, to this ‘shabby little cubby’ every night? When your own quarters are surely much more your style? Don’t pretend this place is a palace just to flatter me, Dice.” 

“Anything’s a palace when I’m near you, darlin’. Besides, love is all about sacrifices anyway, right?” 

Please, buy it. Take the bait, and drop the subject. He’s begging you.

You crack a soft, affectionate smile towards him and cup his face, watching in amusement as he nearly stutters at the unfamiliar touch. You’ve rubbed his bicep, touched his back, and rested your hands on his shoulders. So much more. 

But you’ve never held his face in such a loving way before. No one has. Ever.  

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Dice’s heartbeat practically deafens him as your thumb grazes over his cheek, your touch trapping him in an intoxicating trance. 

“That’s right, my love.” 

He feels sick. God, does Dice feel sick to his stomach. 

Lying has always come so easy for him–pretty little falsities slip off the tongue as smooth as butter. Sometimes, Dice has a harder time telling the truth. 

But now, after that simple gesture and that gleam in your eyes?

Lying has never felt so horrid. 

“Alright, Dice. I suppose I won’t come by the casino as much until you’re ready to handle it, but only if you promise to come here every night to make up for lost time.” 

Your smile lightens the request, but you’re serious all the same. 

Dice has never been one to take a deal he hasn’t made; it’s a dangerous game to play when the cards aren’t in his hands. But, there’s certainly a first time for everything, and he’s certain that agreeing with you of all people wouldn’t put him in any danger. 

So, he trusts you.

“Alright, darlin’. It’s a deal.” 

He holds his hand out for a handshake, but instead, you lean forward and give him a quick kiss. A small gasp escapes Dice’s lips at the sudden contact, and you take his shock as an opportunity to get closer. Your arms wrap around the area where his neck would be, letting you sway gently with him as he relaxes into your embrace. 

Dice is sure he’ll never be tired of your kisses, for as long as he lives. 

The Devil’s words still reek in his brain, but he sets it all aside for the night, choosing you for comfort. His eyes flutter shut as he rests against you, slipping off into a restless sleep–lulled by the touch of your lips and the scent of your cologne. 

He’s gotten off easy. There’s no need for him to worry about anything at all. 

For now.

Chapter Text

The weeks start to feel like months, the longer Dice keeps you away. 

The casino starts to feel just a little more empty, and the man is surprised at just how much one person’s presence can influence the entire atmosphere. 

It hurts, knowing that you can’t be near him as you were before, but Dice knows it’s the right decision to make for now. 

Your absence is his excuse. Thanks to your diminished presence, Dice hasn’t had to answer the Devil’s pries over you nearly as much. 

At first, the pit boss feels as though he has his old life back. A sense of normalcy that he hasn’t felt since before you entered his life. 

Money. Influence. Fame. The only three things that he ever felt like he needed. 

Until, he starts looking for your face among the crowds of drunken busybodies. He feels his heart throb with disappointment, mourning the fact that you’re not there to pass the time with him. 

What’s worse, is that Dice made that decision on his own. There’s no one to blame, but himself.

Frustration lingers in the air as the man clad in lavender lights a cigar, mingling absentmindedly with the white smoke that leaves his lips. 

He misses you. More than he feels he should. 

It’s not that he doesn’t see you at all– once he comes to your home, it’s like you’ve been at his side the whole day. You smile at him, asking him to tell you the most exciting stories of his shift, and he’s almost confused, forgetting that you weren’t there to experience those moments yourself.

But, Dice longs for the seat next to him at the bar to be filled. His lonely glass of scotch wishes for a companion to clink with, more cold condensation fogging up the longer Dice hesitates to drink. 

One always longs the most for what they can’t have.

It used to be so easy to enjoy the workload; the lies, the stealing, the tricks… the attention. The power he holds over so many folks who never know when to call it quits. 

Now, it all just feels like a chore. Dice upholds his duties with waning effort, his Court filling in the gaps and picking up the leftover pieces. 

He wants nothing more than to go home. But, home isn’t what it used to be. 

Home is no longer where his wing lies, just beyond the casino’s back door. Home is wherever you are. 

Dice lets out an exhausted breath, brow creasing in irritation as he finally resigns himself to a sip of his scotch.

Rumulus watches with interest as he wipes down the countertop, throwing his rag over his shoulder as he grabs the larger whiskey bottle from the shelf. He tops Dice’s half-filled glass off, nodding in encouragement before turning to tend to another guest. 

Ginette looks on in empathy as Dice lifts his drink half-heartedly, gingerly taking another swig of the bitter liquid. When his questioning gaze meets her, she smiles kindly.

“Get outta here, Boss. We’ll cover things here.” 

Dice raises an eyebrow at the statement, peering over at the martini glass in suspicion. The clever gal has always had a keen eye to Dice’s woes, but while the sentiment is sometimes appreciated, her prying eyes can be rather annoying. 

Plus, his Court can be rather sloppy with their duties when he isn’t there to straighten them out.

“Not tonight, Gin. Last time I left early, Wheezy and Chimes were stuck cleaning wine stains off the curtains for a week.” 

“In all fairness, eventually we got rid of ‘em with some leftover club soda and salt. Besides, it’s quarter-past nine already, anyway. I’m sure we can handle the mess for another forty-five minutes before quiet hours.”

With a sigh, Dice knocks back his drink and slides the now empty glass over to Ginette, allowing her to pick it up and wipe it down. 

“And you’re sure I won’t come back to flipped tables and spilled cognac?”

“Promise. Phear Lap would go nuts if we ever make that mistake again.” 

Dice huffs an absentminded laugh and resigns to Ginette’s insistence, standing from his seat and straightening his tailcoat over his shoulders. The barkeep keeps her smile fixed, sending a knowing look his way as he turns to leave.

“Tell the doll at home I said hi, will ya?”

Dice tenses up a little at the request, shooting Ginette a look of surprise, to which she gives a light shrug in response. 

“It’s not very hard to tell where you run off to every night, when it’s not your own wing in the back. Plus, you’ve been acting gloomy ever since they stopped coming around.”

“Good night, Gin,” Dice warns as he walks off, his tone having no real bite to it. 

The martini glass chuckles sweetly and holds her hands up in surrender, bowing slightly in resignation before turning to help Ol’ Ethan with the shelves. 

“Alright, I’ll leave ya to it.” 

~

Et tu, Brute? 

You hear the familiar creaks of the front door knob turning tiredly, and peel your eyes away from your novel. After a couple more moments, you hear the door open and those long awaited footsteps tap against the wood, the careless slam of the door following suit. 

With a smile, you watch Dice kick off his shoes and place them in their rightful spot near your own, shimmy off his waistcoat, and hang it neatly on the rack before stepping into the living room. 

Dice lets himself smile at the sight of you on the couch, a large book in your hands with a small quilt wrapped around your shoulders. He’s never seen you look so domestic–it’s hard for the weary manager to keep himself from scooping you up and carrying you off to bed. 

Instead, he sits beside you, letting you kiss him in greeting and gingerly snuggle his side. 

“How’s the casino lookin’, sweetness?” 

“As bustlin’ as ever, but I managed to get outta there a little early tonight.” 

“I’d say so. You usually talk through the doors by ten-thirty at the earliest, and it’s nearly quarter-till.” 

“Thanks to the Court. Gin told me to tell you she said ‘hi,’ by the way,” Dice rolls his eyes a little, in slight disbelief that he’s letting himself play into his staff’s ridiculous requests.

You laugh at the gesture, turning back to the book in your hands. It’s been a little while since you’ve heard anything from his staff–it’s nice to hear that they’re thinking of you, even if you hadn’t been there in weeks. 

“Well ain’t that sweet of her? Tell her I owe her a drink once all the fuss dies down. Better yet, you should tip her extra for picking up your slack,” you tease lovingly, nudging his arm playfully as you keep your eyes glued to the pages. 

Dice scoffs dramatically and wraps an arm around your shoulder, warming up to the closeness and willing himself to relax against you. 

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that,” he peers down over your shoulder, recognizing the title above the words on the page you’re currently working through. 

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. 

His eyes light up a little without his permission, a disgustingly human part of him rising up despite the showman’s beliefs that it had died long ago. 

“Shakespeare, huh? I never took you as one for the classics, darlin’.” 

You smile warmly, adjusting the book so it sits closer between you.

“You’d be right–I’m not usually fond of the older texts. But I do like this one specifically, it was the only one I didn’t sleep through in school. Why, you know this one?”

“Know it?” Dice chuckles softly, leaning into you as he runs a thumb over the side crease of the book’s cover. 

“This was one of my favorites, growing up. I’m not as into old literature either, but this one was always a treat. I keep a copy on one of the bookshelves in the office, and when my hand cramps up from writing I’ll grab it and read a few pages.” 

You smile warmly, pleasantly surprised at learning about an interest Dice has, shifting in your spot so he can have a better view of the book. 

“I never took you as one for reading, Dice. Didn’t think you had much time to do so.” 

“Well, truth be told, I don’t. But I wasn’t particularly blessed with things like toys or other kids to play with until I was too old and frustrated to do so, anyway. While others might’ve had board games or chances to explore the outside, I had books and the little tunes I made up in my head. I read for entertainment, and I suppose the hobby just stuck around even as I grew into adulthood.” 

“Jeez, way to kill the mood,” you joke with good intentions, looking back up at him with empathy. “I’m sorry you didn’t have much, as a child.” 

Dice shakes his head, waving you off in dismissal. “Don’t fret about it, darlin’. I didn’t mind a bit–it helped that my mama was a big reader too. She was the one to first introduce me to books like this one, and she helped me enjoy the parts that were rather dull.” 

“You’ve hardly mentioned your family to me,” you remark in surprise, the tone in your voice letting Dice know that the topic is welcomed. “Is your mother dear to you?” 

“She certainly was,” Dice shifts a little awkwardly, his hand falling from your shoulder to the small of your back. “But, she’s not around anymore.” 

“Oh, Dice,” you murmur, smile fading as you lean to face him fully. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have brought her up, if I knew this was a sore subject.” 

“Oh, don’t you fret about any of that,” Dice retorts sweetly, smiling in assurance. “That was over twenty years ago. It still stings, of course, but time heals more than you think.” 

“Any other family? Or are you, what they may say, a lonesome rider?” 

“Hah!” Dice suddenly barks out a laugh, but there’s less spirit behind it than you were hoping. “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen ‘em in years. They’re all as good as dead to me though, anyway.” 

Your stomach twinges in concern, your heart growing heavy. “Not the best people?”

“Eh,” Dice sighs, shaking his head. “My old man was more married to the bottle than my mother, and by the time my little siblings came along, he had already done the damage. I finally had enough and ran off when I realized he was turning my siblings into brats, just like him.” 

“And your mother?”

“Died right after the youngest was born. Never could put a stop to him when she was alive, either.”

You give his forearm a gentle squeeze, leaning up and kissing his cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Dice.”

Dice holds you just a little closer, the ghost of a smile on his weary face. 

“Again, sweetheart, it’s been over two decades. It’s no big deal.” 

You still feel a tad guilty upon bringing up the subject, no matter how many times Dice lets you know that he’s alright. Dice notices, and leans his chin to rest atop your head. 

“Besides, my mama left me with all the books in the world, just like the one in your grip, right there.”

Your lips curl upwards once more, and you take your previous relaxed position against his side, turning back to the novel. 

“That sort of parting gift must be hard to beat.” 

You read a little more as Dice watches, his eyes lazily scanning the words that he’s almost come to memorize. After a while, your curiosity piques once again. 

“So, Shakespeare was a favorite of yours? Why this book, in particular?” 

You can feel Dice shrug against your back, his hand gently gliding around your waist. 

“I guess I just enjoyed the story itself–when I was little I was attracted to the action, like plot twists of betrayal, fighting, heroes and villains… I still enjoy those themes now, but I guess Caesar just has a lesson that sticks.” 

“And what lesson did you take from it? There are plenty I could think of.” 

“The battle of fate and free will comes to my mind, first. Brutus takes fate into his own hands to betray Caesar, despite their history of friendship together, to do what he believes is right for Rome’s sake. A hard decision that changed the fate of the empire and its citizens, for better or worse depending on who you ask.” 

“Well, what do you think? Better or worse?” You prod curiously.

“Worse, I’d say. His decision started a war that caused the downfall of so many people, including himself. Besides, it’s pretty awful to backstab a guy who’s given everything you’ve ever wanted, such as a powerful title and position. Even for my standards.” 

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” you reply, flipping through the pages until you nearly reach the end of the play. 

“But though he used a pretty drastic measure, wasn’t Brutus acting for the good of Rome as you said? From a political standpoint it might’ve been a poor choice, but morally, many see Brutus as a hero. He sacrificed himself and many others in a war, but in the long run, Rome prospered in the time it was ruled as a republic, instead of a tyranny.” 

“What’s your point, sweetheart?” Dice pries, raising an intrigued eyebrow as he awaits your answer. You close the book and turn it to the front cover, resting a thoughtful hand over the leather. 

“I guess when it all boils down, we learn that sometimes doing what’s right for those you care about means going entirely against the rules of those above you. No matter the consequences that follow.” 

Dice’s smile falters a little, that old, throbbing prang gnawing at his stomach again. But this time, as the man watches you stand to put your book back on the shelf, he realizes what that unpleasant sensation is. 

Guilt.

Suddenly, Shakespeare is a sore subject on Dice’s mind. 

“C’mon, let’s head upstairs. I’m getting tired of the couch,” your voice breaks him from his spiral, casual and inviting, beckoning for him to leave his turmoil aside and join you. 

He wonders, if only briefly, if he should. If he’s earned his spot at your side, after pushing you away from a place you love. 

After lying to you, with the paper to prove it hidden away in your own chambers.

But with the way your hand reaches out to him, so insistently, it’s impossible for him to refuse. 

His gloved hand falls into yours, doing its best not to twitch against your palm as it always does. 

Though he’s grown used to trusting you, he doesn’t know if he should let you continue to adore a man who’s slowly dragging you down to the pits of Hell. 

That’s something that he deserves, instead. 

You pull him up and away from the couch, folding the quilt you were using before taking him by the bicep and heading up to your chambers. Dice follows behind, clinging to the touch of your fingers and wishing for a better fate. 

The bedroom door clicks softly shut behind you as you pull out some night clothes from the closet, handing Dice a pair before changing yourself and climbing into bed. He joins you soon after, and after a little while of nestling beneath the sheets, you’ve found comfortable solace on top of him with your head resting on his chest. 

The poor manager has to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling, trying to will away the overwhelming heat in his cheeks. 

“Dice?” 

Your soft voice echoes through the dim candlelight, barely above a whisper as your warm breath grazes over his chest. Dice’s uncharacteristically timid hand wraps around your back, fingers tracing over every crease in the fabric of your nightshirt. 

“Hm?”

“You said your mother read to you, yes? What other kinds of books did she show you?” 

You feel Dice smile above you, his chest heaving a gentle exhale in content as he plucks out the fond memories of his childhood–the same ones that he had hidden away. 

As much as he hates the sting of remembrance for what he no longer has, it feels nice to think about the good parts of growing up. When his mother was around.

“Everything under the sun, darlin’. She saved the Shakespearean tales and poetry for when I was a bit older and ran out of other things to read, but when I was real small she used to show me all the cute little picture books. Pointing to objects and making sounds, pulling out amazing accents, and singing along to the musical words. She’d read a bunch of fairytales to me every night, before I drifted off to sleep. I can’t tell what I enjoyed more–the stories themselves, or her sweet, sensational voice.” 

“She must’ve been a special one, huh?”

“A diamond in the rough that was taken way too soon.” 

“Did she sing?” You ask, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

“Oh, did she sing?” Dice laughs softly, his form slightly shaking beneath you as he secures his arm more tightly around your back. 

“She was the one to teach me about music. Mama took every chance she got to turn something into a tune, from the lullabies that calmed me down at night to a simple melody she made up on the fly as she swept the floors. When my old man wasn’t around to cause trouble, the halls were full of song. Sometimes, I wish she could’ve seen how I turned out.” 

“You mean the performances at the casino?” You question casually, barely casting a glance as you stare out the window in wonder. 

“Well, partly. ” 

“Partly?”

Dice nods, finding it slightly humorous just how much you seem to be pulling out of him in one night. 

“Y’know, before I became in charge of the felt-tops, I manned the stage. I hosted a game show, about eighteen years back.” 

“What?” You burst in delight, cocking your head back to look at him in his half-lidded eyes. “Dice, you were a game show host? How cool was that? You’ve got to fill me in!” 

Flattered by your enthusiasm and yet another chance to flare his own ego, Dice relents with a smile at your request. 

“Alright, since you really want to know. When Scratch and I first cut our deal, I was originally set to run a game show that he would sponsor: Roll the Dice. It was a relatively easy gig–singing and dancing on stage and broadcasting the games over the radio. Contestants would have to play three simple challenges to win a small prize at the end, my band taking charge of the cues and the backing music. My audience was to sit and fawn, hoping to be picked by the spotlight, and my job was to captivate. To use my charm and the voice my mama gave me to spread joy and music amongst the Isles. For years. I had everything I could have ever wanted out of that career. It was perfect.”

“Well, what happened to it?” You ask, pleading for him to continue. 

Dice’s smile slowly drops, that fuzzy feeling in his chest replaced with cold bitterness towards how his life turned out. 

“Here’s the dirty bits, doll. As sweet as that show was, it was still run by the Devil. The ‘prizes’ I had mentioned were really just excuses for luring those contestants into a soul-sucking trap laid out in the back room.” 

He does his best to ignore the way your face falls, heart heavy at the realization. Right. You nearly forgot who Dice works for. 

“The game was set so that it was impossible to lose; every single contestant would win and step into that prize room. Every. Single. One. That is, until a foolish cup in red came along and ruined it all. Ruined me. No matter how hard I tried to rig the game in his favor, he found a way to lose. The kid failed the third round, and consequently, I lost as well. I lost everything.” 

“I…” You pause, trying to figure out a way to broach the tense subject. “Why? Why did you lose, too?” 

“Because when you put it simply: I’m nothing but a pawn in the Devil’s game. While highly regarded, I’m an asset. Even as his ‘right hand,’ I’m still just a tool in the box to be disposed of at any time when I am no longer needed. And darlin’, when that show fell apart, I was no longer needed.” 

“What happened?” You hesitate to ask, worried for his answer.

“I was kicked to the slums. Tossed out, confined to the alleys, and left for dead. When I say I lost everything, I mean I lost everything. My audience, my money, my dreams. My end of the deal was toast. Every last thing I had ever earned was burned to ashes. I was homeless. For months.”

Your cautious, wavering hand rests over his clenched fist, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles in a small act of comfort. A simple gesture that soothes the untreated aches in Dice’s heart that you didn’t even know existed until now. 

“I feel like a broken record tonight, but I truly am sorry, Dice.” 

“Don’t apologize for this. Ever. It was never your fault.” 

“How did you… I guess, how were things turned around? It seems that your ties with Scratch remain tight as ever, so what happened afterward?”

“Funny enough, that same cup from before and his little brother stepped up and helped me get back on my feet. They fixed me up and got me a new singin’ gig in a barnhouse on the outskirts of town. I suppose somehow, word got to the boss that I was attempting to make a life for myself again, and he convinced me to come back with him. A few months later, I brought up the idea for a casino, and the rest was history.” 

That’s… a hell of a lot of information he just dumped. 

Jesus, doesn’t Dice know when to stop talking? 

He’s never one to give out this sort of gossip for free–it’s supposed to take him quite a few drinks to even consider the idea. It pisses him off, in a way. You’re able to get him to say more about his past in five minutes than he’s revealed in weeks, without even trying. 

You’re dangerous. You are dangerous, and worse, Dice can’t bring himself to run away. 

Because he’s just as threatening, if not more.

“Jeez, Dice…” You mutter, looking at him in a whole different lens. Not the lens you should be using, however. 

Sympathy. Empathy, even. Kindness and understanding, towards the man behind the most wicked business in all of Inkwell. 

“I’m glad everything turned out well for you.” 

“I am too, doll. But…” The man trails off, debating over his words before shaking his head and resting his arm behind his head as his eyes fall shut. It’s no use dwelling on his pathetic morale that clutches onto his heart, keeping him from his full potential. No point in reflecting on what should and shouldn’t be his. 

Not accepting his half-finished reply, you reach up and run your fingers along the bottom edge of his head, caressing the smooth ceramic as his eyes snap back open. He tilts his head down to look at you, his eyes flickering between emerald and black. 

You don’t like that look. 

“Dice, finish your thought.” 

“It’s nothing, doll. Was just talking to myself.” 

You purse your lips and give him a firm stare, not believing him in the slightest. Knowing what you want him to say but hesitant to comply, Dice averts your gaze, instead picking apart the small cracks in the ceiling that suddenly seem very interesting. 

“Well?” 

“Seriously, sweetheart, it’s none of your concern. I barely even registered what was coming out.” 

You still don’t buy it. Not for a second. You’re not completely clueless, despite how much Dice might wish you were. 

He’s been acting strange with you for weeks now–and while you want him to have his own choices, it’s really starting to bother you. You’re tired of watching him try to handle whatever he’s been dealing with all by himself, when he clearly needs to get it off his chest. You wish you could stop being kept out of the loop.

“Dice,” you start softly, your hand slowly reaching upwards and cupping the corner of his head. 

“Talk to me.” 

The manager’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment before he lets out a defeated breath, leaning into your palm and gingerly resting his hand over your smaller one. 

His resolve is no longer present. You’ve finally done it–you’ve cracked him open. And how, he’s all yours to decipher. 

You’re the most difficult and stubborn person he’s ever met, in the best way possible. 

It kills him inside, knowing just what he’s doing to you.

“I’m not too sure I deserve the life I’ve got, especially when you came along and made it so much better. I really shouldn’t have any of the things I do–I haven’t earned any of it.” 

Any residual weight of irritation, disorientation or annoyance that had come from not knowing, finally says goodbye and disappears for good. 

In a couple sentences, you finally understand why he’s always so hesitant to accept your affections. Why he twitches every time you hold his hand, or why he can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes for long whenever you smile at him. Why he has been so uncharacteristically avoidant towards you, these last few weeks

It’s not the fact that he doesn’t know how to return your love. At least, not entirely. 

He doesn’t think he should have it, in the first place. 

“Dice, that’s bullshit.” 

“I… beg your pardon?” 

“I said, that’s bullshit. Everyone, in some way, deserves to have their dreams come true. It’s not your fault you achieved that the way you did, and even if it might be a little, that doesn’t make you any less worthy,” you assert, your voice dripping in desperation as you bring his head down to look you in the eyes. 

“Please, enlighten me. What brought this up?”

Dice freezes, his whole body tensing as he quickly racks his brain for a reason. Another excuse. Every second that passes in silence, the guilt rises in his throat and threatens to choke him.

Maybe… maybe he should tell you the truth. He should pull out the contract from the nightstand drawer and explain his boss’s wishes. 

He should tell you how utterly lost he is, at what to do.

Dice’s lips slowly part away as those fated words rest on the tip of his tongue, itching to come out. 

But yet, by sheer will and stubbornness, he keeps them at bay. 

No. 

Absolutely not. He will not allow you to know the truth. Not for years to come, if it comes to that. You will never find out why he thinks like this, if he can help it. 

He searches, quickly, for an answer. For Hell’s sake, just one excuse. 

“I mean, do you know who I work for, doll?” 

Be careful. Be careful.

“When your boss is the epitome of evil, it’s not hard to fall into a path of sin yourself. Especially when you’re as close to him as I am. I’m not a good person sweetheart, and I don’t feel bad about that either. I don’t give a damn who I hurt, if it gets me closer to what I want.” 

Liar. 

“I’m a greedy man, no matter how you try and twist it. A no-good, money-grabbing conman who makes a living on the failures of the less fortunate. And I love it. I’ve got no regrets. I’ve loved it for twenty years now, and I don’t plan on stopping for anyone.” 

Liar. 

“Not even you…”

Liar.

He watches you, expecting you to get off of him. To kick him out, for refusing to be better for you. 

Oh, how he wants to be better for you. He’d do anything to tell you the truth. To get you to see the progress he’s been trying to make with you. 

If it didn’t put him at an incredible risk, Dice would open that drawer and snatch the empty contract awaiting your signature, telling you everything.

He longs for you both to rip it to shreds, together. To laugh about it the next morning over some coffee and pastries, before you head off to work. 

He waits, uncomfortably, for a response. An angry retort. An insult. Something. 

But you don’t budge. In fact, after a couple more silent minutes, you pull something that almost causes Dice to crumble to bits right underneath you.

Despite his direct admittance of the danger he presents, you find yourself huddling closer, finding solace in the warmth he provides amidst the nightly chill. Your ear rests on his chest, and you exhale deeply as you continue to process Dice’s words. 

The showman prays to someone, anyone who might lend an ear, that you don’t notice the way his heart is threatening to beat right out of his chest. 

“I know you’re lying, Dice.” 

Shit. 

Is he really that easy for you to read? You’re always home when he isn’t, anyway–you must’ve already found the contract. This whole conversation was a test, and he had failed it.

He used to be the best liar in Inkwell, it’s what he was hired for, and yet here he is letting you find out everything before he can fix it. His time is up.

This isn’t good. He needs to go, to get out of here before–

“I know that you’re not as selfish as you’re making yourself out to be.” 

You stop him from getting up, before he can even start. 

“…What?” 

He asks you, barely audibly. His eardrums ring so loudly with the piercing sound of panic that he almost doesn’t even hear you continue speaking. 

“Yeah, you’re pretty money-hungry. You’re an extremely strong-willed man who doesn’t stop at anything until he gets what he wants. Sure, that can mean you’re a little greedy when you want to be, but I wish you’d cut yourself at least a little slack. We all want things, Dice. We all are guilty of dreaming. Hell, even I am. What do you think I’m doing here? I left my whole family behind for this place, y’know.” 

Except Dice isn’t dreaming. He can’t, anymore. He lost that privilege as soon as he shook Scratch’s hand. He’s preying. 

Preying on the one person who he wishes he wasn’t.

“That’s mighty kind of you to say, but your situation is different. I don’t think you–” 

“Dice, please just listen to me. Believe me when I say this, if it’s the last thing you ever do.” 

“Honey, please…” 

“King Dice, you deserve all that you have. And on top of it, you deserve to be loved. No matter your position, your personality, or your livelihood. You deserve to be loved. I’ll say it over and over until it finally gets through to you. Do you understand me?”

“I…” Dice groans in agony and buries his face into his hand, not wanting to have this conversation anymore. 

He shouldn’t have trailed off. He should’ve been more careful. Then maybe, you wouldn’t be sitting here having to assure him over the wretched feelings that he knows he deserves to have. 

As hard as you may try, Dice may never believe you. Not after what he’s done. Not after what he’s doing.  

But your eyes. Oh, God. Your eyes. 

They practically beg him to trust you. 

After all you’ve been through together, you’ve never once led him astray. You’ve never lied to him, disregarded him, or treated him poorly. Not when he didn’t need it. 

His heart jumps out of his chest in alarm when he feels a strange wetness in the corners of his eyes, slightly fogging up his vision. Quickly, he blinks rapidly, doing away with it. Then, he relents.

If it only eases you, he pretends to trust you again, even though he knows deep down that you shouldn’t trust him back. 

“Alright, I believe you.” 

“Good,” you breathe a sigh of content, a smile forming on your face as you lean upwards and give him a soft nip against his collarbone. He shudders at the touch, holding you closer in hopes that you’d do it again. 

Much to his joy, you silently oblige his request. 

There you both lay, swaddled in each other’s arms, one of you convincing the other to open up, and the other trying to rid the guilt for one more night. 

If only you knew what was really going on–maybe then, you’d have a different point of view. You wouldn’t see him as the charming, impeccable man you’ve come to adore anymore. 

But, he figures he can let the subject go, just for a little while longer. He’s not quite out of time as he thinks.

Besides…

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

Chapter Text

‘King Dice, you deserve to be loved.’ 

It had been several more weeks since you shared that sentiment with him, and while you’ve had several more talks of the like, your words from that very first time stick to Dice’s brain and stubbornly refuse to leave. 

You had said it so plainly, like it was an obvious truth that everyone except for him knew. You had brushed off his apprehension, his reluctance to accept that claim, as a hard truth to swallow. 

Little do you know. 

There comes a point, in Dice’s newfound routine, where it hurts to even look at you properly.  It’s not your fault–and he makes sure to tell you so–but how can he look you in the eye, knowing that one day, he’ll have to make a decision? 

What an unfortunate circumstance. Dice finally thought he had something new and exciting going for him–a chance to live life the right way, with someone he loves. Someone who loves him back, and tells him he’s earned it. Over, and over again. Nearly every night, until your tongue nearly falls off. 

But he’s earned nothing.

He hasn’t changed a bit, even with you in his vision. He’s the same sleazy and egotistical grifter that you had first met. The only difference is that now, the title makes him uneasy.. 

So much for second chances. 

He sits at the bar, as he usually does, with a heavy sigh, tapping against the countertop expectantly. Rumulus slides him a martini obediently, and for a few precious minutes, Dice loses himself in the quiet early hours of the day. Not as many patrons, casual chatter and drink sharing, and gentle jazz playing, courtesy of his band. 

“DICE!” 

The shrill growl of an inhumanly deep voice pierces the floor, effectively silencing every voice in the room. Even the band pauses, looking towards the source of the noise in utter surprise. 

In Hell’s casino, the peace never lasts for long. 

The man in question peers over to the back door, where he sees a familiar black tail beckoning for him to follow before the door slams shut. Henchman stands at his post with his stubby hands twiddling behind him, sending Dice a look of apology. 

With a frustrated groan, Dice finishes the rest of his martini–the alcohol now being greatly appreciated–and stands. One hard glare towards the attendees and the casino floor is back to the way it was, the customers and staff graciously moving forward like they didn’t hear a thing. 

The band resumes their music, slightly muffling the authoritative clicks of Dice’s shoes as he struts aggravatedly towards the private door. Henchman bows his head in remorse before opening the door for him, barely batting an eye as the man whips past him, the tail ends of his classic lavender coat disappearing as the staff door closes. 

Dice grits his teeth behind his lips, doing his best to calm himself before plastering on his signature grin and opening the door to his boss’s office. 

“You called, Boss?” 

“Get in here.” 

Dice obeys, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He walks down the pathway towards the throne behind the desk, ignoring the blazing pillars that angrily light up the reddish room. 

As long as he can figure out what the boss wants without too much fuss, he’s golden. Just fix whatever problem the Devil has, and get the hell out. 

“Whatcha need?” 

“Sit down, Dice.” 

The man sits in the empty chair on the side of the massive desk closest to him, scooting his chair wordlessly and resting his clasped hands on the felt top. 

“What’s the matter?” 

He’s punctual. Short. Impatient. And Scratch does not approve of the hidden attitude.

“‘What’s the matter,’ huh? The matter, Dice, is this: where the hell have you been going after work these last few weeks?!”

“Perusing the city.” 

“Oh, oh really Dice? The city? That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you for getting outta Hell to let off some steam every night,” the Devil grins pointedly, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, resting his furry elbows on his desk. 

“I just have one more question for you…” 

“And what might that be?” 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Dice feels his whole body tense up, his stare hardening as he does his best not to move a single muscle. His heart pounds against his chest, warning him to pick his answer carefully. To think about what he should say, and do so quickly. 

Yet, his answer is probably the dumbest thing he’s ever said. 

“What…?” 

“Dice…” The Devil starts, the tips of the furry tufts on his back reddening slightly, threatening to burst into flame.

“Do you think…” 

Two furious hands slam against the desk, claws digging into the wood as their owner stands, the flames softly flickering in the back of the room suddenly bolting upwards to emphasize Scratch’s point. 

“I’m fucking STUPID?!” 

Dice flinches slightly, blinking a little to adjust to the sudden shift of the room. He does his best to keep his composure, to put up a front that the demon doesn’t scare him, but the Devil can sense it. Smell it. 

“Choose your answer wisely.” 

“Of course I don’t, Boss. Not in the slightest.”

“Interesting! So then give me the real answer, Dice! Where have you been going?!” 

Dice’s mouth purses shut, hesitant to tell him what he clearly already knows. Scratch is looking for confirmation, and the lackey is not looking forward to the hell that’ll follow suit after he answers.

But he’s gotta bite the bullet eventually. 

“Alright listen, I’ve been off to see the mortal you’re hunting after, but please, just give me a–” 

“ Dammit , Dice!” The Devil roars, smacking his forehead with his paw as he paces back and   forth, muttering insults and obscenities under his fiery breath. 

“I knew it! I knew this would happen, you little fool! What have I told you, since you first started going after that pest?” 

“Sir, it’s not what you’re thinking. If you would–” 

“SILENCE!”

Aggravated, Dice quiets himself, his teeth grinding against each other behind his closed mouth. He should know better than to reason with his boss when he’s in such a state, but if he could have just thirty seconds to give him the excuse he had prepared, this entire conversation would be cut short. Dice would be out of his fur.

But the Devil was never known for making things easy.

“This is why I haven’t gotten anything from them this whole time, isn’t it? It’s also why I haven’t seen ‘em come through these doors in weeks, right? You’re protecting them from losin’ their soul, aren’t you?!” Scratch sneers in absolute disgust. 

“You’ve fallen in love with that thing!” 

“What?! No, of course I haven’t! I’m just trying to–” 

“Dice, if you utter one more word I will rip your head off and have it HUNG!” 

Silence hangs in the air for a good few moments, dripping in tension. Once the Devil is sure that Dice won’t pipe back up, he breathes a small, curt huff of impatience. 

“Listen to me. Now. Let’s be real, here: you have never taken this long to get me a target. Ever. That’s including the ones who played hookie with you, floozyin’ behind closed doors. In a week at most, I have some kind of answer, and all of them have come in contracts. Every single one. But this one seems to be so different, all of a sudden?! Dice, it’s been months!” 

He begins to pace once more, the demonic voice raising in volume and vibrato the more he speaks. Against his will, Dice continues to listen, even though he wants nothing more than to tear his superior a new one.

“Almost half a year, you’ve been at this little charade! Slacking on your duties on the floor, letting the soul and money counts drop, and leaving your Court to pick up your mess! Lying to me! Going behind my back, morning and night, ruining yourself, all for some plebeian! What has gotten into you?! Have you really forgotten your loyalty to me, even after my warnings?!” 

Alright, that’s enough. 

A new pair of hands, softer and dressed in the silkiest of white, slam against the poor desktop as the subordinate in purple shoots from his seat, his piercing green irises rivaling Scratches glowing scarlets. 

When one has been holding everything in for longer than they should, eventually, the ticking time bomb waiting inside will explode. 

And boy, has Dice been detonated.

“Now hold it just a minute, Boss!” Dice starts, allowing himself to let loose. 

“You’ve gotta give me a break, here! You’ve seen them come and go from this place, time and time again, and you’ve certainly butt in on our conversations many times! You know how difficult this target is, you have to have seen it for yourself by now! Don’t you understand that I’m doing the best with what I’ve got?!” 

Dice paces as he rants, too blinded by his frustration to remember just who he’s talking to. By some miracle of grace, however, Scratch just watches the scene play out in front of him.

“I’ve been doing my work just fine, thank you very much! Sure, there are some nights where I gotta head out early, but I more than make up for it when I get the chance! And don’t even think about taking a jab at the funding of this place, we both know that the counts are fine! And I know you don’t give a damn about some mortal like me, but for hell’s sake, can’t you see that I’m working under a lot of pressure?! 

Targets like this one take time! Effort! And here I am, putting my all on the line, just for this one person you’re so insistent on! And yet, even in the meantime, I’ve continued to bring in MANY others, right at your feet! You’re telling me that you’d rather throw a fit over one single soul, instead of appreciating the hundreds I’ve already brought to you?!” 

The lackey musters the courage to step forward, moving around the desk to face the monster across from him more closely.  

“Call me a slacker all you want. Tell me I’m weak and pathetic for not having what you want, when you want it, just this once. Say I’m not doing enough. Pile some more work on my plate, for all I care. But the one thing that you will not do…” 

He leans closer, his teeth gritted down, doing their best to keep Dice from screaming right in his boss’s face. 

“Is question my loyalty to you! I’ve been plenty loyal, Boss! I’ve been giving up my life to serve you for the past twenty years! The lying, the cheating, the bets, the risks, all of it! I’ve done everything for you, and I’ve come crawling back to you even after the shit you put me through! Every time! Don’t you dare try and tell me that I’ve lost sight of my dedication, when every decision I make is for your sake!” 

Finally finished, Dice pants heavily, his shoulders slowly lowering as he cautiously steps back and allows the Devil to process everything he had said. 

He’ll wait as long as he needs to, to get a reasonable response. 

Which is certainly not the answer he receives, after several beats of silence. Not that Dice should be surprised; the Devil operates on his own will, and never anyone else’s. 

“Prove it to me, then.” 

“...Are you serious? Is the decades of work I put forth for you not enough?!” 

“Not anymore, it isn’t. Prove to me that your allegiance is with me, the one who gave you everything , instead of some damn peasant!” 

Dice clenches his fists, slowly stepping closer, his eyes flickering threateningly. 

“Alright then, Boss. Humor me. How?” 

“As I have been telling you: get me that soul, Dice. I want that contract in my hands, on this desk, in three days.”  

Three days.

“Wait, what? Please, think about this. Did you not even hear what I had said?”

“Three. Days. Otherwise, I’ll be taking it myself, along with their life.”

Dice’s heart threatens to stop. 

Three. Days.

“...What?!” 

“You heard me. I’m putting an END to this little game of yours, whether you like it or not. Remember this: you, King Dice, have no room for romance. And after all these years of working for me, thieving from others for a living, you don’t even deserve the chance. Forget it.” 

Dice stares, utterly speechless, frozen in his place. His jaw drops slightly as he takes in the words of the demon in front of him, who grins wickedly in triumph at the sight of Dice’s terror. 

He’s got him, and he’s got him good. 

“I own you, Dice. No matter your pathetic little feelings, my will comes first. Do what you need to do, get that soul, bring it back to me, and forget them. For good. Get me?”

“I…” The man takes a shaky breath and steps back, his throat nearly closing up and denying him air. His stomach churns, the corners of his vision blurring as he delves into a spiral of despair. “Please…” 

“Get me?!” 

Dice feels like he could vomit. In fact, it takes everything in him not to. The room starts to spin, and though the pit boss hides it well, his hands tremble, his heart skipping several critical beats. This is it. Dice has no choice. It’s the end of the line.

He’s out of time.

“GET ME?!” 

“Alright, alright! Fine!” 

Scratch’s tail flicks expectantly, his teeth sending the dejected manager a sharp-toothed grin of victory. He clasps his claws back together, that friendly, approachable attitude returning like their feud never existed. As if Dice had popped in for a juicy gossip session over some shots of gin. 

“Wonderful. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

~

For the first time in nearly a month, you return to the casino. 

Without Dice’s knowledge.

The smell of fire and brimstone wafts through the air as you venture into Inkwell Hell, a small ribboned box tucked away in your hands. The familiar ambience surrounding the cave engulfs you in a warm and inviting pull, almost to welcome you back home and encourage you to come and hang your coat. 

God, how you missed it. 

Still, you only plan on sticking around for a few minutes. Just to drop off a package. Then, you’ll be out of the casino’s hair and you’ll head home for the night. 

Perhaps, Dice won’t even know you were there, until you’re long gone.

You smile a little to yourself as you step up the crimson carpeted stairs, the muffled conversations growing more and more audible the closer you come towards the doors. Your brow furrows as you grab the handle of one of the metal doors, pulling it open and stepping inside. 

The casino doesn’t seem too bad at all–in fact, it’s a little quieter than what you’re used to. 

Shrugging your shoulders in resignation, you make your way over to the bar, disheartening a little when you don’t find the purple clothed man you’re looking for. Your tired legs tell you to have a seat anyway, so you oblige their request. 

“Darling! It’s so good to see you again!” 

Your face lights up at the unmistakable voice of your favorite bartender and you look up from the counter, grinning in delight as Ginette passes you your usual drink with a warm smile. 

A whiskey, on the rocks. 

“Gin! I was hoping I’d see you here!” You return the greeting and slide her a twenty, but she slides it right back as you sip on the scotch. 

“Keep it, doll. It’s on me. I’ve missed seeing you turn up every night–a gal like me can get lonely, when the regulars I come to love take a break for a while. Consider it a gift to welcome your return.” 

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you, thank you,” you cast her a grateful look, stuffing the money back into your wallet before peering around the casino floor, still looking for that wonderful lavender. There are quite a few fellows clad in the color, but you don’t seem to find Dice in the sea of guests and staff. 

“Say, have you seen King Dice anywhere?” 

“Afraid not, dearie. The Boss shrieked for him merely five minutes after he showed up to work, and he hasn’t been out since. He’s probably cooped up in his office now, if you’d like to pry.” 

For once, you breathe a small sigh of relief–you had come by to give him something, after all–but a piercing ache in your gut tells you to stay behind. 

Besides, even if you did want him to see you here, if he’s in the middle of talking with his boss or processing the meeting, you’d hate to interrupt him just to give him something. So, instead, you shake your head and slide the wrapped box towards the barkeep. 

“Nah, I’m not really feelin’ like chasing him down today. But next time you see him, could you give him this?” 

“Of course I can! What’s inside, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing special, just some chocolates I picked up from the bakery a little while ago. I thought they’d make up for the real busy shifts he’s been having for the last few weeks.” 

Ginette tilts her head in confusion, raising an eyebrow. 

“Busy shifts? What do you mean?” 

You take another sip of your whiskey, that ache in your gut slowly worsening. 

Surely Ginette of all folks would know what you’re talking about, managing the entire bar with only two others helping her. If the casino really was growing more exhausting by the day, it would hit her the most, wouldn’t it? 

“My last day here, Dice told me about how crazy things were getting. Y’know, the fund shortages, the paperwork piling up, the rowdy customers… surely it’s been bad for all of you, right?” 

The kindly bartender slowly nods along to your words, running a clean rag over a spare glass to wipe it off. She reflects on what you tell her, debating whether she should play along or insist on her skepticism. In the end, against her judgment, she chooses the former. 

“I suppose things have been rather nuts here, as of late…” She starts, hesitantly. 

“But we’ve all been managing pretty well–especially the King. He’s been herding these wild fools in like a sheep dog for a while now. That may be why he hasn’t returned after meeting with the Boss. Probably needs a break from the action for a spell.” 

There’s a tone in her voice that you aren’t sure you like very much. Your eyes narrow slightly as you ponder it, taking another swig of your scotch and breaking down what she had told you. 

Something’s off. Ginette’s not usually this flustered. Is she lying to you? Trying to hide something? But why would she do that?

Maybe it’s something that has to do with King Dice, himself. Maybe he told her not to tell you how bad things were, in order to alleviate your worries. To try and convince you that things aren’t as bad as they are. 

But that wouldn’t make sense–why would he train his staff to make up such excuses, if he had been set on you not being there? Even if you were unexpected, why would that matter?

Could he… could he be lying to you? 

No, that’d be ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not after your time together. With so many secrets you’ve shared together, it’d be crazy to think that Dice would do such a thing now. 

He wouldn’t. 

“Yeah, that does make sense,” you sigh, finishing your glass and sliding it over for Rumulus to clean. 

“I’d need a break too, after spending so much time in all the ruckus. I can wait until he comes home to chat, then. If he pops up while I’m gone, be sure to give him that box for me, okay?” 

That soft, pleasant smile returns on Ginette’s face, and she nods emphatically, slipping the present under the counter for safekeeping. 

“You bet, darling. Would you care for another drink?” 

“Nah, that’s alright. I’m gonna stroll for a while, but if I change my mind, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

“Of course.” 

Nodding in a pleasant goodbye, you stand and head away from the bar, deciding to scour the tables yourself. 

Skeletons, demons, and mortal creatures alike gather together in temporary partnership, some conversing over cards and liquor, others silently strategizing as they stare at the cards in their hands. 

Your thoughts trail back to the talk you had with Ginette, wondering if maybe you should go check on Dice in his office. At the very least, to see if he’s alright. 

There’s nothing good that could possibly come out of having a talk with the Devil, even if they are as close as Dice had told you. 

Was he reprimanded for something? 

Perhaps that’s what he meant when he said things were getting too complicated here. He and his boss just aren’t on very good terms. That’s gotta be it. 

You turn a corner and find a match taking place at the pool table, between three of Dice’s Court members who appear to be on a break. Taking the opportunity to relax, you head over with the intent of one quick game. 

“Well lookie who it is!” Wheezy exclaims enthusiastically, grinning as Chips looks up from his stance over the table. “It’s the King’s favorite guest, bustin’ through the doors after so long!” 

“Hey, look at you!” Chips smiles delightedly and passes his stick over to his 8-ball headed partner, Mangosteen, before approaching you excitedly. 

“Glad to see you hangin’ around here again, champ! We were just thinkin’ we needed a fourth member to complete two teams–you up for a round?” 

Your lips turn up in a smile, relaxing at the welcoming greetings from the two staff members, and nod eagerly. 

“I’d love to, boys. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

“It has!” Mangosteen chimes up, flashing you the most unique grin you’ve ever seen as he resets the table and chalks the cues. “I haven’t had a pool player as good as you come by for weeks now. We were startin’ to wonder if you had kicked the bucket on us.” 

“No, no. Not yet, at least!” You laugh, accepting the cue that Wheezy hands you, standing on Chips’ side in alliance. “Gimme a few more scotches and a cigar, and we’ll see where I’m at.” 

The four of you share a laugh as you gather back around the table, flipping a coin to see what team would go first. Heads for your team, tails for Wheezy’s. 

Heads. 

Letting Chips have the first round, the three of you watch closely as he lines his cue up to the ball, winds it back, and pushes it forward again, hitting the cue ball and letting it slam into the triangle of others. The balls scatter in different directions, occasionally hitting each other before two striped balls fall graciously into the top and right-corner pockets. 

Looks like you’re playing stripes, this time. 

“Good shot, Chips!” You high five each other with a grin, allowing Mangosteen to take his place and finish the round. He lines up his cue to knock the solid 1-ball, hitting it right into the left-corner pocket before going after the 2-ball, just barely missing the top pocket. Wheezy gives a harsh pat to his shoulder in commendation before the pair steps back, making room. 

You’re up. 

Your eyes quickly scan over the scattered billiards, deciphering which angle would be in your best interests. Two striped balls are aligned within one shot, except you’d need to hit your cue ball off the wall in order to hit the second one. It’d definitely be a risk. 

But what’s the harm in having a little fun? 

Deciding on your plan, you take position over the table, eyes glued to the perfect spot against the wall as you line back your cue. You strike, quickly shooting the cue ball forwards and knocking the 12-ball into its nearest pocket. The cue ball bounces right where you were looking, colliding with the 13-ball and sending it rolling towards the bottom pocket where it drops in perfectly. 

“Yes!” Chips cheers, slamming his hand over your shoulder excitedly. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Hell, I haven’t seen anyone pull a stunt like that and get away with it in forever!” 

“It makes sense why the King chose them to go steady with. Have you ever seen someone this talented?” Wheezy nudges Mango’s shoulder in question as he lights up a smoke. The latter quickly shakes his head, re-chalking his cue. 

“Not in decades! He really picked a good one, didn’t he?” 

“You flatter me, but I’ve been shootin’ the billiards for years, fellas. It’s all just practice,” you wave your hand as you take your stance for your second shot. “Believe me, I’m sure the reasons why Dice chose to love me of all people do not include my skill at the felt-tops.” 

“Hey now, don’t undermine yourself. There’s a lot more to that man than you realize. Besides, that’s still a pretty damn impressive hand you’ve got, there.” 

“Thank you kindly, Chips,” you reply sweetly before shooting your second shot, making no scores but effectively lining up the 11-ball, 14-ball, and 10-ball right up against the bottom and side pockets, sealing those points anyway. 

“Say, how did you end up getting King Dice to fall into courtship with you, anyhow?” Wheezy inquires curiously, leaning against his cue as Mangosteen takes his place. “He hasn’t let anyone in like that in years, what’s the secret to unlocking that poor bastard’s heart the way you did?” 

Half-watching between Mangosteen taking his turn and Wheezy asking the question, you smile and shrug your shoulders, crossing your arms as you wait patiently. Chips chimes in dramatically, grinning wildly and nudging your shoulder. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty darn impressive! You must be a real special one, for him to play with the idea of romance for you.”

“I dunno, really. I guess I just got more luck up my sleeve than I realize!” You chuckle, shaking your head. You suppose it really all does fall into the arms of chance, in the end. “It really is a shame, though–I missed this place a lot more than I thought I would.” 

“Well, what’s been holding you back?” Chips asks, gazing at you in confusion as he grabs his cue off the table. 

“Dice, actually,” you reply nonchalantly, much to the surprise of the other three. Each of them pause in their tracks, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“Why him?” Wheezy wonders aloud, taking another pull from his cigarette as he stares intently. “Did he say somethin’ to scare you off?” 

“Not necessarily,” you start, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. You tell them the same thing you told Ginette, wondering if you’d get a different response. “I suppose I just didn’t want to be more on your plates. I’ve heard it’s been pretty hectic around here lately, with the funding and the other guests. Dice has been coming home later than usual, save for the few blessed days he gets out early. I assume all of you are in a similar position, so I just figured I’d hang low for a while until the busy days clear up.” 

Initially, you’re met with shocked silence. 

Wheezy and Chips share a disturbed look with one another, the chip-headed cowboy turning back to the table to distract himself with his shot. The men figure they’d better shut their traps and move on from the conversation, letting you assume what you had to. 

Mangosteen, the sweet thing, seems to have other ideas on his mind. 

“Oh, that’s what he told you?” The well-meaning 8-ball cocks his head to the side, watching you with curious eyes as Chips focuses on the table. “I guess that’s one way to keep you outta here so he can work on his plans!” 

Wait. 

You squint your eyes, stepping closer to the taller, robust man in front of you. 

Now you’re getting somewhere–it seems that your intuition was right about Ginette’s awkward response earlier. Instead of looking for a distraction from the familiar throbbing in your stomach… 

Now, you’re looking for answers. 

Wheezy notices, taking in a deep breath and extinguishing his cigarette against the bar box. 

‘Shut up, Mangosteen,’ he thinks to himself. ‘Stop talking.’ 

“Plans?” You finally ask, beckoning for him to continue. “What plans, Mango?” 

“Oh yeah, the King and the head honcho are in cahoots over your soul!” He admits casually, leaning against the table. Chips nearly chokes on his own spit, casting his shot haphazardly against the cue ball. By some miracle, his mistake still allows for an obedient 15-ball to fall into the top pocket. 

But right now, pool is the last thing on your mind. 

“My soul?” You repeat, getting closer, your eyes boring into Mangosteen’s yellow ones. 

“Mhm! They’ve been like that since you refused the contract a couple months ago. The King’s been stressin’ about it like crazy.”

“Even now? Still?” You question, your tone becoming more anxious. You start to hear your heart thumping against your chest, going at a mile a minute. “I… Mango, are you sure?” 

Chips and Wheezy stand behind you, frantically waving their hands in an effort to silence the blubbering fool before he makes anything worse. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the hint. 

“I’d bet my wallet on it–I saw him walkin’ out with a contract in hand when he left one night about a month ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure those two were just talking about all this earlier today! That’s probably where the boss is spending his time, instead of out here making sure we don’t get into trouble,” the poor, innocent lackey finishes sweetly, offering you a kind smile. 

Chips slaps his palm against his face, while Wheezy musters the energy to keep himself from smacking Mangosteen upside the head. It’s too late. 

They’re utterly ruined, by the kindness of the most foolish goon on the King’s Court. 

“I…” You tear your gaze away, glaring at the ground so hard that it almost disappears by sheer will.  

“I see.” 

Finally realizing his mistake, Mangosteen’s voice breaks into anxious stutters as he holds his hands up, quickly waving them to try and deter from what he had just said. 

“B-but I’m sure that it’s not as serious as it sounds! Our boss’s probably working on some negotiations with Ol’ Scratch, anyway. M-maybe it’s another contract that I got mixed up with yours or something! None of us really saw it, we’re just going off of assumptions here! I’m so sorry for even planting that idea in your head, it might not even be what you’re thinking! ” 

“No no, Mango, it’s fine. Really,” you say quietly, stepping aside from him as he forces himself to finally zip his mouth shut. “It’s not your fault.” 

Wheezy and Chips watch tensely as you walk towards the billiard table and grab your cue. All other noises from the floor seem to die off in your ears as you blindly aim the stick at the white ball, not caring what direction, before shooting it with almost enough force to completely knock it off the board. 

The cue ball zips wildly against the walls of the table, traveling every which direction in fury. Ironically, in the process, the ball knocks against the three striped balls you had arranged earlier, sending each one falling in their respective pockets. Once it finally slows to a stop, you slam the cue down on the table, feeling your palm splinter a little as the wood cracks against your hand. 

The three employees watch in horrified amazement, their mouths slack as they mentally scramble to find the right words to say to you. 

All Chips can do is mutter in congratulations to you, hoping to hell that his compliment lightens your mood at least a little bit.

“That… was an excellent shot…” 

“Thank you boys, for letting me have a round with you,” you seethe, finally taking your hand away from the table, leaving the broken cue wherever it decides to rest. “But I think I’d better get going. No longer feeling it, y’know?” 

They all nod silently in understanding, Chips and Mangosteen offering you their best looks of apology (especially the latter).

“It was nice to see you boys again, after so long,” you bow slightly in hastened gratitude before pivoting on your heel and turning, briskly pacing towards the exit. In a last attempt at civil conversation, you call over your shoulder to the men watching you.

“I’ll see ya ‘round.” 

Not bothering with your normal reservations, you slam open the front doors and walk out, letting them flap shut behind you as you dash down the steps. Your palm is bleeding from the splintered cue, but that sting is nothing compared to the pins and needles stabbing through your chest. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. 

He wouldn’t. 

Dice wouldn’t do this to you. There’s just no way. You both had sacrificed too much for each other just for it all to end in a continued gamble for your soul. He would not weasel his way into your home, spend all this time with you, sleep next to you, if he were just in it for his job. He wouldn’t waste months of his time for a contract; not even the Devil would be that desperate, right? 

Your pace quickens, gradually, until you start to run. 

You have to get home. Now. 

You need to prove Mangosteen wrong. Dice never came home with a contract–you would have surely seen it. There’s nothing there. Because Dice isn’t hunting you down. He loves you. People who love you don’t do that, no matter how inexperienced they are with the subject. 

Your mind pounds against the back of your skull as you sprint across the docks, the angry waves crashing fiercely against the pier and slightly jostling you. 

You barely even notice. You keep running. 

You make it off the docks, eyes scanning street sign after street sign, looking for the correct avenue to turn on. Almost home. Your worries will be done with soon. By the end of the hour, you will be laughing in your living room, excited to tell your beloved the craziest joke that his lackey had told you. 

The joke. The story that is not true at all. Because Dice knows better than that. He wouldn’t betray you for the world. 

He wouldn’t. 

The place you call home finally lines up in your vision, and you run as fast as your legs can carry you. With trembling hands, you unlock the door and burst it open, dashing inside before slamming it shut behind you. You’re home. 

Dice’s coat isn’t there for you to check; not that you’d want to, anyway. You check the living room, looking for a spare rolled up piece of paper anywhere. You find none, and feel some of the crushing weight lift from your shoulders. Already off to a great start. 

You head into the kitchen, filing through some extra forms and papers you keep near the fruit basket. Nothing. Your hands stop shaking, and the ringing in your ears starts to die down. See? You were right all along. The dining room is empty, too–it’s shameful to even doubt Dice for a second.

The bedroom. That’s really the last place Dice spends a good amount of time at. 

You trudge up the stairs, guilt heavy on your conscience as you step down the hallway and inside your chambers. You shouldn’t be so worried. Mangosteen isn’t known for being the sharpest tool in the shed, and he did have a point in his apology: no one knows for sure. It would be foolish not to trust Dice, after all you’ve been through. 

Your desk is full of papers, journal entries, possible articles for the Inkwell City Newspaper. You sift through each one, all of your animosity fading away, with shame taking its place. Nothing. You don’t need to worry. You should stop. 

Because he wouldn’t. 

The nightstand. His nightstand, that you told yourself to leave alone for his privacy. 

Do you dare…? 

You have to. For your mind’s sake. If you want to sleep at night, you’ll look inside. 

Slowly, tentatively, you sit on the edge of the bed, your nose overwhelmed with the recognizable scent of bourbon, ash, and lavender. Dice’s scent. He’s been here so long that even the sheets smell like him. That should be proof enough. 

You grab the knob of the top drawer, feeling the weight of items hiding inside. It’s heavy. Surely, a piece of paper can’t be hidden beneath whatever junk lies beyond the surface. Holding your breath, you squeeze your eyes shut, and rip the drawer open. After several dreadful beats of silence, you open your eyes. 

Oh, gracious, you’re gonna be sick. 

Right there, lying on top of a heap of various crumpled papers and empty cigar boxes, nestled comfortably against his lighter, lies a scroll. Perfectly rolled up, edges crisp and neat, with a signature red ribbon tied around the middle. You snatch the damned thing out of the drawer and ram it back shut, untying the ribbon and forcing the scroll open. 

That overwhelming, unmissable throbbing in your gut completely takes you by control. 

A contract. Not just any contract–the same one Dice offered you before. The same one you had refused, telling him that you would not be the product of some silly deal. The same one Dice had bickered with you and created such a fuss over. 

You squeeze the contract in your quavering hands, your nails digging through the paper and creating small but evident cuts. The small amount of blood from the cut on your palm smears against the side of the parchment. 

Your heart pounds out of your chest, the erratic thumps ringing loudly in your ear drums. The air becomes stale and hot, beads of sweat beginning to form on your brow. Black spots start to turn up in your vision.

Mangosteen was right. You were wrong. 

He would.

Chapter Text

Every step King Dice takes rings in his eardrums as he paces his office, his piercing emerald eyes glaring daggers into the floor as he racks his brain for ideas. Any sort of solution, no matter how temporary. 

Three days.

Three days, and Dice needs to either have your soul in hand along with a contract, or allow his boss–an immortal, fire breathing, demonic beast– take it for himself, along with so much more. 

Three days, and he needs to figure something out. Three days, and somehow, Dice needs to save your life. 

Shaking hands reach in the top drawer of the desk, pulling out a box of cigars and a lighter. Dice pulls one out and brings it to his lips, hastily lighting the other end before taking a large hit. His heart pounds against his chest like a wild animal, each thud echoing the frantic rhythm of his racing thoughts. 

The lit cigar dances between his fingers as he continues to pace, the clicks of his shoes muffled against the carpet. Dice can’t tell if his mind is playing tricks on him, but gradually, the echoes of laughter and clapping from the casino floor start to die off into silence. Eventually, the only things he can hear are the taps of his shoes on the ground, and the loud, merciless ticks from the grandfather clock perched between his bookshelves. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Dice closes his eyes for a spell, taking another hit of his cigar and letting the white smoke trail around him as he exhales longingly. This was a lot easier when he had time to work at his own pace. The man is usually one to work well under pressure, but when it’s a matter dealing with you, he’s grown much too used to the uncertainty and hesitance. 

Think, Dice. The manager sits in his chair, swiveling around to glower at the dark windows pointing towards the light at the end of the cave. Think.  

You still don’t know about the contract–he hasn’t told you yet. Maybe, if he can play it off, he can convince you he just found out about it a few days ago, and show you the contract. 

He can tell you everything. The arguments with the boss, the time limit, and the predicament that plagues Dice’s mind. You could help him. He could figure something out with you. 

And even if the worst happens, you’ll know that everything was against Dice’s will…

No. It won’t come to that. It can’t.  

He smokes the cigar until the end burns his fingers, to which he shoves it against the ashtray and lets the remaining embers die off. 

Dice stands, gathering up the frantically spread contracts that await his signature and tapping the stack against the desktop to neaten it up. He places the pile near the edge for his cards to take care of before grabbing his overcoat off of the back of the spare couch, shrugging it over his shoulders. 

With one last look back at his comfortable prison, he takes his leave, ordering an Ace of Clubs to take care of the paperwork left behind. 

~

Ginette hums to herself as a couple more guests take their leave, only a few lingering patrons sticking behind as the casino runs quiet once again. She waits, patiently, as she stacks the snifters in their respective places under the counter, her eyes occasionally glancing at the small package you had left behind. 

She feels a pang of guilt upon seeing the gift–she hates to have lied to you, but there was no way she was about to break your heart after you had just gotten back from spending so much time away. Plus, she’s sure that whatever the King decides to do with you is his decision alone. 

As an employee, it’s not her place to mediate. 

“I’m heading out.” 

The tired, grouchy proclamation pulls the bartender from her thoughts, her eyes flickering up in surprise as she turns her head towards her boss, hastily setting down the last glass along with her notepad. 

“Wait, Boss!”

Dice pauses in his tracks, turning to glare at his subordinate when he’s met with a box to the face. He raises an eyebrow and takes the package from Ginette’s hands, scanning for any hazards. 

“What’s this, some sort of trick?” He eyes Ginette carefully, tapping his foot in demand for an answer. “I always tell you guys to keep any petty gifts like this in the storage—”

“This one’s different, Boss,” Ginette interrupts, her voice laced with guilt as she stares back down at the floor. She picks up the glass he had left for her, gingerly wiping it down with her trusty rag. “I swear it.” 

“How so?” 

“That sweetheart of yours stopped by and dropped it off. Said they were lookin’ for you, hoping to ease your mind from the ‘crazy shifts’ you’ve been havin’.” 

You… you came by? 

You came into the casino?

Dice feels his stomach plunge to his feet as he stares at the box with wide eyes, slowly nodding along with what Ginette tells him. He peels back the ribbon and opens the box to reveal a small assortment of chocolates, ranging from dark to white. 

From a local bakery, he recognizes, remembering a trip you took with him a couple months into your arrangement.

Such a thoughtful gift… he just wishes you waited until he came home to give it to him. 

He can’t shake the awful chill in his spine. 

Why did you come here?

Even moreso…

“Gin, what did you…” 

“I told them we’ve been busy,” the obedient employee bows, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. “They bought it.” 

Dice feels his own bodyweight rest back on his shoulders as his panic dies down, nodding again. 

“Thank you, for keeping this safe.” 

Ginette finishes cleaning the glass he had brought, silently putting it away before picking up the checklists to follow. The clacks of shoes walking away catch her attention again, but before she can stop herself, she calls after the sound. 

“Boss?” 

Softer in mood, Dice once again turns to face her, the precious box of chocolates lying delicately in his gloved, protective fingers. “Yes?” 

“I… be careful.” 

The exhaustion in Dice’s bones dissipates, that annoying sense of dread filling the empty spot. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m just putting it out there: be careful. That one’s got a keen eye for deceit—they let it go, but I saw that suspicious look in their eyes as they walked off. I’m sure they’re bound to catch on to this whole contract business, if you don’t start telling ‘em the truth yourself.” 

“Gin…” Dice turns around fully, casting her a warning look. “I don’t appreciate the prying in my personal affairs. It would do you well to focus on your work, instead–and you can start with those checklists I left for you.” 

Ginette bows in apology, frowning as she turns back to the countertop, avoiding her boss’s firm eye contact. 

“Forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to suggest any wrongdoing on your part, I just worry for you. And for that poor dear you’ve got at home. I can’t imagine what Scratch would do if we don’t—”

“Easy, easy, Gin,” Dice raises a silencing hand, rendering the poor bartender without a word left on her tongue. “I’ve got it covered. This won’t last long. I know you two are rather close, but please. Let me handle this, alright?” 

With that, Dice tosses a ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder as he retreats towards the front doors, not bothering to wait for a response. It’s not needed. Still, the words quietly leave her tongue as Ginette watches the pit boss disappear from sight. 

“Alright… goodnight.” 

~ 

A sudden gust of wind whips past Dice’s shoulders as he walks along the docks, sending him a shiver as a couple droplets of water splash against the velvety padding of his waistcoat. Little by little, the droplets increase in amount and speed, as the clouds fogging up the night sky get darker. 

It’s raining. 

All the more reason to just get home to you quicker. 

As Dice trails over the docks, careful not to slip on the newly soaked planks, he squeezes the gift you left him gently in an effort to ground himself. Sneaking a dark chocolate before hiding the box in the safety of his coat, he munches on the candy thoughtfully, the cogs in his brilliant mind slowly turning and piecing his problem together. 

And then, after a few more minutes…

That’s it. He’s got it.

His pace quickens as he treks through the storm, his feet suddenly eager to get him home to you.

The Devil hasn’t left the Isles in who knows how long, and doesn’t seem to plan to at all. After years of working for the beast, Dice is sure that he wouldn’t bother going after someone if they left entirely. 

Even if he would, there would still be a hell of a lot more time to come up with a more permanent solution. 

He’ll send you away. But this time, he’ll follow you. You can run off together, and stay out of sight until the Devil backs off. If the man really has to, he wouldn’t even mind nabbing some other poor soul to bring back. 

There’s no way that the Devil wouldn’t be able to tell that substitute isn’t you, but it’s at least something. Perhaps, the effort Dice put into obtaining a new target would be proof enough, and his boss would back off anyway.

You most likely would never be able to return to the casino again–at least, not for a long time. But you had been doing fine, up until today. Even then, you had just stopped by to drop something off. 

Dice doubts you were there for more than a minute, anyway. 

This could work. This will work. It has to. Dice wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he let you get hurt.

Dice’s legs carry him in a sprint as the rain pours down on him, his breaths short and light as the fluttering of his heartbeat as he approaches your home. He wants to see you. 

The weight of his guilt will be gone. You’ll be with him again. He’ll thank you for the chocolates, and you’ll talk with him. He’ll spare no details. Then, he’ll tell you how to fix this. You’ve had your fair share of running away and starting anew, you’ve told him so plenty of times–surely, you can do it one more time. With him.

He just needs to get inside. 

The rain stops its tirade against Dice’s body as he finally takes sanctuary underneath the porch, shaking his shoulders slightly and wiping any residual raindrops off his face. He can barely feel how cold he really is, not minding the slight cold tremors of his hands as he grabs the doorknob and turns it. 

His heart keeps him warm enough as he thinks of your beautiful face greeting him once he comes inside. 

He pulls back the door, twinging slightly at the darkness of the home’s exterior. You usually have the hall light on, greeting him in welcome as he hangs up his coat. 

Dice steps inside suspiciously, looking around in worry as he shucks off his jacket and hangs it like normal. Not only is it just as gloomy inside as it is outside, but Dice’s footsteps against the wooden floors are almost deafening. 

It’s quiet, inside. Way too quiet. 

“Doll?” Dice calls from the front room as he makes his way inside, his fingers grazing over the walls in search of some sense of security. Anything to ease his mind of the overwhelming change in the atmosphere. “Sweetheart, are you home?”

No answer. 

Dice searches the living room, desperate to find you, but you’re not in your usual spot on the couch. The quilt you use rests neatly over the cushions, waiting for an occupant. The weary and distressed showman can only hope that you and he can oblige, sharing the quilt while you read to him. 

“Darlin’, I know you’re here, you don’t have work today. Please, where are you?” 

Dice yelps as he hears a sudden creak of a chair, coming from the dining room. Looks like he’s got his answer. He slowly walks over to the doorway leading into the room he heard the noise, searching the wall for a light. 

He flips on the switch, finally graced with some brightness in the room, his eyes quickly landing on your spot at the table. He expects his heart to flutter–for all his problems to be flushed away with relief upon seeing your face. Your smile. 

Except, relief never comes. 

Your smile never comes. 

In fact, when Dice has the courage to step closer to where you’re seated, he still has a hard time seeing your face at all. He grabs a nearby chair and sits, hoping to catch your attention since the light didn’t seem to work. Just one look his way. 

He receives nothing. 

“What’s wrong?” Dice starts, softly, resting an arm on the table. His hand opens out to you, his gloved palm facing the air as his fingers beckon for you to find comfort in his touch. He rarely ever offers himself to you in such a loving way, but he supposes you most likely need it. 

“Please, doll, lend me your voice. Talk to me. What’s–”

“Stop.” 

Your voice cuts in sharply through the air, like a knife to Dice’s chest, instantly ceasing any words that had been marinating on his tongue. It’s low and hoarse, laced with danger.

Dice had heard that tone thousands of times over the years of heartbreak and betrayal he’s bestowed upon other people, and it had always filled him with a sick sense of joy to see the suffering of the wretched. 

But with you? Seeing someone so upset has never bothered Dice more than it does now. He hopes, by some miracle, that it’s not him you’re so cross with.

He needs to say something. To mend whatever’s broken you.

“Darlin’, I beg you, what’s the matter? Let me help–”

“Call me ‘darlin’ again and see what happens, you good-for-nothin’ bastard!” You suddenly yell, slamming your hands on the table and shooting up from your seat. 

Your face finally makes its appearance, and for once, Dice regrets wanting to see it.

It’s not the grit of your teeth, the anger in your eyes, or the way your face slightly flushes from emotion that make him want to turn away. Instead, it’s the tear stains, glistening under the light and leaving behind gentle scars on your cheeks. 

You’ve been crying. And with the way your reddened eyes stare into his own with such fury, it’s clear his hopes have gone unanswered. You’ve been crying because of him. 

He hates that. 

He hates your tears. They’re the bane of his existence. You haven’t cried like this in front of him before, but after getting a glimpse of such a horrifying expression on your features, Dice never wants to see you so distraught again.

“Alright, I won’t. But at least just tell me what’s wrong, I want–” 

“For crying out loud, Dice! Shut it!” You shout, bringing your fist against the table to emphasize your point. Your breaths are erratic as you remove yourself from your position in front of your seat, causing Dice to stand up as well. 

“I don’t care what you want. You don’t get to speak unless I ask, you got that?” 

Sensing that responding would only make things worse, Dice slowly nods, but casts you a look of expectation as well. 

Tell me, then, he thinks inwardly. Tell me what’s the matter, for Hell’s sake. 

A piece of paper slaps against his chest, and he looks down to where your fingers pin down the parchment. 

The unmistakable red ribbon of the Devil’s signature seal peeks at him from your pocket, immediately telling Dice exactly what the problem is. 

You nod towards him, demanding him to take the sheet from you and read it for himself. He obeys, already knowing just what lies in the contents. 

That damn contract that he’s been so hung up over. The very source of all his problems, and now, yours, as well.

But, why did you know it was in there? And furthermore, what prompted you to look? 

“Tell me what this is, Dice,” You seethe, tapping your foot, glaring up at him in waiting. 

“It’s…” He hesitates, wondering if there's anything he could say to deter you. To calm you down, at the very least. 

“Listen, this isn’t what it looks like.” 

“Dice…” You warn, uninterested in hearing an explanation at the moment. “Just tell me what this piece of paper is.”

A shaky sigh leaves Dice’s lips as his hands tighten around the contract. He decides he should just get on with it, and not beat around any more bushes. No more petty excuses.

He’s sick of lying to you. 

Lying’s what got him in this mess, in the first place. 

“It’s your contract.” 

“Yes, it is. It’s the same paper I clearly told you I want nothing to do with. Now, Dice,” you step closer, leaning upwards until your face is mere inches away from his, your breath hot against his cheeks. 

“Why is it in my house?” 

“Darlin’, I swear, I know what this seems like, but I promise you, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Why. Is. The contract. In my house?”

“The Boss gave it to me, to try again with you. I…I had been meaning to throw it away, as soon as I got it.” 

“Then why is it still here? Why isn’t it ‘thrown away?!’” 

Dice winces in guilt at your accusatory tone, and doesn’t seem to have an answer to your question. That subtle motion is all you need to confirm your doubts. 

He didn’t mean to throw it away. He isn’t on your side, and he never was. 

Every moment you two have ever shared together, has been a lie. 

One heart-crushing, bone-chilling, pretty-faced lie. 

“I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“…What?” Dice whispers in shock, his head becoming hot with despair as he looks at you. “I swear, I’ll turn this whole thing around if you just let me explain. Please, just give me a chance–”

“You have had a ton of chances, Dice! You’ve been living in my home, lying to me, and keeping this from me for months! I am through with giving you chances when all you’ve done is bring me pain!” 

Dice furrows his brow, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Pain? Pain was all he brought you? 

What about every time he made you laugh? What about the happiness you felt when he would spend time with you? Was it all for nothing?

“That’s not fair. What about–” 

“No!” You cut right through his words, driving your finger into his chest in an effort to shut him up. 

“Everything we’ve done together has been a chance for you to manipulate me! For me to fall for your stupid little deal and give up my life! My eternity! Dice, how could you do this to me?!” 

You’ve got this all wrong. It wasn’t for a deal. Not anymore. That tirade ended long ago. If you could just give him one second… 

No. 

You’re right. He’s had weeks to think about this, and he hasn’t. He’s had weeks to get rid of that horrible parchment in his hand, never letting you or himself see it again. But he hasn’t.

“Keeping that damn thing after we talked about not having it anymore?! Lying to me about keeping it, in my own home?! Going behind my back and keeping me away from the casino, and all for what? So you can conspire with the Devil over me?! 

Hell, if I were to have refused again, what would you have done?! I bet you woulda snatched my soul away and took it right to him! Because he is who you love, Dice! You can’t love anything but your job! I’ve been doing all of this for nothing!” 

Your voice chokes on the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, and Dice longs to wipe them away, but he knows he has no right. Now, all he can do is beg. Stop it. Stop with the waterworks. 

Please. 

“And what a waste…” You lament in a broken sob, your eyes finally allowing the droplets to fall, dribbling from your chin and landing on the floor below. 

“A waste of my feelings, and my breath. All the dates, the talks we’ve had, the times I’ve trusted you. Every moment of entertaining this little mind game of yours has been a waste of my time!” 

No it wasn’t. Please. Please don’t say that. 

But, where does Dice get the privilege to tell you so, when everything he’s done lines up with your perception of the issue? He lied, kept you away, and never threw away that contract. 

Why didn’t he throw it away? Is he really that afraid of his boss?

Yes. Yes, he is. But you were right. Not only is he afraid… 

Dice loves him. 

Not in the way he loves you, but he does love the Devil. 

He loves the life given to him because of a simple handshake. He loves his work—the attention and influence it brings him. The power he holds over so many individuals. The lavish life he lives, having the privilege of luxury in exchange for his freedom. 

Unfortunately for you, no matter how hard Dice tries to convince you otherwise, his first love will always be the casino. His work. His boss. 

Dice’s love for himself triumphs any pleasant feelings he might have for anyone else. It’s just who he is. 

Such a shame that for a second, you thought otherwise.

“You selfish…” You choke out, your fists clenching at your sides as you do your best to contain yourself. 

“You rotten, sleazy, good-for-nothin’ son of a bitch!” 

Dice feels something inside him snap at the last name you call him, tossing any rationality he was desperately holding onto out the window. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” He cuts in, stepping closer to you in retaliation, much to your outrage. “Call me what you like, but don’t you dare–” 

“Shut it, Dice!” You yell, stepping back despite your interruption, refusing to let the monster who had manipulated you get any closer. He doesn’t deserve it. 

He was right, after all. He doesn’t deserve the love you had given him. He never did. 

No wonder he was so hesitant with you. That should have been your first clue.

You should have taken the hint.

“You don’t deserve to have a say in this! Not anymore! You lost your chance to fix all this, after I had given you so many! After I thought you already had! Now, you’re going to clamp your trap and listen to me!” 

Seething at your insults, Dice begrudgingly obeys, glaring sharp daggers at you as his lips close together. Every retort he wants to throw back at you starts to show through those bright emerald irises, once a wonderful display of warmth. 

Now, they’re glowing with malicious intent, threatening to snatch up your soul and run away with it the second you let down your guard.

But you won’t. Not anymore. Never again. 

“Did you, at the very least, have fun?” You sneer, circling around him like a hawk watching over its prey. “Did you and your boss have a laugh at my expense? Did you find joy in letting me fall into your trap and play your sick, twisted games?”

No, Dice thinks irritatedly. Of course not. 

But he wonders if he should’ve. This conversation would be a hell of a lot easier if he had. 

“I never should’ve shown up to that damn casino if I would’ve known how much grief you would have brought to my doorstep. I should’ve listened to those warnings I received beforehand. Maybe then, I would’ve been spared the suffering of even knowing who you are.” 

Ouch. 

It shouldn’t hurt this much to hear those words. Dice has heard the same sob story hundreds of times. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care…

But he does. He cares about you more than anything. And now, hearing the same old slanders from your voice, as opposed to someone else’s, has never hurt so much. 

Yet, it’s probably not nearly as agonizing as what you’re facing. 

Even so, the more you speak to him the way you are, the more Dice wants to tear into you. To rip you apart and make you realize just how wrong you are.

How selfish he is, for wishing such a thing. 

“God… King Dice, the Devil’s right hand man. Even your name has ‘bad news’ written all over it. What was I thinking, letting you into my heart like this? I should’ve known that a monster like you wouldn’t know how to love someone! You don’t even deserve to know what love is!” 

Dice feels his eyes falter in hurt as he steps back a little, staring in dismay as your composure falls from you completely. He barely even recognizes you anymore, ripping down every last peg he has and ruining him. 

And worst of all, underneath a sore ego and the last of his sick pride, he knows that every word that leaves your lips is the truth. 

He’s a monster. A cheat. A dirty liar, who uses other people for his own selfish desires. A conman who revels in the misery of others. 

“I should’ve just let you say those things about yourself, that night. I never should’ve convinced you otherwise, helping you believe that you deserved anything I’ve ever done for you. You and your little casino are the two things in this world that could never deserve it, Dice! You deserve nothing!” 

He shakes his head, turning it off to the side and avoiding your gaze. He can’t. Dice can’t look at you anymore. As the coward he’s regretfully becoming, the man refuses to look you in the eyes. 

He can’t take the pain of the realization–he’s done absolutely nothing right this entire time he’s been with you. 

“You have not learned a thing this whole time, have you?! I can’t believe I thought I could be the one to change you! The one who could help you love someone other than yourself!”

He stands, silent and brooding. 

“You can’t be genuine…”

You’re right. 

“You can’t be kind…” 

You’re right. 

“You can’t be trusted!” 

You’re right. 

Dice can barely breathe properly, his chest being chained down by the weight of his failure–both for you and his boss. He’ll definitely go home empty-handed, unable to stop the inevitable doom waiting for you. Scratch will look upon him in disgust, disappointed that he couldn’t handle one simple task. 

There’s no way he can make things right with you, either. He can never have things the way they were, before you found that contract. 

It angers him. 

You should never have found that slip of paper. You should never have gone through his things. You should never have put yourself in this situation without letting him tell you the full story, first. 

…You should never have trusted him with your heart. You should never have given him a chance–not when he’s done nothing to deserve one. 

Not when he berated you in his office over that same parchment in his hand. Not when he lied to you, and kept it up for weeks. 

You never deserved this, and Dice is angry that you even have to have this talk with him. 

You deserve better. Dice should’ve been better to you. 

“I…” You choke out a soft, fresh sob, turning away and squeezing your eyes shut. You’ve been yelling at him so much your voice is cracked, barely recognizable. 

No longer are you the kind, calm, and reserved breath of fresh air Dice had been excited to come home to. 

Dice lost that privilege the moment he brought that contract in your house. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His eyes widen, finally finding the nerve to look back at you. An apology is not what Dice was expecting to hear, nor what he feels he deserves to accept. He shouldn’t be making that call. It should be the other way around.

“I’m sorry I ever wasted my time with you.” 

Oh.

“I’m sorry I ever sat next to you and shared a drink with you. I’m sorry for every conversation we’ve ever had. I’m sorry I let you in, when every part of my brain told me to keep you out.”

Dice feels the anguishing burn of bile traveling up his throat, and quickly swallows it down. You’ve always had such an intelligent mind. 

How disappointing, that he had to deter you from it. 

You slowly walk past him, your feet numbly dragging you across the cold floorboards into the front room. 

Your fingers dig into the flesh of your arms, squeezing in an effort to keep you from losing yourself to the suffocating pain in your chest. The horrible pressure banging against your skull. 

You want the pain to stop. 

Dice desperately wants to take it away from you. To lay the weight of your troubles on his shoulders.

He follows you, stuffing the contract in his breast pocket and chasing after the last lingering embers of what you two had. He longs to rekindle the flame, his greedy heart yearning to keep those sparks alive. 

“Sweetheart, please!” He calls after you as he steps into the front room, eyes boring into the back of your head where you stand.  

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore! You never meant it, and you never will!”

“That’s not true, I swear it! Please, let me prove it to you.”

“Of course it is! You’ve had months to prove it to me, and you have failed. Forget it, King. It’s over.” 

Dice shakes his head, hesitantly walking closer. He doesn’t want to forget. He won’t. He refuses. He’s much too stubborn to do so.

He’s too stubborn to quit trying, either. 

“You know I can’t do that, doll. I won’t.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, forcing you to stagger away towards the door. It’s suffocating. You’re suffocating. You need to get out. 

No.

He needs to get out. 

“Stop saying that. Stop with these petty niceties when they mean nothing.” 

“They mean everything,” Dice spits, his tone firm and unmoving. “Don’t try and tell me what my own words mean.” 

He moves beside you, forcing your peripheral vision to greet the purple of his jacket. That beautiful, lavender purple that you used to fall in love with. 

Now, it’s nothing but poison. 

“Just listen to me, darlin’.” 

“Shut your mouth, King.” 

“Quit callin’ me that. I know what you’re trying to do, and I hate it.” 

“I don’t care what you think you know, and I don’t care what you hate. That sentiment died the moment I discovered your lies.” 

“You know that’s not true. You do care.” 

“Go to Hell.” 

“(Y/n).”

Your eyes widen in enraged shock, your energy returning as you whip around to face the filthy parasite who dared to use your name when he no longer has the right. 

“What did you just say?” 

“You know damn well what I said,” Dice whispers, turning beside you completely. 

“That name I fell in love with all those months ago,” he whispers again, much more sweetly. He’s so tender, treating your name like it’s treasure. It is, to him. It’s so endearing, how he talks to you. So loving. 

So sickening.  

Your blood boils, and you suddenly find the strength of a thousand men. 

“Keep…” 

You grip the knob of the front door, the metal practically melting in your hold. 

“My name…” 

You swing the door open, letting it slam against the wall so harshly that the spare photos you keep hung up tremble slightly in fear. Dice jumps beside you, not expecting such an outburst. 

“OUT of your MOUTH!!”

You shout, gripping Dice’s forearm and shoving him out the door. Dice quickly turns back to face you, but before he can make a move to stop you, the door slams right back shut, forcing him to knock his arm against the wood in desperation. The soft click behind the door seals his fate. 

You’re done.

“Wait!” He shouts after you, leaning on the door as he shivers from the bitter cold. Dice rests the side of his head against it, listening for your presence. 

To his dismay, all he hears are the heartless patters of your footsteps, now calm and quiet, fading away from him. 

You fade away, until eventually, Dice is left with nothing. 

He calls your name again, knocking urgently on the locked door and begging for you to come back. To let him back in. 

As if he deserves that, after ruining your life the first time you had done so. 

Seconds tick away and turn into minutes, Dice’s body heat plummeting the more he forces himself to stay outside your door, waiting for the sweet forgiveness that will surely never come. 

The loud crashes of thunder remind him of the storm engulfing the Isles, threatening to reach him despite his protection beneath your porch. Sighing shakily in defeat, Dice slides down the door to sit on the porch’s wooden planks, his aching head resting against the frame. 

The rain pours with more force, roaring against the rooftop and beckoning for Dice to engulf himself in the cold, letting the residual warmth left within him die off into nothingness. 

Dice feels his mind become numb as he debates whether to accept the storm’s offer, standing from his seat against the door a few minutes later with legs of jelly. Quietly, he steps towards the edge of the porch, letting the rainfall taint his shoes, telling him to let himself go. 

To let you go. 

He hesitates. He shouldn’t let you go. He can’t. He can’t let it end like this. 

Another deafening clap of thunder rings through Dice’s eardrums, telling him to drop the act. To quit bothering. 

It’s over. Forget it. 

He’s too tired to try any longer. 

Dice relents, stepping into the rain, finally leaving your porch behind, his steps fading away from the door in the opposite direction you had gone. 

He embraces the numbness and walks away, leaving behind the last traces of his humanity on your doorstep.

Chapter Text

King Dice has always hated the rain.

It’s cold, and wet. Merciless. A storm never cares about who it traps beneath its hold–whether you’re a filthy commoner or the biggest star in the Isles. Everyone’s a victim to its wrath, one way or another.

But today, surprisingly, the rain is the most comforting thing that Dice has been graced with.

He walks along the docks, his shoes wetly tapping against the small puddles that form along the imperfections of the planks. Shivering a little, he pulls his coat tighter over his shoulders, hugging himself with the soaked fabric in an attempt to protect himself from the chill.

This is ridiculous.  

He shouldn’t be out here, letting himself get swamped away by a storm.

Pathetic, for someone like him.

Dice glares at the ground as another storm, one of hurt and frustration, festers internally. 

If you had just put your emotions aside, as you always do, to think rationally… maybe you two would be having a better night than you are now.

If only Dice hadn’t pushed you over the edge.

If only he hadn’t lied to you.

The coldhearted man grits his teeth, quietly cursing to himself as he reaches the end of the docks and continues his path back towards the cave of Inkwell Hell. He’ll be out of the rain soon, and back where he belongs.

After heavy footsteps cross the streets of the city and pass over train tracks, Dice trudges into the cave in utter defeat. Icy green eyes pierce into the ground as he walks, heading inside the casino and refusing to look up. 

The music quiets down and the chatter dims as the patrons timidly turn his way, the chatter fading into hushed whispers as the manager briskly walks by.

“Hey, the King’s back! He didn’t seem gone too long, at all. Didn’t he turn in a couple hours ago?”

“Gee, he seems pretty pissed. Completely soaked, too. Musta gone in the city for a while.”

“Say, where’s that one fella that’s always clingin’ to his arm? Ya think somethin’ happened between ‘em?”

“I dunno, but we best not dwell on it. King Dice hates it when people like us butt in on his business.”

Dice does his best not to shoot daggers towards the rising sources of gossip, keeping his head hung as he swiftly passes the bar. He almost casts Ginette a defeated glance, but ultimately decides against it. 

The last thing he needs is some sort of ‘I told you so’ from his subordinate.

But, the only gleam of emotion that passes through the woman’s eyes is pity as she watches her boss disappear into the employee-restricted area. The clever gal shakes her head solemnly before filling up a few pints for her guests. 

The music resumes and the patrons turn back to their games, everything resuming as it had before Dice walked inside.

Spare drops of rainwater weep from his dampened coat and onto the beautiful velvet carpet beneath him as Dice walks the halls, ducking behind the labeled door that leads into his private wing.

As the showman makes his retreat, a furry figure who he doesn’t see eavesdrops with curiosity, his tail twitching enthusiastically in amusement as his poor lackey resigns to fate.

He never had the choice in the first place.

Dice passes by his loyal Aces, barely offering them a glance as they run along to sift through paperwork and keep the place tidy. Unbeknownst to him, a few watch in sympathy as he heads into his chambers, closing the door behind him with a soft, chilling click.

A heavy-hearted look is exchanged between the spectating cards before they continue their work.

Lavender shoes are kicked off and shoved away, abandoned in a heap in front of the nightstand. A similarly colored velvet tailcoat joins the pile, as the gloomy pit boss flops onto the bed.

He’s got his old life back. 

Lying on a bed of silk, in his comfortable home, attached to the one place in Inkwell where he’s a star. A beautiful casino that fits right into the palm of his hand. Tomorrow, as always, Dice will appear on the main floor as a king. A living legend, with an adoring crowd of suckers kissing up to him, his crew taking care of business. 

Everything is as it was before.

He wants nothing less.

Irritated, he lets out a groan and buries his face into his pillow. His soft fingers grip the fabric of the sheets as Dice does his best to drop it. 

Sleep, dammit. Just go to sleep.

‘Forget it, King. It’s over.’

Your voice rings in his eardrums, dripping with disgust. You might as well wish him dead.

Usually, that’s not a problem for him. Dice is used to such reactions, from those he’s toyed with. He might even go as far as to say that’s part of the fun–smirking in the faces of the wretched as they curse his name, blaming him for their downfall.

Now, the feeling bothers him. It bothers him greatly.

‘I’m sorry I ever wasted my time with you.’

Through gritted teeth, Dice chokes back an angry curse, curling up in an effort to let the mattress and sheets consume him. He does not want to think about this anymore.

‘Go to Hell.’

Oh, darling. Having to continue on, without you? Knowing your fate, and knowing that it’s his fault? He’s already there.

And soon, you will be, too.

~

Coming into work was a terrible idea.

Your hands tremble angrily as you do your best to write down notes in your notebook, your jaw clenched behind your mouth. With blurry vision and ringing ears, you follow loosely with what your boss rambles about in front of the conference, barely paying attention. 

You didn’t sleep last night. How could you have?

After all that happened, you’re surprised you even made it to work. Not that you wanted to, but it’s certainly a distraction.

Or, it would be, if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with the man you swore not to worry about anymore.

Damn him , you think to yourself as the ink of your notes smudges across your papers. 

Damn him to Hell.

Your mind chides your past decisions as you scribble away, ignoring any mistakes or blotches that appear on the pages. Falling for someone like King Dice has always been dangerous, but you had put your doubt aside, just this once. 

You had faith that things could be different. That he could be different.

What a mistake that was.

Gritting your teeth, you swallow the growing lump in your throat as you try and make sense of the muffled chatter your boss is spewing out. However, every minute that passes leaves you with less motivation. Eventually, you stop taking notes all together, simply staring ahead and letting your own thoughts consume you.

Almost six months, utterly wasted. Half of a year. 

Not just any year, either–your first year, starting a new life. Your second chance, nearly eradicated the moment you decided to let down your guard. He barely even needed a second to get into your head.

The muffled noises surround you and become louder as the folks beside you stand, conversing casually with one another as they make their way out of the briefing room. Quickly, you gather your things and shoot out of your seat, not wanting to stay for a second longer than you had to. 

Briskly, you step past your coworkers and make your way over to your desk. You learned nothing from that meeting. You may as well not have even gone.

You may as well go home, right now.

With a frustrated huff, you stand, gathering your things and taking your leave. You’re sure that you’ll come back to quite the workload and an earful from the boss, but right now, you can’t be bothered to care. 

You thank the stars you chose a home that’s near your office as you make the short journey home, dragging your feet through the front doorway and carelessly hanging your jacket. You kick off your shoes and set down your work on the dining room table, before trudging to the living room and collapsing into your sofa, letting your aching bones sink into the cushions.

Finally. Peace.

You let your eyes flutter shut, eager to give them a rest. Just five minutes. That’s all you really need.

‘Sweetheart, please!’

Your brows furrow downwards in an attempt to bury the remnants of yesterday’s debacle.

‘Just listen to me, darlin’.’

You feel an awful thumping against your skull, just underneath your eyes. If you were to open them, you’re sure you’d be seeing spots. The room feels like it’s spinning, much too fast for your own good. Please, no. Enough with this. It’s over, as you had said.

An ache in your chest tells you otherwise. 

Maybe you should have given Dice a shot. At least, you could have heard what he had to say. But you were just so furious with him. You still are.

But despite it all, you kick yourself the most, for being so naive. For tricking yourself, out of all people.

Why would Dice bother to give up his job for you, no matter how much he had claimed to love you? Why would you assume that he would, when he had proven to be unreliable, and had even told you so?

Your brain continues to plague you with questions, both assuring you of your correct decision to tell him off and chiding you for refusing to listen to its warnings. After a while, the thoughts simply did nothing more than increase the pressure behind your skull, worsening your migraine.

With a disgruntled curse under your breath, you peel your eyes open and will yourself to get off the sofa, staggering towards the dining room to sit. 

A distraction. 

Maybe if you try and look over the notes you had taken earlier, making some sort of sense to them, you can take your mind off of personal issues and focus on that meeting you attended. 

Anything but him.

Sifting through your notebook in silence, you lose yourself in your own writing, nearly forgetting what had gotten you in such a wreck. You re-organize your work, finding a steady rhythm in the quiet noises of papers turning and the scribbling of your pen. Slowly, that migraine eases away, allowing your vision to gradually return to normal.

Until, the phone mounted on your kitchen’s wall starts to ring.

You drop your pen onto the table and rub your temple, glaring daggers at the telephone from your seat. Who could possibly be calling you in the middle of the day? Should you really even bother to answer it?

Riiing. Riiing. Riiing.

Probably. It could be important. Or, maybe it’s from your manager, wanting to know why you left work so early.

You groan softly, standing and abandoning your work for the moment to approach the mounted telephone. Disconnecting the receiver and bringing it to your ear, you quickly churn out a rushed apology to the person on the other side.

“Sorry for heading out early, today. I wasn’t feeling too hot, but I did bring my work home to–”

A relieved chuckle on the other side, and then a woman’s voice.

“I’m not your boss, dearie.”

Well, you’ll be damned.

“Gin?” You light up a little, the corners of your lips turning into a small smile.

“The one and only!” The sweet bartender laughs gently, overseeing the bar from her place near the casino’s telephone. “I just figured I’d check up on ya, considerin’ everything from yesterday.”

“Shucks, you didn’t have to do all that. I appreciate it, thank you,” you sigh and rub your temple. “It’s been a long day.”

“I bet…” Ginette muses in concern, her tone dropping. “Things haven’t been too hot over here, either. The King’s been out of sorts since he got back, and the mood’s rubbed off on the floor.”

Your stomach churns at the mention of his name. 

“Well, I’ll no longer be of any help fixing that,” you spit, clenching the receiver tightly. “Whatever he’s moping about, it’s not my problem. He made sure of that, with the stunt he pulled.”

Another sigh, over the phone.

“I figured as much.”

You wait for a second, sensing that Ginette has something more to say. Eventually, you’re proven right.

“You’ve got every right to feel how you do, dear. And I gotta offer you my apologies as well, for feeding into the whole thing. It didn’t feel good to lie to you like that, but it felt right given my position. We’ve all got a job to do here, including the boss.”

Silence, for a few beats. Though you weren’t expecting or needing an apology from her, you don’t know how to respond to it. Whether to accept it fully.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“What?”  

You hiss into the transmitter, leaning forward and resting an irritated palm against the wall. 

“Why in hell would I talk to that prick, after all he’s done? Gin, if I’m being the only honest one here, I’d be mighty fine if I never saw him again.”

“I know, I know,” Ginette appeases. “But the boss’s job is a lot harder than you think. He’s not after you as a target by his own free will, anymore. He follows Scratch’s orders the same way we staff obey his.”

“Frankly, that’s still not my burden to bear. Neither of ‘em can have me if I never show up again.”

“My point,” the barkeep insists, “is that the King doesn’t want this for you, either. Besides, I’m thinkin’ that he’s comin’ up with somethin’ for you that’ll make you both happy.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion–not that she’d be able to see it.

“What’re you getting at, Gin?”

“Before he ended his shift, I told him to be careful with you. Warned him about that scowl you had on your face, as you left the casino. He told me that he ‘had it covered,’ and at first I was skeptical, but the way he left was so quick… I think he was eager to see you. I really do think he’s got somethin’ on his mind.”

You ponder the woman’s words, turmoil festering inside. Dice did seem rather desperate to tell you something, before you shut him out.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of experience with this already, but the boss has a habit of keeping a front and convincing everyone around him that he’s got everything under control. Which is why I didn’t quite believe him at first, but that look he gave me before he left? There was somethin’ genuine about it. It’s why I didn’t convince him to stay behind and give you some space.”

You’re silent, your foot tapping on the floor as a very large lump rises from your chest. It takes over your vocals, rendering you speechless and unable to answer Ginette’s next question.

“You still there, darling?”

You clear your throat, hoping that’d be enough to answer. Thankfully, you hear a small breath of relief before a final word of reassurance.

“It’s up to you–I know that what happened is not your fault, and you’ve got every right to turn your back on this place. No one here would chide you for doing so. I just figured I’d give an extra perspective, in case King Dice hadn’t given it to you already.”

He hadn’t. He hadn’t given it to you. 

Though, in his defence, you hadn’t exactly let him… 

Drumming your fingers against the wall, you debate your options, wondering whether or not you would let him, if you were to ever see him again. 

“Thank you, Gin,” you reply after a while, your voice barely audible. “I needed that.”

“Of course, dear. Not that anyone would begrudge you for refusing, but I hope to see you soon, if you ever feel inclined to come back again.”

You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. 

Nor do you want to. 

But, you let out a labored breath, accepting her farewell and sending a small, quiet one of your own.

“You will.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, there’s that fella you’d asked about yesterday! The one who’s always hangin’ around the King?”

“You’re right–maybe they came back to fix things up.”

“Or to cut ties for good.”

“Oh, don’t be such a downer!”

You ignore the mindless chit-chat of the drunken folks who don’t matter, heading straight towards the casino’s bar and sitting in your usual spot. Before you even ask, a classic glass of scotch is poured over a bed of ice and slid your way.

Your usual.

Shooting the faithful bartender a half-smile, you down the drink in one gulp and slide the glass back towards her.

“Thank you, Gin.”

You reach into your wallet to pull out a twenty, when you hear your friend start to tsk at you.

“On the house, darling.”

You flash Ginette a look of surprise before smiling slightly and putting your wallet away. 

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“Figured you’d need it, sugar. It’s the least I can do.”

“Where’s the man of the hour?”

“In his office,” Ginette replies smoothly, wiping down the rim of your glass. “I reckon he’s buried himself in paperwork. Y’know how he gets when he’s in a bad mood.”

You scoff, nearly laughing at the idea that he’d have the right to feel that way, when he brought all this upon himself. You have half a mind to turn back around and just let him rot in that office.

But, despite the bones in your body telling you to retreat, you send the barkeep a nod.

“Got it,” you stand, making a move to head towards the hall when you hear the woman call out from behind you. You turn your head behind, your peripheral vision catching the nervous smile Ginette gives you.

“Be careful, ya hear me?”

“I will,” you call back before wandering over to the golden door labeled Employees Only and walk through it, leaving several other staff members and patrons to speculate.

Every step you take echoes in your ears as you walk the long corridors in the back of the casino, and you nearly choke on air, the hellish aura ready to smother you. You debate turning around, but your legs move on their own. 

For the first time since you’ve met the man, you feel the same unease in your stomach as everyone else who’s had the misfortune of falling into Dice’s games. 

Unfortunately, no matter how much you had kept up your guard, you had become his worst victim.

What’s worse is, you’re still playing along.

You had told yourself that you were done–you were through with setting yourself up for misery. You had repeated to yourself, so many times, that you had made the right choice to push him away. 

But Ginette’s call rings in your ears every time you hesitate, reminding you to at least humor her, of all people. 

You aren’t here for him. You aren’t here to love, or even to forgive. 

What you’re here for is answers, and that’s it. 

Then, you can get the hell out, and leave this disgusting den behind. 

‘This is just to set the record straight,’ you think to yourself.

‘Simply to get both sides of this story.’

You finally approach your destination, stopping right in front of the door. 

King Dice’s Office.

You knock, three times, and hold your breath for an answer. You wait, silently. And wait. And wait. 

No response.

You try again, a bit louder.

Still no answer, but the door creaks open, little by little, each time your fist hits against the gold-painted wood. You feel a wisp of icy air breathe against your cheek, almost snapping you out of your decision.

This is a casino in hell. Why is the air suddenly so cold?

You slowly push the door open, your breath held tight.

What a sight.

The room is void of any warmth, and the radio is silent, as opposed to the usual soft jazz it likes to play. A few Aces dash by you, swiftly waltzing to and from Dice’s desk to grab papers and bring them out of the office. One of the cards, an Ace of Spades, walks by and places a glass of scotch near the edge. 

So much hustle and bustle, all in one room.

You quietly step inside, letting the cards pass as they need, focusing your attention on the man occupying the desk.

As if in a trance, King Dice scribbles away on the papers in front of him, his hands moving on autopilot while he signs his name on every contract, shifting the finished papers into a messy pile. His beloved purple tailcoat is nowhere to be found, bowtie completely undone and hanging messily underneath his collar.

Stepping closer to get a good view of his face, you notice the small shadows underneath his eyes, a scowl etched into his face. He glares at his work, looking like he’s almost ready to curse at it, wishing to be anywhere else.

Looks like you two have one thing in common.

You approach the large desk, a little surprised that the manager hasn’t made any acknowledgement of your presence yet. Several beats pass by, neither one of you speaking, and you conclude that Dice isn’t trying to ignore you–he simply hasn’t noticed. 

Shaking your head, you rest your hands atop the polished wood and finally make your presence known.

“King.”

All movement in Dice’s bones stops, his writing ceasing halfway through a signature and blotting ink in one concentrated spot. He doesn’t seem to care about that, though.

He sets his pen down and sets the soiled contract to the side, lifting his head up to face you. You keep your look tense, willing yourself not to break. 

He stares right back at you, expression unreadable as he picks up the glass of liquor his Ace of Spades dropped by for him.

You both keep your gazes tightly locked as Dice takes a firm sip, knocking back the whiskey before his expression turns sour. 

But not because of the bitter liquid, or the burning sensation in his throat.

“What.”

His voice is different. It’s not that smooth and sultry tone you’re used to; he sounds rugged and tired. He must’ve been up all night.

You open your mouth to speak, but Dice raises a hand to silence you. For some odd reason, you obey.

“What, could you possibly want from me, after everything that’s happened between us?” Dice asks, his words laced with impatience.

You blink a few times, wondering if you should have expected such hostility despite him being the one who screwed things up the most. 

With a warning glare, you sit in the chair he keeps in front of his desk, your back straight.

“I’m not any more excited to see you than you are to see me, so I’ll keep it short. I’m here for answers, King. For real, this time. No funny business, no beating around the bush. We need to talk about this contract fiasco, right now.”

“You’re right,” Dice spits, glowering hard as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “We do.”

Neither of you move, for a moment, waiting for the other to take the first chance. 

Tired, angered faces boring into one another. Complete and utter silence, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock against the wall.

Dice pipes up first. 

“But if we are to talk about this, how can I be so sure that you’ll actually let me get a word in? How do I know you’re not here to bite my head off some more?” He sneers, his tone growing icy as he drums his gloved fingers over his desk.

“Y’know, since it seems that you’ve picked up a rather annoying habit of jumping the gun without having much to work with.” 

You narrow your eyes at his accusatory tone, slightly baffled at the audacity he’s displaying in front of you. The raw, unapologetic anger that he has no right to feel. 

And yet, you say nothing. You let him continue.

“I don’t know how much information you got, nor how you even got it–but at this point, I suppose it doesn’t matter. What I do know is that after I had asked you not to come here until I felt like it was safe enough, you disregarded that and came anyway.”

You nearly laugh at the idea of him getting so riled up over you ‘not following directions,’ as if that’s the worst thing that could happen. 

“Which caused you to find out some information you clearly weren’t ready to hear. Because then, you flew off the rails without even thinking! All that talk you spat about being untrustworthy and unwilling to communicate; well look who’s talking, darlin’!

We could have already fixed this whole mess if you had just given me one minute to tell you my side, but you didn’t. Instead, you threw me out, in the rain, telling me that every second we shared together was a waste of your time! All because you just couldn’t give me a chance!”

Dice raises his voice without really meaning to, before he can stop it. He blinks in shock, taking in his own outburst before sighing curtly.

Instead of looking surprised, you keep watching, blank and uncaring.

“And now, look where you are. You’ve crawled your way back here, barely even a day later, barging into my office and demanding me for answers. I’ve got half a mind to send you out myself, just like you had done to me,” Dice admits, but makes no move to act on such a threat. 

“I tried, I really did. I tried, so hard, to make all this work. To be good to you, despite my line of work. To be someone genuine. I really thought we had this ‘love’ thing finally going, but–!” Dice laughs dryly, shaking his head and standing from his seat, which prompts you to do the same.

He paces around his desk, making his way to the other side and stopping just a few steps from you. 

“But look where all this effort’s gotten me, now! I should’ve known that it’d be foolish to even bother trying. But yet, for one second, you had me thinking otherwise!” 

You glower at him, refusing to fall for any more of his manipulation. 

No matter how convincing he may sound.

“The boss was right. I never should’ve listened to the puny thoughts of some patron, no matter how beautiful they are…” 

He leans down, his face merely inches away from your own. 

“But now, I get it. Now, I know where my priorities should be. Now, I have to–”

“That’s enough, King.”

Silence.

Dice looks at you, his emerald eyes widening in shock as he takes a couple steps back to process what you just said to him. You stand in front of him, your arms folded, face firm. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said that’s enough,” you repeat, your stare hardening. “I didn’t come here just to let you make this out to be my fault, when we both know this whole mess is your mistake.”

Dice watches, speechless, as you shut him down. What you say afterward, surprises him twice as much.

“But… you aren’t necessarily wrong for being frustrated. You’re right, I shouldn’t have jumped the gun and blew up like that without really letting you get out what you needed to say. It was unfair for me to make such bold decisions and accusations based on only my perspective.”

You nod in acknowledgement, before turning back and embracing wrath. 

“But you’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about not having any chances to say something to be about this, when you’ve had plenty of chances, Dice!”

The two of you absentmindedly step closer, despite your growing agitation. You weren’t quite planning on picking up right where you had left off, but even looking at his face… it’s hard for your blood not to boil. 

“I mean, how long have you kept that contract in my home, huh? How long were you lying to me, under my own roof? When you could have just told me what was going on, instead of leaving me to find out for myself?!”

Dice grits his teeth, anger festering in him as you continue your tirade. He doesn’t dare say a word, though, because it’s not just you he’s frustrated with. 

Deep down, underneath that blackened shell of pride and stubbornness, Dice knows damn well you’re right. You have been, since the beginning.

And that, more than anything, annoys him to no end. 

There’s nothing he can say, to tell you you’re wrong. Nothing he can do. He’s dug himself right into the ground, and he’s much too deep to pull himself out. Not anymore.

He’s stuck. Helpless. And it only aggravates him further.

Nonetheless, he stands, hiding his slightly shaky hands as he listens to you. As little as he wants to, he shuts his trap and just listens. 

“All these questions that I want answers to, and I want them now, Dice. If there’s one good thing you’ll ever do for me, you’re gonna answer me, even if it kills you. I don’t care about how you might feel, how little you wanna talk about it–this is what I deserve, and for once, you’re gonna put someone else over yourself!” 

Dice’s lips part slightly, taking short, quiet breaths that compete with your deep, shaky pants. 

Good Lord, you’re furious with him. And you have every right.

As he had accused you of doing earlier, he just had to open his mouth and start blabbering about petty little things you’ve done that, when compared to his crimes, don’t matter in the slightest. 

Unlike anyone else, though, you refuted him. Yelled at him. Again.

He deserved that. He deserved it yesterday, and he certainly does, now. 

You breathe heavily, closing your eyes to collect yourself, before your shoulders drop, and you step back. You meet his gaze again, that same tired look mulling your features.

“So, we’re gonna talk. And I’ll let you, this time–you have my word. But, you’re gonna stop trying to pretend that I’ve got any other fault in this, you got that?”

Dice looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, and for a second, he almost feels afraid of what’s to come. Talking can mean so many things. Unfortunately, all the man can see happening is a world of hurt. For both of you.

But the way you’re looking at him–underneath all that bitterness, he sees pain. You’re already hurting, because of him. And he needs to fix that.  

The pit boss could never bring himself to refuse that look. Not after all he’s done to you.

“Yes.”

His voice is small, low, barely above a whisper. A stark contrast to about five minutes ago. You hold back a crude chuckle, for his sake.

Silently, you both walk back to your seats, sitting down as Dice opens a desk drawer and pulls out that familiar box of cigars. He takes one out and holds the box to you in invitation, and you reluctantly accept, grabbing one next to the now empty slot. 

As Dice takes out his lighter and ignites the end of his, your mind flashes back to the first time you both shared a smoke together–in the Die House.

He had kissed the end of your cigar with his own, that time. As you had hoped. 

Dice blinks at you for a second, debating whether to offer the same gesture now. Hoping he doesn’t catch on to what you’re thinking, you raise a suspicious brow at him.

With a sigh, he decides against it, simply sliding the lighter towards you and taking a large pull.

You both sit quietly for a spell, your lit cigars dancing between your fingers as you try to ease into the small break. A gentle cloud of smoke begins to pool above you both the more hits you take, creating an addicting spiced aroma that you’re sure will stick to your clothes. It calms you. Keeps you grounded. You watch as Dice begins to breathe more deeply, as well. 

It’s almost peaceful, when all other context is lost.

After a few more minutes, you’re the first one to speak, asking the first of your many questions.

“Why did you keep the contract?”

Your voice is firm, and your question is short. Dice ponders his answer for a moment, taking another inhale of his cigar before tapping it over the ashtray to get rid of the burnt end.

“I… don’t really know. I guess a part of me wondered if I’d be able to convince you to change your mind. To save my own skin.”

You feel your chest tighten up with frustration, silently thanking yourself for accepting the tobacco. 

So, he was trying to change your mind, anyway. How disappointing.

“Even though I told you that I wanted nothing to do with it?”

Dice winces.

“Yes.”

“Why, King? Why do you want me to change my mind about signing this contract? About selling my own soul?”

“To keep you safe.”

The answer slips from his lips without a second of hesitation, but while Dice might expect it to ease your worries, he only causes your anger to rise. 

To keep you safe. Like damning yourself to Hell for all of eternity is ‘safe’ for you. What a terrible excuse. You pry at his response, demanding a better reason.

“I’m not accepting that god-awful excuse, King. To keep me safe from what? What could losing my soul and becoming a pawn of the Devil possibly keep me safe from?”

Dice picks up on your animosity and gives you a hard look, hoping to convey just how serious this is. He’s not joking.

“From losing your life, along with it.”

Your eyes snap wide open, locking back with his as you take in what he had just said. A chill runs down your spine as you lean forward, not daring to break away your gaze as you take another hit, blowing the smoke through your nose.

You’re through with this nonsense.

“Tell me everything. Right now. I want the whole story, from beginning to end.”

Dice breathes out a sigh of what you assume to be defeat, taking one last pull of his cigar before extinguishing it in his ashtray. He turns his head upwards and blows the last of the smoke into the air, before leaning back in his chair and slightly rotating back and forth.

“Alright, darlin’. But ya gotta promise to hear me out, this time.”

Despite the slight tease in his voice, you know that he’s being serious. You peer down at his desk for a minute, debating your options, before giving a curt nod and gesturing for him to get on with it.

“I already said I’d let you, so just spit it out, already.” 

Dice clasps his hands together and rests his arms on his desktop.

“It’s no secret that this place is a soul-dealing business–it’s been this way since the casino was merely a big idea and some blueprints. Souls are the most prized possessions that the Devil could ever own, which is why he’d do anything to complete his collection. 

That’s where people like me come into play, in this game of his. To put it shortly, sweetheart, I’m merely a conman. My job is to steal as many souls as possible, no matter what. Which is why, for the first few months after we first met, my only goal was to nab yours too, to add to the boss’s keep.

But you were a tricky one. I’d dealt with a few of your type before, sure, but man, you’ve still got one tough shell to crack. The champagne, the walks home, the dates—even after all we had done, I just couldn’t break you. I was getting restless, and the boss was getting suspicious. And for good reason, too.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“I was starting to have feelings for you,” Dice says softly, his expression tense. 

“And he didn’t like that.”

Your body freezes up at his words, a twinge of worry passing through you as the air in the room becomes a little colder.

“That’s when I offered you the contract, the first time. I wanted to try and get us what we both want. A lifetime with each other, and the boss’s happiness. At the time, I thought it seemed like a very fair deal, which is why I was losin’ my head over your rejection. In a final attempt to follow the boss’s orders, I finally snapped and showed you the man behind all the cheeky grins and charm.

But, instead of runnin’ off or beggin’ for mercy like everyone else, you stayed. You treated me like I was somebody , despite those flaws. That… that, is what sent me over the edge. I fell in love with you, doll. I was no longer after your soul, but after you, instead. When you were around, I didn’t wanna be anywhere else.” 

You shake your head, not buying what he’s telling you.

“If all that’s true, why keep the contract, then?”

“I didn’t want to keep it. I didn’t even wanna see the damned thing, which is why I shoved it away in that nightstand. But like I said–the boss began to question. You had started coming by nearly every day at that point, and yet, I wasn’t giving him any answers. He was catching on—I was given the contract we had agreed to get rid of, and ordered to get a signature from you as soon as I could. Which is why I told you to stay away from the casino for a while. I figured if the boss couldn’t sense you in the area, he’d have no real way of figuring out that I was stalling him.

But then, yesterday happened. He figured out that I was upright leaving the casino every night, and coming home to you, instead. So, I was given a time limit: I am to deliver your soul to him in three–now two days, or he’ll come to take it himself, along with your life.”

The crippling anxiety you’ve been shoving down starts to churn in your stomach, becoming an overwhelming bundle of nerves that makes you nauseous. 

“I did have some sort of plan, to get out of the Isles where the Devil can’t reach you until we could work out a better solution, but I reckon it’s too late for that. There’s just not enough time to get far enough away. Not to mention, without me here, this place would fall apart in no time. So… I’m at a loss now, doll.”

You sit, in stunned silence, as the man in front of you implies that there is a choice that needs to be made: either you sign that contract, or you wait for the Devil to wreak havoc on you himself.

“That’s…” you choke on the sentence trying to escape, letting out a shaky laugh before covering your mouth. You nearly vomit.

“That’s not fair.”

Dice’s face contorts in guilt, feeling ashamed that he’s the one who has to tell you this.

“I know it ain’t, darlin’. Believe me. But ya gotta understand–the Devil never plays fair.”

Your fists clench so hard your knuckles turn pale, your entire body starting to tremble. One by one, dark spots start to overtake your vision, and you muster up just enough energy to keep yourself from passing out right in your seat.

Where do you even begin?

It turns out the man you had torn into was just trying to keep the Devil away from you. It’s not just him you should’ve been pissed at, but also his boss. 

And now, your life is in danger. Because Dice couldn’t make a proper choice when it counted. 

Because you couldn’t see reason, over your own blinding fury.

“This might not be the best time to pry, but if you don’t mind, I have a couple questions for you now, too.”

Initially, you open your mouth to yell; to curse at him, scream, anything to release the horrible pressure building up in your chest. You can barely keep your own head from falling off your shoulders.

Yet nothing comes. Nothing but a quiet, painful whisper.

“Alright, King. Shoot.”

“How did you find out about all this?”

“Don’t get him in trouble for this, he didn’t mean any harm, but Mangosteen told me during a game of pool.”

Dice makes a mental note to scold his lackey later, but bows his head in understanding.

“What did he tell you?”

“About your boss conspiring with you over my soul, and how you have been doing so ever since we first met. Even after our talk at the Die House. He told me that he saw you leaving with a rolled up contract, about a month ago.”

“Alright. Why did you go through my drawers?”

You narrow your eyes at the accusatory tone Dice uses for that last question, biting back an angry retort. Your speech is somewhat calm, but he can feel your restraint in his bones.

“First of all, it was one drawer I went through. Second, it was in my home, in my chambers. You forget that it’s technically not yours. I had told myself that if I didn’t find anything in the nightstand you were using, I could forget about everything and move on. But that contract was the first and only thing I could see. I had only opened that drawer to see if what Mangosteen had told me was true–and it was.”

Dice cringes a little at your explanation. He releases his instinctually interrogatory stance, signaling that he’s asked everything he wanted to.

His movements snap you out of your thoughts, and you let out a soft sigh.

“But…”

The manager’s brows raise at your continuation, and he sits up straight again, watching as you shake your head solemnly.

“Still, I know it wasn’t very fair of me to be so impulsive, and not just to ask you about what was going on. I’d always felt that something was off, since you asked me to stop coming by so often, but I didn’t wanna press. I should’ve, as soon as I knew something was wrong. So, I’m sorry for getting so riled up before knowing the full story.”

You peer over at Dice’s bookshelves in thought, your eyes stopping on a particularly large book of Shakespearean tales.

You nearly glare at it.

“Y’know, I got onto you for screwin’ things up, but you’re not the only one who did some nasty damage. No one’s perfect, King. Not even me. We all make stupid mistakes, but it’s what we do afterwards that matters, right?”

Dice’s eyes soften as he takes in your words, his chest throbbing as he tries to think about what to do next. He just…

He just can’t believe you.

Apologizing for having human emotions, and for making one impulsive mistake out of righteous anger, when Dice himself has made plenty of horrible decisions due to his own greed. He put you in danger, for crying out loud, and you’re the one apologizing? To him?

Of all the folks in Inkwell, you’re the most crazy, unpredictable being he’s ever met. Up until a few minutes ago, it had annoyed him, at least a little.

Now, it’s what keeps him coming back.

You’re just… God, you’re just too perfect to him.

He can’t believe he let someone get this close to him. Someone like you, of all people, to render him stuck. Debating whether he should keep the life he had, or risk it all for a shot at something new.

Such a question had never been so difficult to answer. Even now, he still wonders if playing you to save his own hide was worth it… 

Of course it wasn’t.

With a frustrated groan, Dice plants his elbows on his desk, burying his face into his hands in aggravation. Your stomach twists for a second, and you wonder if you said something out of turn.

“I can’t understand you, doll. At all.”

Your nose scrunches a little in distaste, but Dice finishes his thought before you can bite back.

“I don’t understand how someone like you can be so trusting, so patient… with someone like me.”

You pause in surprise, your mouth nearly slack. 

“Yes, you cut me off yesterday, and threw me out without hesitation. But darlin’, I gotta hand it to ya, that is exactly what I deserved for lyin’ to you the way I did. I’m sure that if the roles were reversed, I woulda done the exact same thing. I can’t fault you for that. I don’t, anymore.

I’ve had plenty of other people wrong me in much worse ways than what happened yesterday. I’ve been lied to, myself. Beaten. Threatened. Hell, before I made it big, even my own family treated me like an outcast. I have not received a single apology from any of ‘em. That argument couldn’t have possibly made a dent compared to what else I’ve gone through, and yet you’re here, doin’ what no one has ever done with me before.”

You settle back down in your seat, casting him a look.

“Well, it’s just what’s right, King. It’s… what you deserve, just as much as I do.”

There it is. What you’ve preached to him, over and over, until Dice’s head started spinning from hearing it. This time, though, your tone is more cautious and unsure. As if you don’t quite believe those words. 

Dice would agree with that. Despite the thousands of times you’ve given the same sermon before…

He just can’t accept it. 

“But it isn’t.”

You cock your head in confusion, urging for him to clarify.

“Everything you said yesterday– every single word– was the truth. I lied to you, tricked you, and gambled over your own soul. Now that I think about it, I really didn’t treat you all that nicely in the first place, either. It was selfish of me to think, even for a second, that I could love you the way you deserve it.

I’m a very greedy man, sweetheart. I let you play right into this terrible game, leading you to believe you had a chance of striking big. Even when I knew that in the end, the boss and I would find a way to gain the upper hand. My life isn’t the one at stake here. Yours is. And it’s my fault. And that… I..”

Dice feels a lump start to form in his throat, and does his best to swallow it down. 

He needs to finish this.

“Doll, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

Your eyes widen in shock as Dice reaches forward and gingerly takes your hands, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for roping you into this mess, when all you had wanted since the very first day you stepped into this place, was someone to share a drink with. An ear who’d listen, and hear you. A companion you could trust.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be that companion to you. If I could go back and drive you as far away from here as possible, I’d do it. I’d do anything to make all this up to you.”

Emotion has never been something that Dice liked to deal with; the man would much rather bury himself into his work or some other mindless trouble before ever facing what he’s feeling. For a while, he considered himself to be too strong for such pathetic niceties, but in the end…

Cowardice. That’s what it really is. Dice is a greedy, self-absorbed coward who can’t even bring himself to acknowledge his own misery, let alone anyone else’s.

Until now.

Pressing another soft kiss to your knuckles, the pit boss lets out a shaky sigh and brings his forehead down to rest against your fingers, his resolve beginning to crack right in front of you.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, darlin’.”

You sit still for several long moments, focusing solely on the feeling of Dice’s touch in your hands. It’s shaky. Dice is shaking. 

You can’t see it, but you can sense just how hard the man is trying to keep himself together. His quiet, trembling voice tells you everything else you need to know.

He’s broken.

Slowly, you remove yourself from his hold and stand. Dice keeps his head hung as he hears your footsteps, assuming that you’ve taken your leave. He wouldn’t blame you–not one bit. After all he’s done, he’d say you’ve made the right call.

A hand on his back snaps Dice out of his train of thought, and he quickly tilts his head towards the source, his eyes hopefully meeting your own. He sits back up in his chair and swivels your way, opening the silent conversation back to you.

You stand above him for a moment, wondering what to do now that the cards are back in your hands. It’s a strange feeling-you’re used to knowing exactly how to move forward. 

You’ve never felt so… clueless. 

Your limbs fight the messages sent from your brain, and for longer than you mean to, you stay still. Hands, trembling and confused. 

Just when Dice starts to deflate, losing whatever hope he somehow has left, you rest an apprehensive hand over his own, squeezing gently. 

You don’t want to forgive him. In truth, you don’t. He’s unforgivable.

But, the rebellious ache in your heart yearns to take him away and run off forever, where no one can bother you again. 

So, at least for the moment, you compromise, and let bygones be bygones.

“I understand, Dice.”

Chapter Text

“I understand, Dice.”

As soon as those sacred words leave your mouth, everything else in King Dice’s vision fades away to leave you in his arms, staring back at him in a hazy mist of darkness. Like you’re the only thing that exists.

All he can see is you. That’s fine by him.

There’s nothing else in this rotten world that would be worth his sights, anyway.

Dice takes the time to examine every speck of light that shines through those beautiful eyes of yours. It had barely been more than a day, but goodness, did he miss them. 

Not many people have eyes that hold such a unique combination of glistening life, yet beautiful exhaustion. They’re perfect. You’re perfect.

And he’s undeserving.

As you open your mouth to repeat the sentiment, you feel a pair of strong arms completely engulf you, pulling you into the man’s chest. You gasp softly at the sudden contact, surprised at how quickly Dice moved to hug you. 

You tense at the contact, unsure of whether you’re ready for it.

“Listen to me, it’s not okay,” you precaution, not wanting to string him or yourself along. 

“I haven't forgiven you yet. I don’t know if I ever will. But, I get where you’re coming from. I understand.” 

A pained noise is the response from the pit boss beneath you, and you feel his arms around you tighten as his aching head finds solace against your neck. Your hands dig into his shoulder blades, and with hesitance, you lean forward and offer a peck to his cheek.

“And I’m not giving up on you, just yet.” 

The gesture earns you a sniffle, and a sob so quiet you almost don’t catch it. A part of you wishes you hadn’t.

He’s crying.

It’s nearly silent, but you can tell. The small tremors that wrack his body as he clutches you, holding you so tight your lungs can barely be filled. Each breath he takes is hitched and labored. You can feel a small spot on your shoulder slowly starting to dampen.

You’ve never seen him cry, before. You’re not used to it, and you hope you never have to get used to it.

As betrayed as you may feel, that stubborn adoration you still hold towards him brings you a searing pain with every gentle shake of his shoulders.

“Dice,” you whisper gently, voice trembling. He hums softly in question, rubbing along the small of your back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he whispers back to you, preventing you from continuing further. He shifts back in his seat, shifting you along with him. 

“Don’t be, even for a second. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry that you’re in pain.”

“That was never your fault, nor your burden to bear.”

“Still, I wish I could help.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Dice sniffles and cups your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away any small tears that threaten to fall. 

“You already are.”

His hand, shielded by the silk of his glove, feels so warm against your face. It’s a feeling you’re not used to, but welcome nonetheless.

Dice has never been this gentle with you–it feels like you’re in the arms of a completely different man. 

In a way, you suppose you are. 

He holds you like precious treasure, his touch providing an extraordinary comfort that you haven’t had the chance to experience until now.

You both stay, unwilling to move apart and break the barrier you have built around yourselves. No one else can get to you. You feel invincible.

But at the same time, deep down, you’re terrified. And who could blame you?

If what Dice said is the truth, you’ve got merely two days to either get the hell out of town, sign away your freedom, or die.

Before your spiral continues, your thoughts are interrupted.

“I can tell you’re makin’ yourself sick with worry, sweetheart. Quit doing that.”

“Dice, am I really going to die if we don’t figure this out?”

“We’ll worry about that in a little bit,” Dice mutters softly, bringing his tired, glossy face closer towards your own. 

“Right now, I just wanna focus on this. On you.”

Your gaze flickers to his lips, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. Neither of you move, locked in each other's eyes, for several minutes. Exploring each other’s features. Memorizing them.

“You look like you haven’t slept well,” you point out suddenly, disappointed that that’s the first thing your mind could come up with.

Graciously, Dice humors you.

“I haven’t,” Dice utters back, your faces inching even closer. “It didn’t feel right, with a cold and empty spot next to me.”

His hand rubs your bicep, that deep and quiet voice sending a pleasant shudder down your spine as he returns the question.

“I take it you haven’t slept well, either?”

You feel your body give in and melt into his arms despite yourself, relaxing as you nod solemnly.

“Like you said, it didn’t feel right.”

Dice’s eyes fall shut for a moment, taking the time to appreciate the addicting scent of your perfume on your neck. 

Eventually, he blinks them back open, dark irises drinking up the beautiful sight of your face. Every small mark and imperfection on your cheeks and nose, capturing his attention like a moth to a flame.

“Darlin’, I…” He trails off, your lips lightly bristling each other. You shudder at the contact, a raging flame suddenly lighting up in your chest before you can catch it.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Not only are you still upset, but there’s a lot worse to be dealing with.

But as angry and scared and hurt as you are, the undeniable desire that floods your veins prevails above it all.

Your lips brush together again, prompting you to say something.

“Yes, Dice,” you answer what you know he wants to ask, your hand reaching up and resting against the side of his head.  

“Please.”

The man wastes no time.

Within seconds of your plea, his lips overtake your own, pulling you right up against him as the entire world around you both vanishes into nothingness. Your eyes flutter closed as your hands climb up his back, nails digging into the fabric of his vest. 

Every nip at your lip sends your heart racing, earning Dice a small yelp of pleasant surprise.

You can feel every nerve in your body stand on edge, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly you can see stars. The subtle taste of that cinnamon lip balm he always wears is suddenly magical, dancing along your tongue and leaving you reeling. 

His hands travel down your back to rest securely at your sides, holding you tenderly.

The only reason you both pull away from each other is to catch some air–but even then, you barely part more than an inch away. Your breaths land hot on each other’s faces, the heat rising to your cheeks and creating a healthy blend of pink.

“You haven’t kissed me like that before,” you breathe out, nearly forgetting about everything else around you. That was indescribable.

“I know,” the man muses, rubbing your back in apology. 

“And I should’ve, a long time ago.”

“Do it again,” you request, reaching up to grip his dress shirt. 

“Just once more.”

Dice obliges, bringing his head back down to kiss you another time. You hum softly in delight, letting all issues turn into dust. A serene warmth washes over you both as you hold each other tight, basking in your own dangerous addiction for one another.

The lovesick showman regretfully breaks it off again and takes your face in his hands, stroking your beautiful rosy cheeks with the backs of his fingers. He finally smiles for the first time that day, and you nearly faint.

He looks so content, having you in his arms, knowing that you’re not abandoning this place. Even after telling you everything, and coming clean. 

You’re still here. Righteously furious as you are, you’re not letting him go.

You didn’t run off and leave him behind, as he knows you should have.

Two decades of hard work, all the money and glory Dice could possibly want, and yet, he’s never felt this fulfilled. After all this time, he’s finally found his missing piece.

He’ll be damned if he ever loses it again.

You curiously peek behind your shoulder at the papers scattered around his desk, and snap out of your trance.

“I should go,” you start, regretfully leaning away. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work any longer than I already have. We’ll… deal with this when you’re off the clock.” 

“No, stay. Please.”

You pause in your tracks and look back up at Dice, whose arms stay latched around your waist, holding you tightly in his lap. The man glances from you to his work and thinks for a moment, shaking his head and snaking an arm beneath your knees. 

He stand, shooting up from his seat with you nestled in his hold.

“Matter of fact, work can wait. To hell with it, even.”

“Dice?” You question, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“I can’t focus on anything else right now, sweetheart,” Dice mutters against your forehead, walking out of his office and leaving the abandoned papers to worry about later. 

“If I were to try and sign another contract, I’d surely write your name instead of mine. You’re the only thing I can think about.”

Oh, God. 

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, the heat from your cheeks spreading throughout your entire body and tightening your hold against him. 

You question, briefly, if what he says is just a trick–another one of his lies, just to get you to stay with him. 

As he hums longingly against the top of your head, you stop yourself from searching for the answer, or even caring at all. 

Right now, even if only temporary, all you want is him.

And you’re sure that Dice wants the same, considering just where he’s carrying you.

The door to his bedroom is kicked shut behind him as he walks inside with you, peppering your face with sweet kisses as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

Each peck against your skin sends a spark through your veins, the warmth in your cheeks rising as you bring your hands up to the sides of his head and pull him back down for a third kiss to your lips.

Part of you insists on letting him finish his duties. Even if he says he doesn’t care about it, surely he’ll get in more trouble than he probably already is. It would be beyond detrimental if you were to continue…

No.

Forget about being professional. You, of all people, don’t have time for that anymore.

The more your lips stay locked together, and the closer Dice pulls you to him, the less you want to pull away. As much as he hates it, Dice is once more the first to let go, tilting away to catch another breath of air. As he regains the oxygen lost, his eyes look into you with slight uncertainty.

“I haven’t… I haven’t taken this too far, have I?” He starts, cowardly, as if he caught cold feet.

“Darlin’, please tell me if I’m reading this wrong. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

You shake your head, firmly gripping his shoulders.

“Listen,” you murmur. “If I’m really gonna die soon, then I better be spending these last couple days how I want to spend them. I want to be happy, Dice, and as much as I hate to admit it right now, the only thing that could fulfill that wish is you. I don’t want anything else. Forget our jobs, forget the city, forget the casino, for all I care. You’re all I can picture myself finding any last spark of joy with.

So please, if this is it… let me have a little fun before I go.” 

Dice wells up with tears at your words, and he nearly chokes out another sob, but you cut him off before he has the chance. Squeezing your glassy eyes shut, you crash your lips against his and cling onto him as tight as you can. 

In seconds, you feel him return the affection, those familiar love bites on your bottom lip coming back and driving you nuts. 

His thumbs gently brush under your top, asking permission to take it off. You grant it to him, lifting up your arms as he slowly slides off the shirt and lets it drop to the floor.

Neither of you tear your gaze away from one another as your hands smoothly glide across each other, yours delicately unbuttoning his vest as he mindlessly plays with the hem of your slacks.

Everything becomes a blur as you lose yourself in his loving touch, embracing the newfound gentleness and care. Dice is no longer driven by desire to take control, but by pure admiration as he peels the remaining clothes off your skin.

Blindly, you do the same with him, stealing a few more precious kisses as your hands peel off his undershirt and graze along his bare back. Tracing every muscle.

Your movements are slow as Dice eases you into the soft mattress, fingers trailing your collarbone. He pauses, taking the chance to appreciate that blissful look in your eyes.

They always tell such a wonderful story, the light sparkling in your irises. The way your pupils dilate and shrink as they adjust to ambience and emotion.

Right now, they’re wide and dark. That tells Dice all he needs to know.

“I never told you this,” he starts, laying beside you and snuggling you from behind, spooning you.

“But I’ve brought so many people into this bed… and not one of them has ever come close to making me feel the way I do when I’m with you.”

You lean your head back, letting it gently bump his shoulder and nudging your forehead against his jaw.

“Don’t be playing with me, now. Ya really mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Dice,” you murmur, letting out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I believe that, anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” Dice laments, pressing a few more apologetic kisses to your forehead. 

“I mean it. If there’s anything true I say to you, it’s this: you make me feel like I’m on top of the world.”

“Well isn’t that nice,” you reply, craning your head to get a better look at him. 

“You talk a big game, but your words aren’t worth their cent anymore. Think you can really prove that to me? ”

Dice lets out a rugged sigh against the back of your neck, his grip around you tightening in want.

“I can, and I will.”

As you let your head come forward again, Dice slips off his gloves and runs his bare hand up and down your side, reveling in the soft feeling of your skin against his palm. 

He continues the motion a few times before moving up the back of your thigh, his fingers teasingly running along your buttocks.

You shudder and bite down on your lip, your breathing shaky as you arch your back towards him in want.

“Dice, please…”

“Easy does it, doll,” Dice answers, stroking your hole in warning before carefully pushing in his index finger, his mouth twitching upwards upon hearing the elated moan you give in response. 

“I’ve got you.”

You pant heavily as you adjust, your head nestling into the silk pillows before Dice gently slides his middle finger inside you.

“You’re nearly melting, in the palm of my hand,” he whispers in longing, interlocking his free hand with yours and letting you squeeze it. 

“It’s incredible. You’re extraordinary.”

A third and final finger coaxes out another beautiful moan from your throat, nearly muffled by the pillows. Dice waits for you to settle before gradually pumping in and out, littering your back with affectionate pecks.

This… This is different. 

He’s never treated you like this before–so lovingly. In fact, no one has. You didn’t even know it was possible to be handled so tenderly, much less by someone of King Dice’s nature.

It feels wonderful.

A low chuckle escapes him as he eases his fingers out of you, satisfied with his work as his arm wraps back around your waist.

“Breathtaking,” Dice murmurs against your neck, gently nipping at it as he takes you in once again. 

“You’re a treasure, doll.”

You breathe out a quiet, sarcastic laugh, but he’s dead serious. He just can’t stop looking at you. Feeling you. You’ve got him hooked. 

He’ll die before he lets you slip away again.

Your skin is silk to him. Your eyes become priceless jewels that can’t ever be replaced. Diamonds are pebbles compared to what you have to offer.

You watch in slight amusement as Dice’s cheeks gradually become pinker, the man attempting to hide his face by burying it against your shoulder. Sparing him his dignity, you stay silent, and rub his back. His cheeks feel like warm embers of hellfire against your skin.

“Gracious, you’re so…” Dice chokes on his words, his eyes bearing that all too familiar stinging as he tries to keep himself together. 

“You’re just so wonderful, sweetheart. I can’t believe I almost lost you–I’ll never make that mistake again. You had said that no one’s perfect earlier, but darlin’, you are.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you press yourself tighter against him, your resolve cracking as you begin to come undone.

“Dice,” you sniffle, squeezing his hand as the waterworks threaten to turn back on. 

“Come on, that’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Dice hisses, pressing his head further into your skin. 

“You’re perfect, and I’m not good enough for you. We both know that. You deserve so much better.”

“Well, right now, I don’t want better. I want you.”

Dice lets out a deep whine against you, his arms almost crushing you in his embrace. 

“You have me, until the day you–” a soft sob leaves him before he can catch it.  

“Until the day you die.”

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, shaking your head. 

“Remember what you were sayin’ earlier? Don’t worry about any of that right now. We’ve got other things to focus on.”

He nods slowly against you, forcing himself to forget about the topic for now.

Just the two of you, in a bedroom of silk and marble, sharing a few tears as you explore each other after bitter separation. Things still may not be perfect between you both, but the tender moment is pretty hard to beat. 

Loving touches, and the sweet scents of perfume mingling with spiced smoke. Gentle panting and heavy breaths as you both rest against each other.

Another shared kiss, and the familiar, flickering flame inside your chest is ignited once more. Warm hands, nimble and delicate, running over every mark, scar, and muscle. The alluring heat cultivating between the two of you, nearly suffocating you in the best way possible.

You can’t get enough of it.

You groan softly, arching your back once Dice trails his thumb along your waist, trying to signal your thirst for satisfaction. For freedom.

Dice catches on, and the arm underneath you reaches up, delicately gripping your jaw and tilting your head back so he can get a good look at you. 

A sight he’ll never grow tired of.

“Honey…” the man purrs sweetly, finally cracking another beautiful smile as he watches your lips part in question. 

“Tell me what you’d like me to do.”

He’s giving you the reins, this time. While his body nearly engulfs you in warmth and security, pinning you to his bed, he decides to surrender the will to choose.

You reach over your shoulder and stroke his jaw, your entire body itching with excitement.

“I want you inside me, Dice,” you mutter, beckoning for him to lean closer. 

“Please, make love to me, if it’s the last thing you ever do for me.”

“Your wish…” the pit boss hums, grabbing a condom from his nightstand and slipping it on before placing his hands on your sides. “Is my command.”

Your fists dig into the pillows and covers as Dice carefully pushes his length into you, relishing in the deliciously tight feeling. You both stay still for a while, the air around you heavy, as you adjust to the overwhelming sensations flooding your veins.

The slight burning subsides, and your trembling body relaxes into Dice’s hold as he slowly starts moving in and out of you, careful not to hurt you or go too slow.

Holy Hell.

The rush of pleasure you feel as Dice bucks his hips into you, over and over, is enough to make you go insane. His voice, low and guttural, groans into your ear–a dark, beautiful noise that you’ll never ever get out of your head, for the rest of your life.

You squeeze Dice’s hand, choking out a gasp of elation as his fingers dig into your side. He squeezes back, completely overtaking your smaller hand in his palm.

Surely, once he’s done with you, you’ll be sore, achy, and tired. And it’ll be uncomfortable. You might regret it afterward. 

You might want to run away from him, despite the throbbing of your legs, and forget that the night ever happened. You may even wish you hadn’t bothered to come back to him, in general.

But right now, you welcome the hurt. In fact, you crave it. 

You can’t get enough of it. Of him. You don’t want to sleep. You don’t want to let go of him, or his hand. You’ll never let him go, even if it kills you.

And it very well might.

But you couldn’t care less.

It feels selfish, ironically enough–Dice has completely relinquished his authority, handing you all the cards in his deck and then some, but you crave more. You’d love it if this was how you go out; it certainly feels like you’re going to die, just by raw ecstasy.

“Dice…” you moan as you push yourself into him, trying to match his rhythm. 

“I need more, Dice. Please.”

“Your wish,” Dice repeats, kissing your ear and taking another greedy whiff of your perfume as his thrusts become deeper. “Is my command.”

You let out a strong hiss of pleasure as his pace quickens, your body ramming against him as fireworks explode inside of you. Any pain you had ever felt before incinerates into a distant memory. Now, there’s nothing in this world that could possibly make you feel as connected and as loved as Dice does.

You can’t see yourself with anyone else. You don’t want to. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.

He’s a sick, twisted bastard who only cares about himself, but dammit, he’s yours.

Dice buries his face into your shoulder, muffling his grunts of desperation as he chases your release. You feel a strange wetness dripping down your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s sweat from how hard you both are working, or if he’s crying from overstimulation. 

The same sensation falls over your cheeks a few moments later, and you deduce the latter.

“Are you alright?” Dice asks you, his voice strained, as if it was taking him all of his willpower to keep himself in check. 

You nod quickly, leaning into him and helping him reach as deep as possible.

“I’ve never been better.”

“You’re close,” Dice points out through gritted teeth, matching your movements perfectly. “I can feel it–!”

You feel it, too; the heat building up in your pelvis. The trembling in your thighs as they try to contain your excitement. The warning sparks of release, zipping through your body like flashes of lightning. 

For a while, you’re able to keep yourself quiet and collected, your resolve refusing to break in such an unflattering manner.

Until you just can’t do it anymore.

Dice pounds into you one last time, and you cry out in euphoria as you finally come undone, nearly sobbing in joy as you feel your seed explode out of you and dribble down your thighs, pooling into the sheets below.

He watches you for a spell, fascinated as you practically melt in his hands, covered in sweat, tears, and seed. You’re completely disheveled, trembling and falling apart, but to Dice, you’re a god.   

Maybe it’s his eyes playing tricks on him–scratch that–he knows that’s the case. But seeing you lose the composure you’ve been trying to hold onto the entire time you’ve been here, and knowing that it’s all his doing?

Lord.

You feel Dice twitch inside you, and the ravished shout you hear afterwards tells you that Dice has reached his peak as well. But, he doesn’t pull out of you just yet.

Good. You’ve been hoping to cherish the moment a little more, anyway.

Dice’s hand comes up from your side and wraps around you, keeping you against him as he nuzzles his head against the back of your neck. His breaths are nearly ablaze against your skin, but you don’t care. 

You hope he might leave a burn mark, amidst the hickeys and the bites he’s already formed.

Neither of you move, for a long time. There’s no need to. Very few words are spoken, but that’s okay. You understand each other simply through touch.

If it were up to you, you’d never move again. As you cool down, the sweat becomes uncomfortable, but you don’t mind it. You lay in your wet, sticky, disgusting mess like it’s your throne in a palace.

Fortunately, Dice has higher standards.

You force back a whine of protest as he pulls himself out, peeling himself off of you with a tender kiss to your cheek before getting up. Footsteps become quieter as he disappears into the bathroom, and seconds later, you hear the water running inside.

You were right–you are sore. Exhausted. You don’t have the energy to get up. To make a run for it. 

Better yet, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. To want to run.

And if that changes, it can be dealt with in the morning.

“Sweetheart,” Dice’s muted voice reaches your ears a few minutes later, and you slowly blink your eyes open.

He smiles lovingly down at you, his hand brushing a few stray beads of sweat from your forehead.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of this mess.”

You barely even have to put in any work. Dice picks you up from the bed, leaving it behind as he carries you to the bathroom. Your nose picks up on the last remaining remnants of perfume he spritzed on for the day, as well as salty hints of sweat coming from his chest. It’s comforting, and his hold on you is secure.

You’re okay with this.

As a sudden blinding light floods your eyes, you’re forced to squeeze them back shut, relying on your ears to tell what’s going on. Dice chuckles softly, and you hear a knob squeak as the running water stops.

Steam seeps into your body as the pit boss gently lowers you into the bathtub, full of clean water and a few squirts of bubbles. The overwhelming warmth from the simmering water spreads through your muscles, eliminating any early signs of soreness and leaving you numb.

“Lay here for a while, and relax for me. I’ll take care of the sheets.”

You want to protest, to tell him that you’re willing to help him–it’s your mess too, after all–but you just don’t have the strength. All you can do is watch him go, making a mental note to thank him once you’re more coherent.

You soak.

Your body becomes one with the soapy water, cleansing away all the dirt and grime from the day. Every drop of sweat and seed succumbs to the bubble bath and leaves you feeling fresh. Rejuvenated.

Even as your fingers begin to prune up and you begin to overheat, you find yourself in a better place than you were beforehand. Not perfect, but better.

Dice returns a few minutes later, clad in nothing but a robe, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he pulls the drain and helps you stand. Before you can say another word, a fluffy towel is draped over your shoulders. 

You sigh gratefully as he dries you off, wiping down every curve and bump of your skin before taking a spare robe and covering you up.

You huff amusedly at the ‘KD’ initials beautifully etched in the fabric, right where your fluttering heart lies.

You’re lifted into his arms again, and Dice hums a soft tune against you as he walks out of the bathroom, shutting off the lights and closing the door behind him.

The sheets from before have been replaced, but you wouldn’t know that unless you’d lay in them. They smell like roses, smooth and light against your body, cooling you down. Once you’re comfortable, you look at Dice with half-lidded, heavy eyes.

“You mind pulling up the duvet? It’s chilly.”

With an understanding nod and an affectionate bump of your heads, Dice whispers that charming phrase against your breath as he reaches down for the edge of the comforter.

“Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

It becomes harder for you to keep your eyes open as Dice turns off the lights, but eventually, you’re back in his arms again. You both wear nothing but the robes, but at least now, you’re free from sweat, the bedding is clean, and all the warmth you need comes from the feeling of your body against his.

“Thank you, Dice,” you mumble, turning over to face him. 

“This was… nice.”

Dice notices your hesitation, and tries to ignore the sting of guilt.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he promises, running his hand up and down your arm. 

“I just want you to be happy. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

You nearly cave in. You nearly forgive him. 

It’d be so easy to just tell him those magic words, ‘it’s okay,’ and let everything be back to normal once again. Two simple words, that you both have already uttered to each other plenty of times. 

But, you can’t. 

It’s not okay. Even if he had treated you wonderfully, trying to please you and pleasure you and sweep you back off your feet, you still feel trapped in a cage. A beautiful, titanium, burning cage. 

No amount of sweet-talk can remedy that pain. 

So, you say nothing. No words, no sounds, no smile. 

Dice reads your silence like a book that can’t be put down, no matter how much he wants to.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispers, blinking slowly. 

“Or, ever. I wouldn’t hold it against you in any way.”

“I don’t have forever to think about it, Dice. I have two days.”  

His stomach lurches at the bitter reminder.

You watch him for a tense moment before shaking your head, nudging closer to him. 

“Sorry, that wasn’t…” you sigh, letting your heavy eyes fall shut. 

“I’m gonna sleep. G’night.”  

A delicate hand sweeps around you and massages your back, coaxing you to fall deeper into Dice’s arms. You mumble an incoherent ‘thank you’ under your breath, and finally drift off.

Dice can’t find it in him to join you just yet.

It’s not that he’s not tired–no, he’s exhausted –but he can’t stop staring at you, clad in his own robe, pressed up against him like a magnet. He can’t bring himself to look away.

He has always been greedy, in that regard.

You’re an absolute work of art. An otherworldly deity, handcrafted by heaven itself. It’s no wonder the Devil is so stubborn when it comes to having you.

Who wouldn’t be?

He watches you, a warm arm around your middle, and reflects.

What a horrible, tragic twenty-four hours this has been. And Dice wouldn’t change it for anything.

He had slept alone, restlessly, cursing your lovely name until his throat ran dry and cracked. He promised to tear you apart, if he ever saw you again. 

He broke his own promise, as usual, as soon as you walked in the door. He yelled. You yelled back. He… God, he cried in your arms, when he didn’t deserve it. 

You made love to him, when he’s only earned your hatred. 

And here you are, back in his arms. It scares him a little–he can’t tell if you truly want to be there or not–but he’s honored by the company.

He doesn’t plan on taking advantage of it again.

Dice tilts his head down and gives you a peck on your temple, doing his best not to fall apart as you unconsciously huddle closer. 

Even when you’re asleep, you still find a way to captivate him. You don’t even have to try.

He really does have it bad, this time. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and tied down with a neat little bow.

But he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing. He just wishes you had better taste.

He sighs softly, slowly shifting onto his back and easing you against his side, your head on his chest. His arm comes around your back to hold you tight, making sure you’re safe from rolling away or falling off the bed.

You’re precious to him.

With that regard comes many benefits.

He doesn’t mind lending you his robe for warmth, drawing you a bath, and letting you sleep in his bed. He doesn’t mind the small spot of drool that’s beginning to form where your cheek rests against his skin.

He doesn’t mind you putting him in his place when he needs it–knocking some damn sense into him when he’s done wrong. And good Lord, has he done wrong.

But if it’ll even come close to mending your scars, Dice is more than willing to make whatever sacrifices he needs to.

…He’ll sacrifice himself, if he has to. 

As his burdens lift off his back, just for this night, Dice’s eyes finally will themselves to shut, sleep creeping up his bones.

In the darkness, his hand finds your own, his thumb massaging your knuckles and his fingers grazing your palm.

He finally joins you in slumber, setting aside his regrets to bask in your presence, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have.

Chapter Text

A soft, gentle hand stroking your cheek rouses you, your eyes fluttering open and your heart clenching up at the hand’s owner.

King Dice admires you from above, his warm palm blanketing your jaw. He presses a small kiss to your nose and finally breaks the silence.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

The voice you had fallen in love with, then grown to hate, fills your ears. You’re not sure how to feel about it, now. 

But considering you’re resting against him, in nothing but his robe, you shouldn’t feel too bad. 

“‘Morning.”

“Sleep well?”

Your eyes threaten to shut once again as he asks the question, as if he had invited you to return to your slumber, but you shake away the feeling and force yourself to wake up a little more.

“Fine,” you murmur and lean your head back to look up at him. “You?”

Dice chuckles slightly at your dwindling sleepiness, familiar with that sluggish feeling. He brings a hand up and down your back, rubbing comfortingly.

“I’d have to agree.”

You hum softly in reply before falling back into stillness once again, lying in wait for the other to decide the day has started. The longer you lay, the more hesitant you become.

“We should get up soon,” you remind, but make no move to do so.

“You’re right. But soon doesn’t have to mean ‘now,’ does it?”

“I… suppose not.”

Another round of quiet—except now, the peace starts to dwindle, and you start to remember what happened the previous day. The argument. The talk. Everything that came after.

The danger you find yourself swimming in, now.

“Dice,” you ask, your voice heavy. “What are we going to do?”

The soft smile on Dice’s face fades as he recognizes what you mean by the question, and he bows his head.

“I don’t know.”

You figured he wouldn’t. You question whether there are even any options to consider.

Still, you don’t want to give up yet. There has to be something you can do to halt your demise.

“Can he even take my soul without a contract, let alone my life? How is that fair?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dice mutters in melancholy. 

“Remember what I told you? If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he never plays fair. When Scratch wants somethin’, he gets it. Doesn’t matter if he has to bend his own rules to do so.”

You don’t want to accept that answer.

“Why?” You ask no one in particular, gritting your teeth in an effort to calm down. 

“Why me, out of all people? Doesn’t he have plenty of other customers to go after?”

Dice winces and tears his gaze away from you, trying to hide his remorse.

“I think we both know the answer to that, darlin’.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you challenge. 

“Please,” Dice scoffs, shaking his head. 

“You think the boss would care this much about one soul if it wasn’t so distracting? It’s not just you he’s after, doll. He’s also after me.”

“You?”

“I’ve got a contract with him, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m not my own man. He can’t help it if I have my own feelings and act on ‘em. But boy, does he want to.”

“So all this fuss is because you love me and he can’t accept that?”

Dice laughs quietly, dryly.

“Always the clever one, ain’t ya?”

You let out a shaky breath, understanding his position just a bit more. Despite his rich life of luxury, the man is still trapped. Rebelling Scratch’s orders could ruin him, just as much as you. 

Still, you can’t help your disappointment.

“You’ve really screwed us over with this one, Dice.”

He frowns in regret, and nods. “I know.” 

“Do you?” You glare, nudging away from his arms and sitting up. 

“Do you really? Not only could I die here, but you could lose everything you’ve earned for yourself. I just wish you had told me about this when we still had time. That coulda saved us a lot of grief, y’know.” 

Dice winces, and glowers at the sheets beneath him. “I know, doll. And I’ll be sorry for it until I’m six feet under.” 

You run a hand over your face, eyes closing as you take a second to think. 

“...Run away with me.” 

Dice chokes out a surprised laugh, and shakes his head at you. “What? I’m not doin’ that.”

“We don’t have to be here,” you press, hoping to convince him otherwise. “Run away with me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t,” Dice insists, his frown deepening. 

“It would never have worked, anyway. I’m way too deep into this game to fold, now.”

“We can take the train, just outside the cave. We’ll sneak out the side door, hop on, and never look back at this place. You can make up for what we’ve lost. We could start over.”

“After you yourself just ‘started over,’ barely six months ago?” Dice scoffs at your stubbornness. “Besides, that train is just as indebted as I am. The only route we’ll take is back to Inkwell Hell, anyhow.”

“Then we’ll hoof it. We’ll find a boat or something, and get off these islands. We can make this work.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, precious. We’ll never make it far enough in time.” 

“Why are you being so hesitant about this?”

“Doll,” Dice groans softly, moving his hands to rest on your shoulders. “Be reasonable.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of your own heartbeat rings in your ears, nearly rendering you deaf as you scramble to try and find another excuse. Something. Anything that can fix this.

You can’t die. You won’t.

Half a day ago, you had flirted with the idea of death, in exchange for an unforgettable moment with the one who you both love and hate the most. Death didn’t matter, back then. Nothing did, except the two of you.

But now, things are different. Now, it does matter. 

“Dice,” you beckon, barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t want to die.”

The manager’s face contorts shamefully as you look at him in anguish, desperately looking for an answer. All he feels is regret. Maybe if he hadn’t locked eyes with you all those nights ago, you wouldn’t be in so much pain.

He brought this onto you. He’s the reason you have to fret so much about losing your life. Even without meaning to, without wanting to, Dice always manages to do what he does best.

To bring utter misery to the folks around him, all for his boss’s sake, and his own.

It’s never bothered him one bit, until now.

Cradling the back of your head, Dice holds you in silence. There’s nothing that comes to his mind, nothing he can say that would help comfort you. All he can do is listen to your quiet, shaky breathing, and wish for a different life for you.

Something inside his cold heart twists with every second that passes by, clenching unbearably tight as the pressure starts to build in his chest.

He doesn’t want to lose you either. He can’t. 

Dice’s mind looks back on the final moments before he had fallen asleep the previous night, cuddling you against his chest and staring thoughtfully at the canopy curtains.

And the man makes a silent decision.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still haven’t forgiven you,” you chide the reminder, but make no move to pull away. 

“But I don’t just wanna give all this up, either.”

“No one’s giving up anything.”

You twitch in shock at his sudden firmness, and the way his hold around your form tightens ever so slightly. You look at him in confusion, tilting your head and leaning back a little. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not giving up anything,” Dice repeats, more clearly. “Me, your job, your life–none of it. You’re keeping it all.”

“Dice, how?”

“I’ll take care of that, darlin’. I don’t want you worryin’ about this anymore.”

He’s so sick of seeing your pain. He hates it. 

He hates knowing that nearly all of the times you’ve gotten roped into a world of hurt are his fault, in some way. He’s tired of bringing you torment.

For once, he wants to be the one to take it away.

“You, take care of it? All by yourself?” You question, brow etched in suspicion. 

“Now look who’s the unreasonable one, here–Dice, I don’t think this is something you can do on your own anymore. What are you even planning on doing?”

“Somethin’ I shoulda done a long time ago.”

You shudder a little as his hands slither down your arms and gently take hold of your own.

“But,” Dice sighs, defeatedly. 

“This’ll come with a price.”

You purse your lips. Of course it does. 

“And that is?”

“You can’t come back here. At all. Not for a very long time at least,” Dice admits, wishing he didn’t have to ask this of you. For the second time.

“If the boss so much as senses you walkin’ through those doors, he’ll snatch you up and eat you alive, and I won’t be able to do a single thing to stop him.”

You feel a pang in your chest at his request, uncertain of what he’s planning to do, and a little frustrated that you’re yet again being barred from the place Dice calls home. This time, it seems, more permanently.

But, you suppose it’s a rather fair trade for keeping your life, and your soul.

Still…

“Will I even see you again?” You ask hesitantly, a little nervous for the answer. “Or is this… is this it?”

“Of course you will, doll,” Dice hums in assurance, cupping your chin and brushing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I promise you that. I still gotta make up for lost time, after all. I know I haven’t done nearly enough to earn it, but I need you to trust me on this.”

You frown, leaning into his hand and begrudgingly soaking up what could be the last of his touch for a long time. 

It’s funny, really. After what he and his casino have put you through, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore. But here you are, still feeling so drawn to him. 

You don’t want to go. You’re becoming so tired of staying away. 

Especially not after you both just started to heal. When the pain he caused is starting to numb.

But even after all the lies, even after the heartbreak and anguish you had felt, you can’t bring yourself to tell him no. Not when that spark in his emerald eyes begs you to give him one last shot.

“Alright, Dice. I’ll trust you again, just this once. You better not take it for granted, this time.”

“And I can’t thank you enough,” Dice muses in relief, pressing a gentle peck to your lips. “I’ll make this worth your while, darlin’. I swear it.”

He makes a move to stand, and with hesitance, you follow him. Dice steps towards his closet and pulls out the clothes you had worn yesterday, folded with care. He pushes the small pile into your arms, and gestures towards his bathroom.

“I’ll let you change, doll.”

You step inside, carefully hanging Dice’s robe back on its designated hook, and slipping on your clothes. By the time you walk out, he’s in his usual suit, fiddling with the golden cufflinks at the end of his sleeves.

Dice takes your hands, squeezing them firmly and bringing them to his lips. He presses a few soft kisses to your knuckles before letting your arms fall, caressing your neck with care.

“Now, go. Quickly. Get out of here, and don’t come back.” 

Despite the instinctive urge to rebel, you follow his request anyway, giving the man one last apprehensive look before slipping out of his chambers, leaving him behind.

You fight back the heartbroken wetness that stings your eyes as you rush down the long and empty corridors, finding that blessed side door and wasting no time. 

You leave, not daring to look back for a second as you run towards the daylight, not daring to give Inkwell Hell another chance at reeling you back in.

Dice watches from the large windows of his room, a prideful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he makes sure you safely reach the end of the cave.

With a dash of blush, eyeshadow, and a few spritzes of cologne, Dice finishes touching up and swallows the lump of regret beginning to form in his throat, telling himself that it’s much too late to back out now.

‘You dug your grave, Dice. Now lie in it.’

The walk towards the Devil’s office is silent, but Dice still finds himself deafened by the sounds of his own heavy footsteps, and for a second he wonders if this is the same horrible feeling his own patrons feel each time he scouts the casino floor. 

Terror. 

He does his best to shake the feeling away, not wanting to dwell on it as he approaches his boss’s doors. With a sharp inhale, Dice starts towards them, but before he can get far, Henchman reaches out to stop him.

“Wait, Mr. King Dice sir-!”

Dice pauses in his tracks, having failed to have noticed Henchman at all before the imp spoke out to him. With an exasperated sigh, he glowers down at the nervous-looking demon and taps his foot expectantly.

“What is it?”

“I err-uhh, I’m not sure you wanna head in there right now.”

Dice raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side in question.

“And why is that?”

“Boss is a little on edge,” the imp replies sheepishly, poking his foot at the ground and breaking eye contact with the manager. 

“You know how he gets sometimes, with the outbursts and everythin’.”

“Frankly, Henchman, I really do not have it in me to give a damn,” Dice starts, concealing his shaking hand. “I need to talk to him, right now. Whether he’s in the mood or not.”

Wanting to protest but knowing how stubborn the manager can be, Henchman sags his shoulders and nods in defeat, stepping aside to let Dice through the doors.

“D’alright, sir. Just… be careful.”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Dice retorts quickly before opening them, walking into his boss’s office before he can psych himself out and heed the imp’s warning.

There’s no right time to do this–either way, Scratch’ll give him hell. Better to bite the bullet now, than stalling the inevitable.

“DICE!”  

A booming voice calls out from the throne at the end of the room, seething with fury despite the strained, toothy grin plastered on the furry demon king’s face. 

“What a peculiar surprise! Have a seat, won’t you?”

Dice swallows thickly, cautiously approaching the desk and taking a seat, as instructed. He doesn’t dare to utter a word just yet, his mouth firmly shut.

The Devil leans forward, clasping his claws together and staring his right-hand down, fiery red eyes boring into Dice’s skull.

“I’m sure you’re already aware of the fact that I still don’t have that soul you promised me, even though two days have passed since our three-day agreement.”

“I…” Dice starts, quietly. “I am aware, boss.”

“And since you are so smart, I’m also sure you know that the same doll just left the casino not too long ago?”

“Yes.”

“Great! I’m so glad we’re on the same page!” Scratch spits through his smile, slamming his fist on the desk and summoning a quill into his paw. 

“So! If they’re already gone, I’m sure that means you’ve fulfilled your promise, yes? Where’s that contract?”

Two decades of loyal work at his boss’s side has taught Dice a lot about how to read the Devil, and despite that pleasant tone in his voice, the manager knows better than to trust it. A part of him says that the demon king already knows why he’s here, and is just waiting for Dice to admit it himself.

Well, he shouldn’t keep his boss waiting for long.

“I don’t have it, Boss.”

“You don’t have it,” the Devil repeats knowingly, his fist clenching around his quill so hard it snaps to pieces and scatters on the desk. 

“You still don’t have it?”

“No, sir.”

“Why, Dice?” He seethes, his smile threatening to fall as smoke puffs from his nose. 

“Why don’t you have it yet? Are you really waiting until the last possible moment? That’s foolish of you, prolonging their fate like that. What, is the fella gonna come back tomorrow and you’re just gonna–”

“They’re not coming back, Boss.”

A deafening beat of silence.

“...What?”

“I said,” Dice spits, his tongue sharp and impatient. 

“They’re not coming back.”

“Don’t you dare start acting stupid, Dice!” The Devil roars, his fists coming right back down on the desk so hard the furniture nearly snaps in half. He stands, his smile gone as his pupils flicker from shape to shape. 

“If they’re not coming back, then HOW do you plan on getting that contract?!”

A deep, calming breath passes through Dice as he closes his eyes for a spell, before opening them up and staring at his superior.

“I’m not getting it.”

The air runs cold in the room—something that Dice didn’t think could even be possible, given Hell’s fiery nature. The manager and demon scan each other for a long time, neither faltering, neither wanting to be the one to pull away.

Slowly, the Devil’s face starts to lean towards Dice’s, his claws digging into the polished wood as his eyes threaten to melt his lackey right where he sits.

“You’re not getting it?”

“No, sir. I’m not getting you that contract.”

The Devil barks out a warning laugh, suddenly reaching out and gripping Dice by the lapel. The pit boss twinges a little as a nail digs into his skin, but he doesn’t let it sway him.

“You’re not getting it. After all this talk about ‘needing a little more time,’ after all I’ve done to get you where you are now, you’re going to disobey me.”

Dice nods his head, standing by his decision.

The Devil, seeing red, opens his mouth to scream in Dice’s face, but the manager speaks before the demon has a chance.

“I’ve been working for you for twenty years, Boss. Twenty years of lying, cheatin’, deal-makin’, heart-breakin’, you name it. I’ve all but moved mountains to get you what you want. I let you take what little good in me I had and shrivel it up, turning it to dust. I let you toss me to the slums and beat me around like a dead bush, all for making one too many mistakes. Even after cutting me loose, I still ended up crawling back to you. Begging you for more. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon; I’ve got nowhere else to run. There’s no use on splittin’, when I’m bound for Hell anyway.

But them? They’re not. That soul you’re after certainly is special, and I understand why you want it so badly. But that’s the thing, Scratch. They’re too precious– to me. I was mighty fine with chasing ‘em down at the beginning, doing whatever it takes to bring ‘em to you, but that was before I really got to know the person they are.

They changed everything, before I could stop ‘em. They managed to find the last shred of humanity in me that you couldn’t hope to destroy, Boss. They found the remaining ashes of something you had burnt down decades ago and managed to revive it. I…”

Dice shakes his head, standing from his seat, not caring as his superior leans back in slight surprise.

“I can’t do it anymore. Not to them. I can’t take the goodness of something that gave mine back to me. That soul is too special to let you corrupt it. And while you might have my soul, my heart belongs to them. No matter what you say.”

Scratch clenches his teeth, his tail twitching as it begins to glow, eager to burst into flame. His claws tighten their hold on Dice’s jacket, eager to rip the fabric right off.

Nevertheless, Dice keeps speaking, his tongue smooth and persistent.

“I have been slackin’ off, lately. There’s no denying that. While business hasn’t completely dropped, I’ve been slower. More hesitant. Distracted. You were right–this target’s made me lose myself. You’re no longer the only one I belong to. I have never forgotten my loyalty, and I won’t, but while I work for you, I live for them. And you’re wrong to think I’m unable to do so.

You’re wrong to tell me that I’m incapable of having feelings for someone like them–I’m just as human as they are, Boss. You forget that I still have the capability to have my own feelings, to make my own decisions, and you will not take this choice away from me.”

“And what choice…” The Devil sneers, threatening for Dice to answer his dangerous question. “Might that be?!”

“I love them.”

“You WHAT?!”

“I LOVE them, Boss!” Dice repeats, matching the demon’s tone. 

“I love them more than I love myself, and you are wrong to think that I can’t! I can, and I do! And I will keep loving them, as long as I am breathing! No matter how hard you try, you can’t take that away from me!”

“You…”

Dice’s mouth finally clamps shut, his posture crumbling slightly as he takes a couple steps back. He watches, a little frightened, as his boss starts to grow in size.

“INSOLENT…”

The Devil uses his now-giant hand to shove his desk away, charred papers and quills raining down from the impact as he gets on all fours, slowly crawling towards Dice as a ring of fire spawns around the two men.

Dice backs up as far as he can, until the back of his shoe is ignited by the hellflame. Quickly, he takes a step forward, snuffing out the small fire with his leg. He refuses to pull away eye contact. Not this time.

“Little BRAT!!”

The Devil screams in rage, his claws digging into the ground and pulling back, effectively ruining the red carpet beneath their feet as the inflamed ring bursts in height. The ends of his fur glow white from the blaze, and Dice is sure that if he were to try and reach out, to calm his boss down, his hand would be burned to oblivion.

So, he stays still. He stands at a slight distance from the firewall behind him, ignoring the sweat beading on his brow, as the Devil spirals into a wind of fury. The pit boss can do nothing but watch, despite his body’s desire to give out and succumb to the heat.

Scratch lets out another enraged shout, leaning down with his mouth nearly ready to swallow Dice whole and never regret it.

“HOW DARE YOU?!”

The ground shakes with every word that leaves the demon’s mouth, nearly throwing Dice off his balance.

“Defying ME of all people, after everything I’ve done for you?! You KNOW I can rip your head off your shoulders, right?! You’ve seen me incinerate folks for less!”

Dice nods, firmly. “Yes, I know that.”

“AND YOU KNOW I COULD DO THE SAME TO THEM, RIGHT?!”

A little more angrily, Dice nods again. “Yes.”

Of all the traits that Dice carries, the traits the Devil had conditioned in him, no one can take away his bravery. His stubbornness, even to those of higher status than him. On any other occasion, the Devil might have even been proud of such risky disobedience.

But Dice’s unwavering responses only make him more furious.

“GRAAHHH! ” Scratch roars as his wrath completely takes over, grabbing Dice entirely with his claw and lifting him off the ground, bringing him closer to his face and letting the smoke from his breath choke the pit boss in his grasp.

Dice coughs heavily, turning away and trying desperately to remove the brimstone from his lungs. The Devil gives him one last warning.

“GET ME THAT SOUL, YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHIN' LACKEY!”

Dice gasps deeply for air, weakly catching his breath and slowly looking into the eyes of his captor. He makes no move to escape–doesn’t dare to struggle.

He’s done running away. No more lies. No more stalling. No more empty promises.

He sharpens his face, gritting his teeth, his eyes glowing an icy green to combat the fiery red that stares right back.

Before he runs out of air, he utters one last promise to his boss, meaning every word, and not caring if it meant his end.

“I won’t.”

Chapter Text

You run.

As Dice had asked, you take everything you have out of that casino and run off, not daring to look back. Not even once.

The air outside is crisp and chilled, hitting against the back of your throat and drying it out. Every breath you take feels like needles prodding in your neck as your legs carry you home, your feet pounding against the sidewalk.

You barely even look at the water as you sprint down the docks—there’s not enough time, anymore.

Before you know it, you finally catch the sign pointing towards your street and make a sharp turn, ignoring the sharp pain from your ankle as you pivot your foot slightly too harshly. The porch light greets you with open arms, the steps beckoning for you to get the hell inside and lock the doors.

You do just that.

The wooden door slams shut as your back pushes against it, and you slump to the floor in exhaustion. Desperately trying to catch your breath, you squeeze your eyes shut and pant, coughing from the dryness in your throat. 

Once you feel like you can stand without keeling over, you use the door to bring yourself back to your feet, and stagger to the living room. Your body flops onto the couch, your head spinning like a top.

The stars that clog up your blackening vision are nowhere near as pretty as the ones that dust over the night sky–the ones that Dice had shown you in the gardens long ago.

You miss nights like that, laughing and clinging to the pit boss’s arm and playfully flirting with the man behind your own demise. Without even realizing it.

‘Get out of here, and don’t come back.’

At the time, you didn’t realize how hard that would be. You didn’t think about the implications about what Dice was telling you–now, your thoughts nearly stop your heart.

You may never see him again.

He had told–no, promised–that you would. But you’ve heard and experienced one horribly addicting truth: Dice is a liar.

Whether with good or bad intentions, the man lies through the skin of his teeth as easily as he breathes. There is nothing in this world that can assure the doubts you have.

He’s played this route with you before, there’s nothing stopping him from doing it again. What if he was just saying you’d see him again, just to get you to leave? What if he was just trying to spare your feelings?

He said that he’d make it all up to you. How would he even begin to do that?

Is he… taking your place?  

The Devil surely has his soul already, yes. But Dice’s life was his own. Could you be so sure that he wouldn’t give that up as well, just to make a point?

…You need a drink.

With a shaky breath, you pull yourself off the couch and tread to the kitchen, fumbling through the wooden cabinets in search of something to temporarily relieve your headache. 

Your fingers brush through the various gins and cognacs before you stop in your tracks, staring wide-eyed at the nearly finished bottle of champagne that Dice had given you so many months ago.

Your first night in a new home. The first time Dice had walked you back.

With a shaky sigh, you pull the bottle from the pantry and pour yourself a glass.

It’ll do.

You trudge back to your spot on the couch and sit, sipping your drink and pretending not to glance at the clock every so often. Ignoring the way the sun sets outside the window, and the shunned silence that takes over the house. 

A rather pitiful way to spend your day–waiting around on your sofa, merely staring at the ceiling–but you’ve been through worse.

Another drink of your champagne and you sit back on the sofa, squeezing your eyes shut. Dice will be fine. You will be fine.

You hope.

The clock eventually strikes 11:00 pm, prompting you to start feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion on your shoulders. You carefully stand, your champagne glass empty and abandoned on the coffee table near your feet. You’ll deal with it in the morning.

With a small yawn, you turn towards the staircase and start heading up the steps, when a sudden knock pulls you from your trance. You raise an eyebrow and turn back towards the front door, hesitant to answer.

You stay still, wondering what your next move should be, when the knock returns again with slightly more force. This time, you also hear what sounds like a small thud against the wall, and a meek, muffled voice echo through the door.

“Sweetheart? It’s me, darlin’.”

Immediately, all adrenaline floods back through your bones, and you’re at the door in less than a second. You swing it open and freeze at the relieving–yet distressing–sight before you.

King Dice, beaten and battered from head to toe, smiles weakly down at you and lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing your face. Before he can muster the energy to give you a greeting, you grab him by the arm and pull him inside, all but dragging him to the sofa and coaxing him to sit down.

“Dice!”

You stand in front of him, your hands on your hips as you thoroughly examine his entire form, trying to piece together what the hell had happened for him to look so…

So broken.

The man’s poor head is dusted with small cracks and even a few chips near the corners, the occasional drop of blood oozing down from a deeper cut near his eyebrow. His suit is charred and ripped in some areas, as if Dice had been thrown into the fiery pit with a pack of hungry hound dogs just waiting to rip him apart.

Each rise of Dice’s chest looks horribly painful, his breaths small and labored, as if his lungs were punctured and useless. Both horrified and curious, you gently reach and peel back the lapels of his coat jacket to get a better view of his torso.

You wish you hadn’t.

The once-lavender vest that usually hugs his chest is stained deep with dark crimson, with multiple gashes slashed across his chest and abdomen, like he was mauled by a lion. The cuts don’t look deep enough to call for a doctor, but at the same time, you cannot let them go untreated. More likely than not, he’ll need stitches.

A rugged, wet cough catches your attention, and you frightfully turn your attention back to Dice’s face, your heart dropping at the small dribble of blood that travels down his chin.

“I’m sorry, doll. I don’t mean to mess up your couch like this.”

As much as you want to pour out all your thoughts onto him, let him hear just how angry with him you are, all you can do at first is shake your head, biting back a frustrated shout. 

“Dice, this is… I can’t believe…”

Dice watches sheepishly as you begin to pace in front of him, hands trembling as you try to figure out what to say. His face contorts when he hears the shakiness in your voice, your angry remarks laced with worry. 

“This is ridiculous, you know that? Why would you think that this is such a good idea? I trust you one more time, and you go off and let yourself get so hurt?! Look at yourself, Dice! He’s gotten you so wrecked you can barely stand on your own!” 

All the man can do is nod along, his head hung low like a child getting a scolding from a parent. The embarrassment surely makes him feel that way. 

“And here you are, stumbling back inside my home, nearly collapsing on the floor, and all you’re worried about is messing up my furniture? Give me a break, Dice! I can replace a stained sofa, but I can’t replace you!”  

Desperate to calm you, Dice leans forward, offering his arms to you. He smiles slightly as you pause in your pacing, staring in disbelief at his outrageous request. 

But he wins in the end, and you approach him slowly, sitting beside him with your head on his shoulder. Listening to his slow, but steady heart. 

His voice, weak and hoarse, nearly fails him as he tries to reassure you.

“There now, precious. I’m right here. Technically, I did keep my promise, as well–I told you that you’d see me again, right?”

He chuckles tiredly, hoping to cheer you up, but you feel anything but lifted.

“Dice,” you grit out, gripping his free hand while his other one pets your cheek. 

“When I asked if I’d see you again, I did not mean beaten half to death! Do you really think that pulling something as crazy as this would make everything right between us?”

Dice winces in guilt at your words, knowing that this impulsive decision may not have been the best choice on his part. Nonetheless, he shakes his head, refusing to let himself start to regret.

“I couldn’t just stand there, darlin’. We both know that.”

“There had to have been another–”

“He was going to kill you.”

The room runs cold as you’re reminded exactly what was at stake, breaths beginning to shake with terror. You slowly bring yourself to sit back up, taking both of Dice’s hands, gently squeezing after making sure they weren’t bruised or broken.

He leans forward a little, beckoning for you to come closer to him. To his dejection, you refuse, pulling your hands away and scooting back. 

“You shouldn’t have… I’m not…”

“I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. You are worth it.”

“Dice,” you insist, stubbornly. “Your job, your money… all of that? Down the drain, all just to try and mend things with one person?”

“I didn’t lose my job,” Dice grunts in response, hissing slightly in pain as he shifts on the sofa to get a better look at you. “I didn’t lose any of it. This is all the punishment he’s gonna give me.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means, but he turns away to let out another awful cough into his gloved fist, and you send him a hard glare instead. You stand, refusing to let him continue to bleed out any longer.

“Upstairs,” you murmur firmly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and guiding him to his feet. “I’m not gonna continue talking about this until I know you’re not on death’s door.”

With a defeated huff of laughter, Dice nods in agreement, and the two of you stumble up the stairs and into the nearby bathroom. You urge Dice to sit on the edge of your bathtub while you pull out a first aid kit from the medicine cabinet, sitting on the edge of the toilet so you can properly sew him up.

“I’m gonna need those clothes off,” you order, tugging at his jacket expectantly. “Now.”

Knowing better than to protest, Dice simply nods again and peels off his bloody tailcoat, letting it fall into the tub behind him along with his vest and undershirt.

You almost wish he could keep them on.

Once beautiful, ivory skin is now covered in deep scratches and cuts, angry and unforgiving across his upper body. Even Dice’s arms didn’t seem to be safe–maroon dots dig deep into his biceps, appearing as though the Devil had stabbed him with his own claws.

You shudder at what that must have felt like.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you grab a towel and dampen it under warm water, giving Dice a small warning before gently dabbing at his chest to remove as much dried blood as possible.

Dice hisses again and lets out a groan, turning his head away and gritting his teeth. Your eyes soften a little, and you put your grudge aside to at least try and offer him some words of comfort.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and be as quick as possible, but I really need to get as much of this off as I can. I gotta see if these cuts need to be stitched up.”

Your voice is quiet yet insistent, telling Dice to breathe as deep as he can and relax his muscles, his teeth still tightly clamped together and his eyes shut tight. He bites back another pained grunt as you dab the fresh scars with disinfectant, fingers tightly gripping the edge of the tub.

The silence in the room is nearly suffocating as you work, Dice doing his best to stay still, and you trying to find the right words. Really, what can you say?

You can’t tell if it’s relieving or even more disheartening, but Dice is the first to speak, ridding you of that burden.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles quietly as you reach for the sutures. “I know I already said it, but it’s true. I didn’t mean to drag you into this, especially so late at night.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips to contain your anger as you gently start to stitch up a particularly deep scratch across his chest.

It takes you a moment to speak, and despite your expert concentration, your poor hands can’t help but tremble.

“It’s a bit too late to keep me out of this, Dice. I don’t know why you tried to in the first place. And even then, that’s not what you should be apologizing for.”

“Well, you know it’s deeper than that,” Dice sighs, flinching a little as your needle digs back into his skin. “I’m sorry for all of this. Seeing me like this and having to stitch me back up, of course. But also for driving you out of the casino. I know how much you love that place.”

You shake your head, your breaths shuddering slightly as you tie the knot and move onto the next cut.

Dice grunts softly in discomfort before continuing, not waiting for your response yet.

“I’m sorry it even had to come down to this. I’m sorry that life isn’t fair.”

“Dice,” you finally find your words again, your resolve hardly cracking as he looks back up at you in dejection. “That’s not what the problem is, anymore. None of that is,” you continue, your voice nearly cracking.

“What I am upset about is how reckless you’re being over it all. Throwing yourself into the lion’s den, just like that, when we probably could have come up with something else? Again, you’re just flying by the seat of your pants, making these crazy decisions on your own! The impulsivity you have is really starting to drive me–”

“Y’know,” Dice interrupts, his face hardening a little as you tie another knot. “That’s the one thing I don’t regret from any of this. In fact, I shoulda done it sooner.”

“Dice!” You scold, setting the suture kit aside for a moment. “Are you kidding? Look at all the scratches and burns he’s given you! You’re saying that this is the only way to handle this?”

“Doll, listen to me. The Devil sees and knows everything–you can’t just beat around the bush with him. I shouldn’t have tried to, but I was just so… so conflicted. After you came into my life, I couldn’t quite figure out just what I wanted in my life anymore, so I wanted time to figure it out. With you. But that just led me to lie to both of you, which put you in danger and led me into this position. I’m simply reaping what I’ve sown.”

“That’s not…” your breath hitches. “You shouldn’t have signed yourself up for this. I know you’re just itching to fix all this, but you can’t fix anything if you’re dead. You know he can kill you, don’t you? And you’ve just given him a damn good reason to?”

“I do,” Dice agrees. “But he won’t.”

“And how do you know that, Dice?”

“Darlin’, I’ve been working with Scratch for so long now,” Dice reminds you, letting you pick the sutures back up when one of his wounds bleeds a little. “He’s not gonna get rid of me so easily–whether he likes it or not, I’m too useful to him. Not only that, but I’m very popular in that place. With me gone, he’d lose much more than one soul and he knows it.”

You huff softly, not very assured by that answer.

“Okay, fine, so he won’t kill you. But Dice,” you warn, stitching the last open wound and wiping off the small streak of blood that had dripped from it. “He’s gonna keep doing this to you, isn’t he? Every time you go to work, you’re gonna leave in pieces, aren’t you? Just like right now. And it’s gonna be my job to pick up after you. Over and over. Do you realize the position you’ve just put both of us into?”

Dice opens his mouth to quell your doubts, to tell you that you’re wrong and that he’ll be okay, but eventually shuts it. He breaks his gaze from yours and looks down at the floor, confirming your questions.

“I’m done with lyin’ to ya, sweetheart, so I’ll make it clear: this is probably gonna be the new norm for a while. I don’t know exactly how long this’ll last–the Boss has a rather unpredictable temper–but I do know that it won’t be forever. He’s gotta get over it eventually, and when he does, every single scar will become a memory.”

You tap your foot impatiently on the ground, scowling at him in annoyance. He can sit there and spew such promises the entire night if he wanted, but that still wouldn’t make any of this right to you. 

“And what if I don’t wanna patch you up?” You test him, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “What if I don’t think you deserve it?”

Dice watches you for a moment before letting his eyes close, his shoulders shrugging in resignation. 

“Then don’t,” he answers, simply. “Hell, you don’t even have to let me in the door, if you don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be our mess, you know.” 

He meets your gaze again, and you both watch each other in tense, uncomfortable silence. 

You weren’t expecting such an answer, but another rational part of you questions what else you could have expected. You may have wanted to see if you could get a rise out of him–even a little– but his simple reply leaves you with nothing to work with. It’s unlike him. 

You’re not sure you like that. 

You take a glance at the suture kit beside him, and back at Dice’s stitched wounds. You grab the roll of bandages resting in the corner. 

“Of course it’s our mess,” you finally speak again, once his arm is fully wrapped. “You’re not gonna lick your wounds alone. I wouldn’t do that to you, you know that, right?” 

Dice bursts out a laugh, doing his best to keep still to keep from ruining your work. “You know you wouldn’t be wrong for doing so, right?” 

You nearly chuckle along with him, but keep your reservations. You take his other arm, dabbing any remaining blood away before bandaging it up. 

“You still think that directly going against Scratch is the best option here?”

“Yes, I do. And it’ll be worth it, darlin’. I mean it. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“It might be worth it to you, but not to me. If he wants my soul so bad that he’ll hurt you every day to get it, then why doesn’t he just come here? If he’s so damn desperate, I’d expect him to just get on with it himself.”

“I…” Dice thinks a little, before sighing defeatedly. “I think it’s just the principle, sweetheart. It may not be so much the soul he’s losing, but the fact that I’m disobeying him. You’re not the problem–I’m not sure you ever were. He’s pissed that I won’t give him what he wants, when he’s given me just about all I could ever ask for. Except for one thing.”

You cast a confused glance, asking what he means, and he responds with another squeeze of your hand.

“I’m talking about you, sweet one,” Dice lets out a small chuckle, caressing your cheek. “If he were to try anything, he knows I’d throw a fit. He’d lose a lot more than one little soul.”

You hesitantly lean into the touch. “And you’re sure he won’t kill you? Not even take away your job?”

“Not a chance, doll,” Dice promises with a weak, tired smile. “I’m much too valuable for him now–I’m not going anywhere.”

You give a curt nod, finishing your work and putting the bandages away. “I still think this is stupid, Dice. I don’t think I’ll ever change my mind about that.”

The man falls silent, pursing his lips as he stares at the floor. You groan softly in annoyance.

“But, if you’re really so sure about this, then I guess I can’t force you to stop. I swear, though, if even for a minute I think that you might be killed, I might just finish the job myself.” 

“I understand,” Dice laughs softly, promising that he would never allow that to happen. Despite your better judgment, you find yourself chuckling quietly along with him.

Once you’re certain that Dice’s injuries are properly patched, you put your medical kit away and stand, grabbing his hand and guiding him out the small bathroom. He follows you into the bedroom and joins you under the covers with a contented sigh, laying on his back and wrapping a bandaged arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you, darlin’, for letting me back in. Even when I know I haven’t quite earned that.”

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his slow heart beating through the gauze and thinking about what he just said.

You’re not back to where things were. Not even close, yet. You’re still upset–even more so now–and he’s still guilty. Hiding his tail between his legs. 

But… you’re certainly much better than how you were, just a couple nights ago. 

He’s trying. He’s reckless, overconfident, and downright idiotic, but he’s trying. You can see it. 

You decide that that’s all you can really ask him to do, anyway. 

You just hope he knows what he’s doing.

Despite the fierce comeback of this bad habit you had been trying to get rid of, you decide to toy with fate once again, and put your trust in the man lying beside you. To wait for him, every night, until there are no more cuts to clean.

After a few minutes of silence, you hear Dice’s breathing start to deepen as he dozes off, and you sigh gently. You press a soft kiss over his heart and whisper quietly to the sleeping man beneath you.

“Just don’t ever make me regret it.”

Chapter Text

The casino is quiet. 

It has been, for several days now. The band has paused its continuous playing, and conversations are minimal. There are no joyous cries upon a jackpot, or applause after a lengthy game of Poker. The drinks flow and the money passes all the same, but the winners quietly take their prizes and cash out. 

The losers don’t have it in them to make a fuss, anymore. Not that they’d need to.

There’s an even bigger fuss, stirring behind the ‘Employees Only’ doors.

“UNGRATEFUL little–!”

“Me, ungrateful?! That’s RICH–!”

Distant shouting and roars of blazing fire sound through the room, raising hairs on the arms of the clueless newcomers. The conversation is quiet, muffled by the walls and the door, but everyone knows better. 

To walk into the source of the noise would surely burst the eardrums of those who try. Fortunately, none feel the need to bother with such an attempt, valuing their life much more than answers. The agonized cries and rumbles of earth answer enough. 

An argument–no, a fight–between the casino’s manager and owner. 

No one but the Court understands what such a quarrel is about, but the tension is seething enough that the context barely matters. Whatever it is, it’s nothing good, nor is it something to ask either party about. 

The room flinches, occasionally, at a particularly voluminous plunder of brimstone or a muffled scream. Chips and Hopus cast each other looks of concern from across several tables, solemnly shaking their heads as they continue shuffling. The heads of their players duck down lower, as if the poor fools are trying to hide themselves from the Devil’s fury. 

Ginette sighs softly, prepping a few pints for the folks seated at the bar. Her eyes flicker towards the medical kit hidden in one of the shelves, exchanging a knowing look with Rumulus as Ol’ Ethan takes a tray of drinks to pass around the floor. 

Solemn action is taken, until the Devil’s telltale command reaches the ears of all, leaving no lucky soul behind.

“GET OUT!”

The distant, ground-shaking slam of a hatch retakes hold of the floor’s attention, ceasing the little conversation remaining. The quiet games pause, all heads turning towards the back of the room, hoping–for the sake of the King–that the two men had finished their tirade for the day. 

The familiar clacking of footsteps gradually becomes louder, but less energetic than usual. 

Slower. 

Weaker.

Several patrons, and even some staff members, wait with baited breaths to see the extent of the damage. 

It certainly isn’t a pretty sight.

Never has been, never will be.

The long-awaited casino manager finally opens the door, stepping into his silent empire. His head is held high, to give him credit–but he looks awful. Half-dead. 

Burns and scrapes litter his arms and torso, blood leaking from a few cuts and seeping into his torn clothes.

The weary pit boss leans against the doorway and rubs at his wounded shoulder, looking around at the gawking faces of his people before sending the room a hard glare. 

A warning. 

“What’re you all lookin’ at, huh?” King Dice starts, low and threatening. “There ain’t nothin’ here for you to see.”

A few awkward coughs ring in the man’s ears as a few smart patrons quickly avoid his gaze, turning right back to whatever they had been doing before. Unfortunately, not everyone gets the hint. 

“Lemme make this a little more clear, then…” Dice seethes, peeling himself away from the safety of the wall. He staggers, ever so slightly, but quickly regains his balance and straightens his back. 

His stance is tall and unwavering, despite his fresh, horrid battle scars. The position alone is nearly enough to sway the stragglers.

“I said, there ain’t nothin’ here for you to see. So, what I suggest that you all do is…” 

He steps forward, the unforgettable clicks of his shoes echoing across the floor, sending a blanket of disturbance across the idiots who still have the nerve to stare in shock. 

“Get back TO it!” 

A loud, authoritative clap of his hands frightens the masses back into their routines. Quicker than a second, the band resumes their song, the chatter picks up again, and cards are scattered about. 

Same as usual.

Dice breathes out a small sigh, his shoulders falling, his legs screaming for him to rest. His throat, dry and scratchy, begs for a drink.

Concealing his limp, the man walks towards the bar, intimidated guests quickly making a seat available. A small groan escapes him as he sits, his elbows on the countertop and his head in his hands. 

Catching the hint, the pitying patrons graciously step away, allowing the poor bastard some privacy. Ginette stands at attention, waiting for her boss’s order. 

Dice briefly meets her gaze and lets out another disgruntled breath, letting his bruised eyes fall shut.

“A whiskey–”

“On the rocks,” Ginette finishes knowingly, reaching for the bourbon and grabbing a new glass. Dice watches her quickly fix him his drink, fingers drumming the counter. 

When the amber elixir finally nestles in his hand, he drinks, quietly, pressing the cold glass against his face for a few seconds after each sip. The condensation from the ice feels soothing against his burning skin–easing the pain, little by little. 

Instead of turning back to clean or busy herself with some other orders, the bartender watches her boss, a frown etched on her glassy features. 

Dice feels her stare, and is not appreciative.

“Y’know, Gin, it’d do you some good to peel your eyes away and do your job,” Dice sneers. 

It’s bad enough that his display of injuries reminds the world that he isn’t invincible. While he’s tough, he can still be hurt. He’s really not looking for anyone to point that out to him. 

But this time, the woman doesn’t falter. She stays put, refusing to turn away as he requested.

“Gin,” Dice grits, his voice hoarse and off-putting. “I’m not in the mood to argue–” 

“I’m not either, Boss. Which is why you’re gonna come with me,” Ginette replies simply, grabbing the medical kit from the shelf and knocking her head towards the back room. 

Dice’s brows raise, and he lifts his head, finally locking his gaze onto his employee. 

“What did you say to me?” 

“I said,” Ginette presses, tapping the medical kit for emphasis. “Come with me. Pir’s got some extra gauze in the room backstage. We’ll fix you up.” 

Dice scoffs at her confidence, knocking back the rest of his drink and slamming the empty glass against the counter. 

“And what,” he challenges, his icy stare boring into the bartender’s head. “Makes you think I’m gonna do that?” 

“‘Cause she’s got backup.” 

Dice immediately turns towards the source of the new voice, frown deepening as Wheezy pops a squat in the seat next to him. The cigar’s got the same look in his eyes as his coworker–insistent. 

Annoyingly bold.

No longer are they too afraid to defy Dice’s orders. Not when he looks like he’ll keel over at any second. 

Still, the sentiment doesn’t make Dice any less irritated.

“Both of you, knock it off,” Dice says, refusing to give them the satisfaction of following directions. 

“I’m not goin’ nowhere, and neither are you. As far as I can tell, both of you are still on the clock.” 

“Not to beat ya while you’re down, Boss, but frankly, what’re you gonna do about it?” Wheezy asks, a sly smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. 

“Ya don’t exactly appear to be in… well, a condition to fight right now.” 

Dice’s fist clenches, nearly shattering the glass of half-melted ice in his hand. 

“Ya wanna test that? Because–” 

“Enough,” Ginette cuts through their bickering, gently taking the glass from Dice’s hold. 

“There’s no need for you to get more roughed up than you already are. And you shouldn’t have the gall to beat him while he’s down, either,” she warns Wheezy, wiping the glass down before setting it on the shelf. 

Dice sighs lowly, resting his arms back on the counter. 

“You two don’t gotta patch me up, or butt in on any of this. I can handle it on my own, and frankly, it’s none of your business. Just focus on finishing up your shifts,” he grumbles, tiredly. 

“Boss,” Ginette shakes her head. “There’s about a dozen of us here, and not to mention, those fancy cards of yours. I’m sure that Rum and Ethan’ll be fine at the bar, and the others’ll take good care of the tables. They can handle us leavin’ for twenty minutes. Besides,” she smiles, slightly. 

“You wouldn’t want that sweetheart of yours to have to patch you up again, would ya?” 

That question is enough for Dice to pause, considering his employee’s offer. 

You’ve been fixing up his wounds, every night, since the day you left the casino. And every night, without fail, you’ve—rightfully so—chided him for making such a foolish rebellion on your behalf. 

But, although you try to hide it from him, Dice also knows you blame yourself just as much. 

He can’t do that to you again. Not tonight.

Defeated, Dice huffs out a small breath and peels himself from the counter, his back crying in protest. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” 

Wheezy and Ginette share a grin, and the man helps his boss stand while the bartender grabs the kit, discreetly leading them to the back of the stage. 

“Pir!” Ginette calls sweetly from behind the curtains, looking around for the dancer as Wheezy guides Dice over to a chair and sheds him of his coat. 

In just a few moments, Pirouletta emerges from her place in the stockroom backstage, peering her head out in question. 

“Be a dear and check if there’s some extra bandages in the stock, would ya? And if there are, could you bring some over?” 

Upon seeing the display in front of her, the woman quickly ducks behind the various boxes of props, reappearing with the requested gauze in record timing. 

“Here you are,” Pirouletta says, her smooth Russian accent slipping in her voice as she hands her coworker the supplies and sits near her boss. With care, she peels back one of Dice’s sleeves, tutting in disapproval at the damage. 

“Absolutely dreadful,” the girl murmurs as Wheezy brings over a small pail of soapy water, wringing out a washcloth and handing it to her. She runs the towel over Dice’s arm, wincing a little at the pained hiss her superior responds with. 

“Apologies, Boss. I know it must sting.” 

Ginette sighs and folds Dice’s waistcoat over her arm, grabbing a needle and some thread from the nearby sewing kit used for props. She sits in a spare chair beside the group, assessing the tears in the fabric before threading her needle. 

Dice eventually quiets down, taking in shaky, uneven breaths as the trio works to disinfect, clean, and bandage him up. Pirouletta washes, Wheezy wraps, and Ginette sews. Rinse, repeat. 

When prompted, Dice loses his undershirt. He hesitantly shifts in his seat and exposes his back, which appears just short of shredded–countless scratches, deep and unforgiving, crimson covering his ivory skin. The three underlings gawk at the sight, a bit too long for comfort. 

“For Hell’s sake, would ya just get on with it?” Their boss grumbles with impatience. “I’m not tryin’ to be back here longer than I have to.” 

“Forgive us, Boss,” Pirouletta apologizes, a shaky hand reaching back for her washcloth. “It’s just–” 

“So, Scratch has been doing this to you, every day for the past week now? And you’re just letting it happen?” Wheezy asks, keeping his stare fixed. 

“And you’re tryna tell me that you haven’t completely lost your mind?”

Dice hangs his head, cursing quietly in pain as Pirouletta rubs gentle circles along the cuts. “It ain’t as bad as it–” 

“Bullshit,” the cigar spits, snipping a couple pieces of wrapping. 

“You’re getting torn down piece by piece, Boss. Literally. You’ve got chips in your head, bruises all over, and these cuts! You can’t keep goin’ on like this, and you know it. None of this is even for your sake, either. Is it even worth–” 

“It’s worth every mark,” Dice quips, tilting his head to send Wheezy a hard glare. 

“Every scratch, bite, and burn on me is worth it.” 

Wheezy averts his gaze, muttering under his breath as he applies the gauze to any red spot. 

“You’ve never gone so far for someone like them. All for some… some patron.” 

Dice bites back another hiss, hands squeezing the back of the chair. 

Whether it’s from the sting or the anger, not one of them can tell.

“They’re not ‘some patron,’ anymore. They’re so much more than that,” the pit boss spits.

Ginette hums softly, pulling a knot on the stitched fabric in her hands. “Well, I’ll say that they certainly are different than the rest…” 

“But is that ‘difference’ really enough to put yourself through all this? He’ll kill you, Dice,” Wheezy murmurs, crossing his arms. 

“And I’m sure they are next on the boss’s list, no matter how much you try and stop him.” 

Any other time, Dice would’ve cut his underling down. Reminded him, and everyone, why his informal name is not to be used. 

But Ginette had a point, earlier–he really isn’t in a place to rough himself up even more. Scratch did enough damage for one day. 

“He won’t kill me,” Dice insists, wincing as Pirouletta applies drops of ointment. 

“And you know it. All of you know that. I’m the reason this place exists, and the reason you all have jobs. The backbone of his entire operation. Whether he wants to admit that or not, it’s the truth.” 

The trio exchange glances with one another, knowing their superior has a point, but still unsure. 

“He needs me for this casino to continue its success,” Dice continues. 

“And while this tantrum of his is one of the bigger ones, he won’t burn down the entire place over one soul. He’s smarter than that.” 

“King,” Ginette sighs, hanging the fixed tailcoat up to be dry-cleaned later. 

“He might not mean to do it, but you don’t know that for sure. He could accidentally go too far and–” 

“He won’t,” Dice reiterates, his tone sharper. 

“And he won’t even touch them. I’ll make sure of that. Now for the love of all that is unholy, just finish this job so you can get back to yours!”  

A heavy beat of quiet befalls the group, the three inferiors exchanging an uncertain look, afraid to move. Their manager watches them closely, waiting for any further retorts before turning back.  

Pirouletta bows slightly, setting the washcloth aside and moving so Wheezy can work with the gauze. Silently, the man sits, pressing the bandages into his boss’s back. 

“They sure are something, I suppose,” the dancer muses quietly, peeking the curtains to survey the crowds on the floor. 

“I’ve never seen anyone so quick-witted. A guest so refreshing to be around.” 

“And also, sweeter than candy,” Ginette agrees. “Never had a customer so insistent on tipping with every drink, even when they don’t need to.” 

Dice lets his aching head rest against the back of the chair, huffing in indignation. 

“On top of all that, they’re smart. They never would have been in this position on their own. They were dealt an unfair hand, and I’m the one to blame for it. That’s why I’m doing all this for them—to correct my mistakes.” 

“There’s another reason, too,” a sudden voice chimes in, everyone glancing over to see Chips walk backstage, holding a spare folded shirt, vest, and jacket. 

“But ‘course, I ain’t gonna say it.” 

Wheezy barks out a laugh, taking the clothes and placing them in Dice’s lap once he’s turned back around. His torso and back are now completely bandaged, arms and legs dressed appropriately to heal. 

Dice grabs the shirt and quickly shrugs it on, buttoning it hastily. 

“I ain’t either. Not my place to,” the cigar adds, both men turning towards their boss expectantly.

Ginette and Pirouletta shield their giggles, turning away from the group. Dice can swear he hears whispering. 

He eyes the four in annoyance before waving them off, moving for his vest and slipping it on. 

“You all already know why,” he says, standing and throwing on the jacket. 

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it for your sake.” 

“Aww, c’mon!” Chips laughs, nearly choking on air when Wheezy nudges his shoulder. 

“Ya don’t gotta be so uptight with us all the time, Boss. We’ve been workin’ under you for years now, why don’tcha just up and say it?” 

Dice scowls at the cowboy, offended at the lack of respect. 

“Because, Bettigan, it’s none of your business.”  

“We just patched the wounds you’ve earned for ‘em,” Wheezy fires back, smirking triumphantly and crossing his arms. 

“I think it’s become enough of our business to hear the whole reason.” 

Dice moves to reprimand the two men for their insolence, but pauses when Pirouletta and Ginette join behind them and nod eagerly, hopeful smiles on their faces. 

The pit boss groans softly, staring them all down and tapping his shoe impatiently.

“If I say it, will you all shut your yaps and get back to work?” 

“Cross our hearts,” Chips grins and draws an X over his chest, the other three agreeing humorously. 

Dice scoffs, walking tiredly towards the curtains. 

“Because I love ‘em. Very much. Now go.” 

Satisfied with his answer, his Court obediently follows him from backstage, practically skipping back to their spots with smug grins on each of their faces. 

Dice watches them scatter, slowly settling back into his usual barstool as Ginette joins him behind the counter, sliding the medical kit back in its rightful, concealed place. 

Everything, for the most part, is back to normal. 

His slacks are still slightly scuffed, with a couple tatters near the hems, but a couple rips were never a big deal. His bandaged cuts sting and ache, but the pain is manageable. 

Occasionally, Dice will get a pitying glance from those who don’t know any better—well-meaning folks who haven’t yet seen how tough the manager can be, when he needs to. 

But, he supposes that’s alright. They’ll figure it out, eventually. 

Dice lazily watches as the patrons go about their usual ways, drinking booze and losing themselves in conversation. He feels the corners of his lips turn up a little, enjoying the pleasant familiarity of this predictable routine, but the smile doesn’t last very long. 

Something’s missing. 

Someone. 

You’d have loved to be here right now–sitting beside him, your own drink in hand, clinking glasses and laughing with him over small things that don’t matter. Talking with his staff about their work, joking about the patrons who give them a hard time. 

It’s a shame you have to miss this. He wishes things could be different. 

He hopes that things do become different, sooner or later. 

Ginette clears her throat from behind him, and Dice shifts in the stool to face her, casting a questioning glance. The martini-headed woman gestures down towards the counter, where a fresh, iced glass of bourbon waits just in front of Dice’s arm. 

“Figured you could use another, Boss. For the trouble.” 

Dice picks up the drink thoughtfully, the ice tingling his fingers through the silk glove. He swirls it, letting the amber liquid coat the walls of the glass before he takes a small sip, swallowing the burning liquor. 

“Thank you, Gin,” the man nods in gratitude, setting the glass down. 

The bartender simply nods back to him, flashing a closed-lipped smile. 

“Anytime, boss.” 

Neither move, for a little while. Eventually, though, Ginette faithfully grabs a spare rag to keep herself busy. Dice swigs at his bourbon, ruminating. 

The aches in his bones slowly numb away with each drink he takes. The bandages wrapping his arms rub lightly against his clothes, shielding his wounds from becoming aggravated. 

He clears his throat, tapping his glass on the counter to grab Ginette’s attention. 

Figuring he was asking for a top-up, the bartender grabs the bottle of whiskey from the shelf, but Dice raises his hand to stop her. 

“No, I’ve had enough for tonight,” Dice says softly. 

Ginette looks at him in confusion, beckoning for him to finish his thought. 

“I just wanted to thank you,” the manager admits, raising his glass towards her. “And I’m not talkin’ about the booze. I mean, for patchin’ me up and everything.” 

The woman laughs gently, casually shrugging her shoulders.

“Ah, it’s no biggie. Couldn’t have folks staring at you for too long. Might ruin your whole ‘big bad’ persona you’ve nailed here,” she gestures her hands around Dice’s form. 

Dice snuffles amusedly at her dismissal, finishing off his glass. 

“Well, I really do appreciate it–it’ll give your friend at home a break from fussin’ over me. They’ve been gettin’ real torn up over it these last few days, so it’ll be nice to head home lookin’ half decent.” 

Ginette softens, face kept light as she happily wipes his emptied glass. 

“Ah, well, they deserve it as much as you do. Surely they’re dealin’ with enough right now as it is, I’m happy to have taken at least one thing off their plate. Besides,” she gestures around the floor, referencing the rest of the staff. “You’d do the same for any of us.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Dice agrees, taking a gander at the room before breathing a small sigh. “I was a little harsh, before.” 

“You were in pain,” Ginette reminds, graciously. “Bleeding half to death, to top it off. I’m surprised you didn’t snap sooner. And your temper is nothing we ain’t seen before, anyway.” 

Dice feels a small smile creep up on his face, and he hangs his head in resignation as silence lingers over the two. He watches the crowd for a moment, while she ponders her words. 

“Boss?” 

Dice hums in acknowledgement, barely glancing back. 

“If… when all this is finally over,” Ginette starts. “What’re ya gonna do? With them, I mean? Bring ‘em here, go live with ‘em, what’s the next move from here?” 

The manager doesn’t answer right away, his mouth pursing shut. 

He’s slightly embarrassed, now that he thinks about it—he hadn’t really thought about it much, since before his falling out with his boss. Even then, he figured he would cross that bridge when it came down to it. 

He didn’t expect that bridge to come so soon. 

The Devil is bound to crack, one of these days. Dice knows it. The fights, believe it or not, are getting shorter, and Scratch’s yelling is becoming less intimidating. He’ll never say it to his boss’s face, but Dice has seen it himself, and can tell: he’s faltering. He’ll break, and surrender to Dice’s choice.

But then what? 

He hasn’t even earned your forgiveness yet. There’s no telling that he ever will. If you don’t show him any mercy, no one will fault you. 

It’d hurt like hell, but if you really needed it, Dice would let you go. He’d let his outburst all be for nothing, if it meant you’d be happier. Free.

But you told him, even through your apprehension, that you wouldn’t give up on him. If that’s true, then what would you both do after the fact?

Perhaps a gift, to make it up to you. At least it’d be a start.

Dice leans back in his stool for a second, stifling a yawn as Ginette waits curiously for a response. He rests an elbow back on the counter, placing his chin atop his palm. 

His eye catches the gentle sparkle of a diamond-encrusted bracelet hugging the barkeep’s wrist, and the shimmer lights a spark—an idea, dancing in his head. 

“Ya got a favorite jeweler?”

Chapter Text

It’s a Saturday. You’ve got the day off. 

Despite your time meant for refuge, you find yourself seated at your desk, staring blankly at the scattered papers that litter the surface. Various scraps of notes, photographs, and newspaper clippings. Scribbled stories of missing cats, job offers, and obituaries.

You shouldn’t be looking at any of it–it’s not important today. Work can, and should, wait until tomorrow. 

And even though you sit, eyeing your work, the Inkwell news column is one of the last things on your mind.

Running an exasperated hand over your face, you shut your eyes and let your mind wander, the rhythmic ticking of the clock competing with your pounding head. 

Another couple days have passed, adding onto the steadily growing window of time since you last step foot in the casino. Every point the clock strikes midnight, you forget what the place looked like, just a little more. 

And it fills you with regret.

You never should’ve let Dice convince you to run off, whether the reasoning why is his fault or not. It shouldn’t have been up to him, in the first place. 

Not when you’re still not sure what to make of him, anymore. Whether to trust his intuition, when it had done so much to try and ruin you.

A part of you feels guilty for it all, even now–you rest a hand on your temple, frustrated that you can’t just let this go and move forward. 

He’s out there, risking it all for your sake, and you can’t even spare him your forgiveness. 

But, that horrible, sickening clench of your gut, that same one you felt when you found that contract in your room, reminds you why you haven’t.

This pain… 

He brought it on himself.

Every cut, scrape, and bruise he takes is the reap of what he has sown. Every mark, a bitter reminder of his wrong. His cruelty. 

His betrayal.

You shudder, shaking off the ickiness swelling in your chest and letting out a soft sigh. A heaviness weighs down on your shoulders–a familiar and rather frustrating cloud that just won’t let up, no matter how much you try. 

As much pain as you’re in, as much as you gripe at him for it, as much as he tells you you’re right: you still have the nerve to feel sorry for him. 

Yes, it’s all true. Dice hurt you. 

Horrifically. 

That kind of damage is practically irreversible. 

However…

Even with his major role in your possible demise, you can’t quite blame him for everything. 

And even if you could chalk it all up to Dice’s failures, even when you sometimes want to, does that mean he deserves to be beaten black and blue? Until he can barely stand on his own? 

Until he retreats into your cautiously waiting arms, every night, shielding his pain and his tears as you piece him back together? 

Your fist clenches against your head, an unswallowable lump swelling in the back of your throat. Your shoulders bear down as the weight suddenly becomes stronger, nearly gluing you to the desk underneath your elbows.

He doesn’t know you see it. His pain. 

You hear it, with every hitch of his breath. Feel it through every tremor in his muscles, every wince as you stitch his cuts. Some nights, he refuses to look you in the eye, praying that you fail to notice the way his cheeks glisten with sweat and tears. 

He doesn’t realize that it’s all you ever see. 

If it’s up to you, he’ll never know. 

The pain of being torn apart by the being he’s spent a life of loyalty to… it’s enough, for him. Dice doesn’t need to suffer the shame of knowing how you watch him crack even more, little by little, every night. 

He doesn’t need to know how you lie awake, motionless, breaths stable and rhythmic as you hear his erratic, quiet gasps for air. Desperately chasing a comfort so out of reach it feels impossible to obtain, despite the very source seemingly asleep right next to him. 

He doesn’t need to know how your lashes twitch, nose scrunching, frown deepening with every soft, shaky inhale you hear. How your stomach drops, your heart screaming to reach out to him, your logic chaining you back. 

A guttural groan ruptures from deep within your throat, and your chair scoots away from your desk. Your face crumbles as the seconds keep up their steady ticks. 

One last glance at your papers convinces you to step away, and you heed your gaze’s advice, shooting up and kicking your chair back in its place. 

Exhausted from your own head, you lie on your mattress and allow the sheets to consume you. As your lids begin to slowly droop shut, you peer over at the clock mounted on your wall.

Six forty-five.

Dice has more than a few hours to go, for the day. A lot can happen in that amount of time. 

The papers he could sign. The drinks he could serve. The souls he could steal…

The wounds he could earn. 

Wounds that you would have to fix, eventually. 

Your frustration clambers out from your throat in another low grumble, squeezing through gritted teeth as you toss onto your side, facing where Dice would usually lie. 

When you lie in your sheets long enough, you pick up the scent of clove and lavender that seems almost natural to you–you’d be more uncomfortable if it were missing. 

In a way, it is missing. He is. 

And you are more than uncomfortable. 

Your body moves on its own, helplessly crawling towards the empty space where Dice usually lies. The scent becomes stronger, blanketing over you and embracing you the same way he used to, before he broke you. 

The same way he tries, even now, when you are much more hesitant. 

A curse bites through your teeth as your legs hug to your stomach, the throbbing in your temple worsening slightly. 

Sleep. Sleep should help.

You let yourself lie in silence, hoping that your aching bones would eventually succumb to rest. 

After what feels like hours, you shiver, regretfully stirring to shift underneath the covers. Your arm peels back the duvet with every intention to pull you underneath. 

You don’t get far, before your eye catches something that immediately snatches away your weariness. Something that lurches your stomach and threatens to make you lose what little you had to eat. 

Small, dried patches of maroon, spread at random throughout Dice’s usual spot. Mostly clustered at where the small of his back would rest on the mattress below. 

…That’s it.

How old these spots are, you’re unsure. Whether they’re all from the same night when you might’ve been less careful with the wrapping, or instead, Dice simply bled through the bandages, you’re also unsure. 

But you are absolutely certain of one thing and one thing only. 

You. 

Can’t. 

Take.

It. 

Anymore. 

~

A pile of contracts, signed, alphabetized, and stacked neatly, rests snugly between King Dice’s fingers as he strides towards the Devil’s office, albeit slower than usual. Half-lidded, weary eyes are glued to the floor, watching every step he takes. 

He knows exactly what’s coming to him, and his fate is sealed more and more the closer he gets to that door. 

Sadly, that knowledge doesn’t take away the dread.

Dice swallows the lump of regret bubbling in his throat before it has the chance to convince him to turn around, and he pushes forward, step by step. Ignoring the slow, eerie rise of temperature the more he stalks down the hall. Paying no mind to the tiny imps that sulk by his feet, nursing burnt tails and lost teeth as they retreat from their master’s quarters. 

Better to disregard their pain–to wait for it to be inflicted upon himself.

His brows burrow deeper and deeper, his scowl threatening to peel back and reveal the flash of sharp, impatient whites of his gritted teeth. 

It’s been days now, and this regime is not getting any younger. 

He wishes he had the right words. The right action to put a stop to it, and rearrange everything in his life back to the way it was before he lied to you.

Dice is so unbelievably tired.

His papers weigh heavy in his hands, and it’s a feeling so dangerously uncharacteristic Dice wonders if he’s lost the strength to bother with them. The contracts, signed with his excellent signature… why are they so heavy? Is it the amount he’s holding? The position of his arms and hands? 

Or the guilt behind them? 

The guilt, knowing that they’re the reason behind all of his problems, as of late? 

The man lets out a dreary sigh and rolls his shoulders to loosen them up, adjusting the stack in his arms. Another bout of imps scampers along, many of the small demons shrieking and holding their tails in fright as they flee the scene. A few straggling slowpokes give him strange, shocked looks, as if to question Dice’s sanity. 

He nearly laughs, huffing under his breath as he briskly passes by. 

He questions that same sentiment, himself. 

The source of the fleeing imps and ferocious grumbles, muffled behind thick walls of painted brimstone, only draws closer as the seconds slip away. Although the air grows warmer and warmer, Dice still feels a cold shiver roll down his spine and fly off, like it had only existed in the back of his thoughts. The irony tickles his gut, nearly coaxing a chuckle. 

Until finally, he reaches his unfortunate destination. 

The long, broad, blood-colored double-doors reach the top of the hall’s ceiling, threatening to swallow Dice whole without looking back in regret. No mercy; not a prayer. 

Similar to the horned occupant behind the doors, who–if Dice’s ears serve him right–appears to be cursing out some poor servant wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

The talk is enough to keep him from barging in unannounced. Instead, the showman stands, looking lost, considering the invitation to retreat; to leave the contracts outside the door and scram. 

Another growl pierces his ears, and he grits out a resigned grumble, refusing to back off. It’d be just cruel of him to leave another imp to deal with the dirty work. He’s gotta hear it all himself. 

He’s gotta be the one to get through to Scratch. For your sake.

If there’s anything that man owes to you–and truth be told, it’s a lot– it’d be the freedom to roam. The freedom to live as you like, without a target slapped on your back. 

It’s the least he could ever do for you, and still, Dice will not leave it at that. Quelling this debacle is merely the first step. 

He’s got so much more to make up for.

He’s done a shit job of proving it to you, but if there’s any decision he could never ever regret in his life, it’s choosing you. Putting you first. He’ll take every single bruise, scratch, earful, burn… every mark on his skin, he’ll treat as a trophy. A symbol. Proof of the care he holds towards you, and no one else. 

You’re the greatest goddamn thing Dice could ever hope to have. He wishes it didn’t take him so long to realize that; it’s rather rare for a man like him to lose himself over romantics. But he’s got you now, and he’ll keep you until his time is up. Until the world’s time is up, if it comes to it someday. 

He’ll love you, care for you, cherish you, until death takes him by the hand and drags him straight into the pit. All the while, he’ll search for yours with the other. He’ll look for you in places he knows you won’t exist. When he knows there’s no chance.

He’ll be happy in Hell, for all of eternity, if it means he gets to spend this life with someone as perfect as you. Every shred of joy you offer him is worth a million days. A million eons. He knew exactly what he was doing when he decided to toy with fate and give you a chance, and he no longer can bring himself to regret his choice, no matter what. 

Dammit, he will make this right, if it’s the last thing he ever does. If he has to give up everything for you to be free, happy, and in his arms again, he’ll sacrifice the world and beyond.

No one will come between you again. He won’t allow it. He’ll never let a single–

A harsh cough and the slow creaking of the doors in front of him interrupts Dice’s train of thought. 

He winces a little as Henchman timidly steps from the opening, closing away the entrance and resting tiredly against the frame, gasping for air like he had never tasted it in his life. Dice’s eyes flicker from the doors in front of him to the demon’s panting form, practically limp against the wall. 

Once he finally catches his breath, the imp catches Dice’s stare and immediately straightens. 

“Mr. King Dice sir!” 

“Henchman,” Dice acknowledges, lamely. “He still losin’ himself in there?” 

“I uhh,” Henchman stammers, his fingers intertwining together as a chubby hoof shuffles on the velvet carpet. “Wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.” 

“As much as I’d like to heed your advice, I’m afraid I gotta,” Dice replies simply, holding up his work for emphasis. 

“Special delivery, y’know.” 

“Oh-!” Henchman graciously jumps, his tiny wings flapping as he steps forward. “I can drop these off for ya!” 

Dice steps back in response, shaking his head in disapproval. 

“No, Henchman. You’ve endured enough for the day.”

“D’aww, c’mon, it’s not–”

“I said no,” Dice insists, his patience thinning. “What I need you to do now, is step aside and let me in. You’re not gonna fight this battle for me.” 

The demon hesitates, shameful eyes glued to the floor. 

“Sir…”

“Move it.” 

Henchman breathes a heavy sigh, knowing deep down there’s no convincing the pit boss to turn away. The man is stubborn as can be; nearly rivaling his boss, concealed behind the brimstone wall he guards. 

Thus, he accepts his idol’s decision. 

“D’alright, sir, if you say so,” he stands aside, his forlorn gaze encountering fierce expectancy. 

Dice nods curtly and draws a breath, keeping the air inside as he slips by the inferior and bites down any remaining apprehension. 

Fear is for fools. 

He swings open the door before he can turn foolish, walking right into the lion’s den and letting the only hope for escape shut behind him. 

No turning back. 

He’s done.  

The man slowly releases the air in his lungs, his stare hardening as he narrows his focus on the hollow throne room that greets him back. 

Cemented pillars, reaching up to high ceilings decorated with golden edges, otherwise shrouded in obsidian. Empty ghosts of walls that never existed, revealing the reddish skies of the surrounding cave and daring folks to try and escape without falling to dust. Red carpet–stained deeper and darker, with scattered splotches of the very consequences of the Devil’s wrath. Of course, not Scratch’s. 

The blood is never Scratch’s.

Dice’s careful watch lingers over the room, noticing every tiny detail that’s been nudged out of place since his outburst, which feels like it had been ages ago. Tiny cracks in the bottom golden edges of the pillar closest to the throne, tainted red at the tips. He shudders, the memory of how the red got there pounding against his head like a horrible reminder. As if he were reliving the experience. 

Small burns, singeing the edges of the velvet walkway beneath his feet, dark spots littering the marble floor. He’s not confident those marks came from him specifically, judging by the amount of burnt implings he had squeezed by beforehand. The ashes trail along the pathway, leading right up to the throne itself, which appears the same as it always had–as if it were the only thing immune to the Devil’s flames. It’s a miracle, how that thing still stands tall, securely supporting the merciless, cruel, monster of an occupant who sits upon it. 

Speaking of…

Slouched into his red-cushioned seat, the Devil’s eyes pierce right into Dice’s chest, as if his stare alone could rip the mortal’s heart out and crush it to pieces without so much as a second thought. His trident, golden and sharpened, rests securely at his side, absolutely itching to be used. Tense, pointed, angry claws dig into his throne’s armrests, and the heat radiating off his paws is nearly enough to melt the metal down to a messy puddle for someone to clean up, whether it’s the faithful cleaner’s mop, or the ungrateful tongue of his so-called ‘right-hand.’ He hasn’t decided which.  

“Dice.”  

“Boss,” Dice spits back, emerald meeting ruby as he approaches the throne, beyond where the Devil’s desk would usually lie. 

He stands, while his boss sits. In cold, terrifying silence.  

Both men wait for the other to say something– anything, really–to set off the spark. To ignite the match, and let it burn to the ground, taking the entire throne room with it. The outcome is understood, there’s hardly room for avoidance, but neither would like to be the one responsible for the destruction. They search to blame the other. 

Though, finally, it’s Dice to light the fire, deciding that if anything, he could die knowing he’s the better man. Or, at least, the braver one. 

“You’re still lookin’ for a soul to fuss over?” He starts, icy and barbed, tilting his head in false consideration. He waits for a spell, seeing if Scratch would bite. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits, teeth gritted, and waits.

Dice can’t find a single damn left in him to offer. Instead, he offers the papers. 

“Well, here,” he keeps up the one-ended conversation, holding out his work, as a prize for the Devil to add to his collection. He bides his time, tapping his foot expectantly, gesturing for him to reach for the contracts he had spent such care to sort out neatly. 

“Have a hundred.” 

Unappreciative of Dice’s attitude, Scratch huffs out a smoky breath through his nose and wills himself to sit up, leaning forward to snatch the papers away and physically boot Dice out of his throne room. Out of the damn casino, for all he cares.

Before his hand can hope to reach the first contract on top, however, Dice releases his hold on the heavy workload, the contracts flying down and slamming onto the Devil’s feet with the loudest ‘THUNK’ either of the two have ever heard coming from something supposedly so light. 

In great numbers, even a feather can hurt like hell.  

Eyes widening at the sudden blow to his toes, the beast roars, in a number of mixed feelings. Shock. Agony, surprisingly enough. 

Rage.  

“YOU LITTLE–!” Scratch bellows, jumping to his feet and grabbing his pitchfork with one paw, gripping Dice by the vest with the other. 

“I have had it with you, you know that?! For YEARS…”  
As the monster begins his tirade, for once, Dice tunes him out, growing more infuriated as his vision slowly starts to blur. His lips slowly peel back, showing off gritted teeth as his eyes narrow on his offender. His boss, his superior, the one who had given him just about everything…

His opponent. 

He understands the Devil’s anger, just a bit–hell, he’s sure if he had been the one to take an anvil of contracts to the shoe, he’d lose it just as much. But, Dice knows that’s not where the problem lies. 

He will never.

Be.

Enough.

No matter how many souls Dice brings in, no matter how many contracts he signs away, no matter how many living people he damns into Hell. Dice’s work will never satisfy Scratch’s cravings. 

“After ALL I have done for you…” 

Dice barely listens. Why should he? 

It’s not like he’ll ever have the correct answer. He’ll never have the right words or actions to say, unless it’s your soul on a silver platter, seasoned and ready for the beast in front of him to gobble down and finish off with a shot of spirytus. And that is the one thing Dice will never offer. 

Because of that promise to himself and to you, he may as well be toast. 

He should’ve known. He’s said it once, he’s said it a thousand times: the Devil never plays fair. Monsters like him don’t have the nature to be satisfied, unless they get exactly what they want. Down to the letter. 

“What a DISAPPOINTMENT you’ve become…” 

Dice grits his teeth, his sanity slowly dripping into the marble beneath him in beads of sweat. 

It’s hot. 

He can barely see. His vision is going dark.

No way is he already passing out. 

He’s spent–no, wasted– two entire decades, bending over backwards, putting his targets, his customers, his staff, himself on the line just to earn a sharp-toothed smile and a pat on the back. To prove himself worthy of his title. A King.  

And right here, right now, every last second of work seems to be proven futile. 

It was all for nothing.  

His hands curl into fists, nails digging into his skin through the silk of his gloves. Nearly drawing blood, before the Devil can even start. 

“All for some TRAMP of a partner who barely gives you the time of day…” 

Tramp. A tramp. 

He called you a tramp. 

Dice’s form trembles, teeth clenching tighter, eyes glowing as the final salted drops of his sanity leak from them and streak down his cheeks, falling from his chin. 

The heat of the Devil’s flame-tipped fur gets the better of him, mingling with the swelling of his heart and the pounding of his head. Dice’s sight finally dwindles, and the hard shell concealing his rationality shatters to dust, leaving behind a being so blindly wicked it could rival Scratch himself. 

And it does.

His fist flies before he can gather the will to hold it back. It strikes, to the bewilderment of both him and the beast on the receiving end of the blow. 

Scratch’s head flies to the left as his jaw takes the blow, a strangled grunt sputtering from his lips, taking a fanged tooth along with it. It drops to the ground and scatters off, spinning like a top before finally fainting to rest merely inches away from the pillar closest to the duo. 

The same pillar that’s littered with traces of Dice’s blood. 

A tooth for a tooth. 

The men fall silent, staring at the lost fang in shock–one horrified as he comes to his senses, the other outraged as crimson leaks from his lips. 

Dice lets out a shaky breath, peeling his gaze off of the pillar to face his superior, who slowly turns back at the same time. 

The look that Scratch gives him will forever be cut deep into his memories. 

Fury, of course. But something else; something that Dice never thought he’d see in a look directed towards him by someone of the Devil’s status. 

Betrayal. 

Never in twenty years did Dice think he’d ever receive such a face. Not from his boss. The source of many devotions. But, the manager supposes, there’s a first time for everything. 

Besides, the look doesn’t last for long. Barely more than a second. 

It’s replaced with an anger so dangerous Dice is thankful that looks alone can’t kill. If they could, he’s certain he’d have been hung long ago. 

A claw reaches out, grabbing Dice’s ceramic face before he can duck away. His screams are muffled by the fur of his employer as Scratch mercilessly drags a claw down over his face, digging so deep it cuts through skin, singeing Dice’s eyelid. 

Instinctively, Dice’s shoe flies upwards and kicks his attacker right in the stomach, and the two finally separate, the King of Hell collapsing into his throne, the King of Hearts tumbling to the ground, a shaky hand nursing his wounded face. 

Blood. So. Much. Blood.

It drips down his eye like a unique form of tears, over his pipped nose and into his mouth. All he sees, smells, and tastes is sickening copper-red. 

An eye for an eye. 

The twinge of satisfaction Scratch sees upon his useless lackey bleeding in front of him channels a blaze inside a soul that he doesn’t possess. 

The Devil grabs his trident. 

Dice lets out another choked cry in agony, and nearly another once he pulls his hand off his injured eye and sees not a speck of white to be found. He turns his head and spits, groaning as copper-tasting saliva shoots from his mouth and onto the floor, mingling with the marble detail. 

He pants heavily in an effort to contain himself, shaky legs quickly moving to action. He pulls himself to his knees, blood-stained hands steadying himself as he musters the energy to get back up and face his boss. To fight back. 

Dice turns back, eager to tear Scratch a new one. Perfect, white teeth, tainted with his own blood, his face and eye scratched and bleeding. 

The Devil strikes too quickly. 

Before Dice can draw another trembled breath, a sharp pressure digs deep into his shoulder in three spots. Three horrid, burning spots that twist further and further into flesh with every push that Scratch has the nerve to force. 

Another blood-curdling scream clambers from Dice’s throat as he falls, his back slamming into the tile with a terrifying ‘CRACK’. 

Eyes watered and red with blood and tears, Dice sends a red-hot scowl towards the furry demon standing over him, his clawed foot pushed into his chest and threatening to puncture ribs and leave his lungs begging for merciful air. The dangerous, wide, wicked grin on the Devil’s face, missing tooth and all, is another look that Dice could never dream of forgetting for the rest of his days. 

Even if the rest of his days…

is merely a few more minutes. 

“I’ve had enough of you…” The Devil growls, hastily pulling out the pitchfork from Dice’s shoulder and reveling in the excruciating cry that follows. 

“You’ve got more nerve than you’re worth!”

He watches in elation as dark, nearly blackened liquid oozes from the three punctures, seeping into Dice’s beloved tailcoat and coating it maroon. It pools from behind Dice’s re-wounded shoulder, leaving the carpet with more red than before; which tells Scratch that his trident followed exactly as he wished. 

Through and through.  

Scratch finds the audacity inside him to laugh, as Dice’s jacket stain runs larger. As more crimson takes over that disgusting lavender. 

His lackey looks so wonderful in red… it really is a beautiful color. Dice would look even better with his entire suit dyed that way. 

He could help with that.

The Devil cackles, low-toned and deafening as he lifts his arms again, intent on striking Dice’s opposite shoulder. 

The man shouts again, a bit earlier than the demon was expecting; he didn’t even make his move yet. Wait, he didn’t–

He misses his chance. 

Dice pours his wrath into his cracking voice as he suddenly shoots from his laden position, his entire form pushing him into butting the sharpest available corner of his head into the Devil’s chin. His rage compels him to stand, throwing his boss off of him and onto the floor, mirroring Dice’s earlier position. 

The difference: Dice acts before the Devil can look his way.  

He pounces, ignoring the searing protest of his bleeding shoulder as he tackles Scratch and pins him down. He ignores the last shred of logic in his brain, telling him to get off his boss, and opts for a merciless route instead. 

Scratch after scratch. Punch after punch. 

Dice’s body surrenders to years of pent up aggravation, tearing into fur and flesh, releasing every ounce of resentment onto his employer. The being he once thought to have hung the moon. 

“I,” Dice sneers while he can. “Have had more than enough of YOU!”  

The Devil hisses as gloved fingers press harshly into the side of his neck, as if to try and wring him dry. 

“All this mess, all this pain, over one soul!” 

The Devil forces his eyes to open, fiery scarlet boring into sage. His brows furrow deeper and deeper as he quickly finds his strength and stores it. Prepares it.  

“One being who wouldn’t even matter to you, in the grand scheme of it all! You just hate the idea of seeing me happy from a source that isn’t your own false praise!” 

Dice laments through his temper, his fist pounding against the Devil’s heartless chest, pleading for the beast to hear him. 

The Devil, with his stamina restored, bides his time through the ignorance of his lackey’s pathetic whines. He takes every punch, concealing his pain, refusing to give Dice the triumph.

“You never would have cared to hunt them down if they weren’t tied to me! I bring you a hundred equivalents a day and THIS is what I get in return?! A tantrum-throwing monster who never cared in the first place!” 

His fist grows weaker and weaker, as Dice starts to falter. 

As he starts to lose.  

The Devil takes his chance back.

Dice finds the courage to lean in closer, to get a better look at Scratch’s pupils–and immediately regrets it. 

They’re slanted, spread to the side. His horns elongate to thrice the usual size, coiled and pointing straight towards Dice’s chest. His nose forms a muzzle and his punctured jaw a matching beard, with hungry tongue practically slobbering in desire.

A goat, in all its Devilish glory.

Dice shudders and thrusts himself off of his boss, scooting back as far as he can. Two hooves reach around and grab him by the waist before he can escape the danger. 

Cursing under his breath, he struggles in the Devil’s relentless hold, thrashing and demanding for freedom, but to no avail. Dice wishes that was all his problems came to. 

The real nightmare is when the Devil starts to grow.  

Dice’s jaw slacks, brows rising as he watches his boss nearly quadruple in size, his horns reaching the ceiling as his fanged grin widens. Hot, smoky breath puffs from his nose and onto the smaller one’s face, rendering him a doubled over, coughing mess in his hooved grasp. 

He barely notices himself lifting off the ground, high up in the air as he’s steadied on one lone hoof, the other peeling back as the Devil releases an amused bleat. Dice grips his sanctuary and smiles a little to himself, sensing an opportunity to jump. To get out while he can.  

Until he opens his eyes.

And sees just how far he is from the ground.  

“I wouldn’t try it,” the Devil bellows above him in a horribly gruesome laugh. “Unless you’d like to shatter to pieces!”  

As quickly as he had smiled, Dice frowns, grasping the hoof tighter than he’d ever admit. If there’s any way to go out, he’d rather not leave you to pick up his broken remains, wherever the Devil might have him disposed of. That would be terrible for you. He’d hate to do that to you, after everything else he had stacked on your plate. 

“Y’know,” Scratch seethes, his giant tail slithering around Dice’s form and grabbing hold. 

Tightly.

“As much as I’d love to see your guts spilling across my floor,” he continues. “You’re unexpendable. And I’m sure you’ve caught onto that–which is why you felt the need to act so boldly…”  

Dice chokes out a grunt as the tail’s hold tightens, squeezing the air from his winded lungs. 

“But,” the furry beast cracks another grin, his face leaning in close as Dice’s eyes squeeze shut, drawing a little more blood from the scratch on his face. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make you wish you were.”  

The tail’s ropes give another awful squeeze, forcing out another cry for mercy out of Dice’s throat. 

“Stop…” 

“What’s that?” Scratch beckons, mockingly offering an ignorant ear for Dice to plead into. 

“Stop… stop–!”

The tail loosens, just enough for Dice to desperately suck in a strained gasp, before squeezing once again. 

“No. Not until you submit. Submit to me, and get that soul.” 

Dice’s head spins, the smoke and the restriction to his lungs pulling at him, nearly lulling him to unconsciousness. His ringing ears drown out his boss’s words, leaving him helplessly deaf and unable to answer his boss’s demands.

All he can do is beg for release, hoping to some other deity that his words hold some meaning.

“Please, stop!” 

“Submit, Dice.” 

The tail tightens. 

“Stop-!!” 

“SUBMIT,” Scratch wills his tail to clasp as tight as he can without snapping his lackey in half, demanding for loyalty. 

“STOP!”

Dice’s eyes pop back open as the hold finally loosens and stays that way, and the first thing he sees is his superior’s gaze, suddenly speechless. His mouth is agape, furry face practically paled as all movement stops slack. But, that’s not what Dice pays attention to. 

Instead, the fact that the Devil isn’t looking at him.  

He hadn’t expected Scratch’s attention to be stripped away from him so easily. He hadn’t expected the freedom to squirm about. To crane his neck, and follow the path of the Devil’s eyes. 

And by God, what neither of them would ever expect… 

Is to see you, standing in the center of the throne room’s double doors.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t expected to see this place so soon, considering why you had left for the last time all those days ago. You figured it would be years before you kissed the mouth of Inkwell Hell’s fiery cave with your feet. Or, at least, a few months. 

Any longer than just a few weeks. 

As your shoe first lands onto the red carpeted steps that invite you to come inside and try your luck, you feel a strangely icy shudder crawl up your spine and entrap your neck. Your temples grow heavy, ears ringing and body tingling as reality finally kisses you on the nose. 

Should you really be doing this? 

If there’s one thing that your belove—your lov—if there’s one thing that King Dice had ever asked of you, it was to steer clear of this place. To turn away, to never look back, to completely rid your thoughts and memories of ever stepping foot into his domain. 

Because his domain is no longer yours, anymore. And until he can bring it back to you, ‘you’d better stay away.’ 

You scoff, grumbling a curse under your breath as you take another step forward. 

What was once a kiss morphs into a slap across your face, your entire form running cold. You freeze in place, shoulders trembling, as your legs demand for you to pivot and run back the way you came. 

But, as Dice would soon find out…

You aren’t too swell with following directions. 

Ignoring the flares of protest your limbs spark with each step forward you make, you stride into the cave, just as you had many times before. Your feet click with the brimstone ground, masked by the velvet, to tell the same old story of helpless love and hidden regret. 

Though, this time, you hold the same curious apprehension as you had the first time you ever saw the charismatically bright lights and golden doors. As little as you’d like to tell or show it, the setting scares you. 

So much so, that your path deviates from the carpet’s guidance, and you trail over to the hidden side door, instead. 

You’re not an employee. You never were, and if you’re smart, you never will be. But, you’ve taken the same route plenty of times before, the only difference being that Dice’s bicep was linked with your careful hands. 

Part of you prays that today will be no different, even without an authoritative arm to latch onto.

It has to be no different. You’d really like to skip the niceties of cutting through the main floor.

As you approach the gate shielding off the common man from entry, you’re greeted by two of Dice’s Aces, standing tensely at attention. Once you’re close enough, they raise their arms, eyes locked onto you in a command of your status and reason for approach. 

The cards don’t possess mouths, so it’s not like they can physically speak to you, but whether it’s due to this phenomenon or from their training from Dice himself… 

Their eyes spill more than they may want you to know. 

One double-take is all you need, to see a completely different message—one of recognition, surprise, and something that takes you aback, yourself. 

They’re worried about you. 

“I’m sure you already know who I am, so I won’t get into all that mess. I’d just like to get by,” you quip with a smile that you hope would ease their caution, but the Ace of Spades doubles down, its insistent gaze never failing. 

‘Turn back,’ you can practically hear it begging you. ‘Take a powder, while you still can.’  

Your smile falters, ever so slightly, as you backtrack by one single step. The cards refuse to move from their positions—not until you leave the cave, or give them a damn good reason to let you through. 

So, you settle for the latter.

“I’m sure the King told you to keep me out of here,” you muse with a heavy sigh, looking up towards the cave’s ceiling before turning your view back to the two guards. “And I respect your undying loyalty to the one you’ve been brought up to serve. But ya gotta let me in there, anyway.” 

The Ace of Spades only blinks, while they beckon you to give a reason. Dammit, tell them why they should.

“He’s in trouble,” you spit, your look hardening. “You know it, I know it. He’s breaking himself back there, and as much as you’d like to help him, he won’t let you. Because he trained you to never say no. It’s why you’re out here, keeping folk like me away—because he ordered you to do so, right?” 

The cards exchange a subtle look before nodding slightly, confirming your suspicions. 

“While you were made specifically to follow his orders,” your smile returns, albeit small and easy to miss. “I wasn’t. And I know you’d just love to break your obedience, even if only once, to help him.” 

You place your hand over your chest, bowing slightly. 

“So, let me. Let me be the one to carry that burden, and help the man you wish you could. He can’t punish me like he might with you, so allow me to do what I know you’d rather do, and let me through. If you do, I’ll take care of everything that happens afterward.” 

The eyes of the Ace of Hearts soften, even if their stances remain stoic and unbreakable. 

“Please,” you all but plead, hands clasped together. “I know you can feel how much he must be hurting. I know you want him to be taken care of, so please, I implore you, let me in so I can keep him safe. So he may live to keep giving you the purpose you’ve always chased after. Break his rule, just this once, and I will make it worth your while. I promise.” 

The Spades starts to shake its head in refusal, when it feels a subtle hand on its shoulder. It turns slightly to meet the gaze of its pink counterpart, magenta pupils brimming with desperation. 

The King always had a soft spot for the Hearts.

You swear you can almost hear a soft sigh come from the Spades in front of you, and to your relief, both cards stand aside and release their guard, bowing just as you had while their arms offer you a welcoming gesture. 

Your smile widens, and you rush through before they have the chance to change their minds. 

“Thank you both!” You call back over your shoulder, feet pushing you further and further away. “You won’t regret this!” 

The cards exchange looks of unease with one another as you disappear behind the door of the tower, hoping to some otherworldly being that you’re correct. 

Once the large door is shut behind you, your adrenaline-rushed legs push you east, dragging you towards the tall mauve-colored door that would lead you into Dice’s wing. 

You have to find him. To tell him to stop.  

You should have done this a long time ago, but he had always been so lovingly stubborn with you. Kissing soft assurances into your ear in the form of a hushed whisper, every single night before you fall asleep. 

‘It’s not forever,’ he’d say, until his lips ran dry. Until his voice gave out. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Your brows furrow in anguish, your teeth gritting together behind pursed lips. 

That fool.

If he’s so insistent on taking care of this himself, you wonder as you approach the door, your fingers reaching for the handle. Then who will take care of him?

Your hand grabs the knob, and you twist. 

A scream cuts through the air, followed by a large ‘CRACK’ that rings through your eardrums, sending another icy chill down your back, rendering you motionless. 

That sound… it wasn’t just from anyone. That was no impling or patron, suffering the Devil’s wrath. 

That was King Dice.  

You stand, hand nimbly grazing the doorknob, your heart dropping into your stomach and threatening to leave you ill all over the tile. The corners of your vision start to cloud, mouth watering, a bead of cold sweat trailing down your temple as you try and convince yourself that you were just hearing things. Your mind was just playing a cruel, dirty trick on you, just as anyone in this merciless death trap would. 

Please… please let this be a trick. 

Another shout, followed by a rumble in the ground that nearly topples you to the floor. Distant yelps and cries of surprise and terror reach out to grip you by the shoulders, all the way from the casino’s floor. 

No. It’s not a trick. 

This is real.  

Before you can spare yourself a moment to think, you spin around, and run. You sprint, in the opposite direction you had traveled initially, heading west towards a different door. A different wing of the casino—a door that Dice had warned you about plenty of times, even before your little spat. Before you knew about what was happening to you behind closed doors. 

A door that holds the very source of the agony and bloodshed that scratches away at your ears and cries for mercy. 

Cries to you.  

“Please, stop-!” 

“Submit, Dice.” 

You had dashed by this room so many times, since Inkwell Hell crossed your satellite. Always afraid of the smell of danger, sulfuric and laced with the ashes of the dead, singeing the tip of your nose. Clogging your throat, and threatening to drag you down right along with it.

Never once had you considered, even for a second, to throw open the doors and thrust yourself into that danger. To embrace the smell, and to let the heat consume you.

“Stop-!!”

“SUBMIT!” 

Every ounce of hesitation instantly sucks out of your body, leaving behind only blind anger. 

Your hands fly to the double-doors’ handles, your arms pulling so fast the palms of your hands become red, stinging from the force. The doors frantically swing behind you, nearly flying off their hinges as you step through, entering the throne room you had been so wary of. 

And goodness, you’re no longer wondering why. 

As your eyes scan the room, barely taking more than a second, so many senses, smells, and tastes and horrifying sounds plague your body that it’s almost enough to take you out for good.

The stench of sulfur and brimstone is much stronger in this room than anywhere else in the casino–or Inkwell Hell itself, for that matter. The air is much too thick to breathe comfortably in, and in a way, you suppose that this kind of atmosphere would be the perfect fit for the King of Hell; a being who is above the mortal restrictions of regular men. 

You’re uncertain whether you’re just seeing red, or if the sky beyond the golden-etched pillars just appears that way from this point of view. Perhaps, that was the very purpose of the room’s design; to enhance the threat of its owner as much as possible without using words or action. Not to mention, the scarlet that carpets the floor in a straight, narrow path towards the throne in the center, lined with wine-colored cushions. At its feet, looking nearly abandoned, lies a shined pitchfork that just looks to be at least a hundred pounds. 

But the weight is the least of your worries. 

It’s the pointed tips of the trident.

Splattered with spots of dried blood, maroon dripping from the sides, lying next to a small puddle of the same color. Your fist shakes, your head growing light.

You don’t need to ask whose blood that is.

A choked noise from above catches your attention, pulling your gaze away from the blood-ridden floors and cracked pillars, up towards the ceiling. 

You want to faint.

A giant goat, paired with horribly beautiful gold horns and matching sharp teeth, grins widely downward at whatever seems to be trapped in his tail. 

That wonderfully bitter purple, tainted with awful, awful crimson. 

King Dice’s teeth clamp together, desperately muting his cries of pain as the tail wrapped around his entire body squeezes inhumanely tight, and your heightened hearing picks up the unmistakable crackling of bones. You watch in horror as his eyes roll back with his head, fluttering shut as he begins to succumb to whatever horror his boss had put him through. 

And, judging by the blood you find yourself practically swimming in, you presume that horror is about to end it all for him. 

You have to do something.  

The unholy beast lets out another deep, bellowing laugh, blackened smoke escaping his gaping jaws and enveloping the pit boss, taking away what little air he could possibly reach for. 

You scream, your body jerking forward involuntarily. 

“STOP!” 

The laughter ceases, and you catch the loosening of the goat’s pointed tail just slightly, allowing your beloved— yes, your beloved— to breathe deeply again. The telltale gasp of air you hear confirms your sights, and you allow a shaky sigh of relief to escape your parted lips. 

Wide, burgundy pupils peel away from Dice to lock onto you, the muzzle’s jaw going slack. All movements still as Dice himself comes back to his senses. He looks up at his boss, confused and a little worried of what might be to come, until eventually, he slowly looks back to see what the sudden fuss is about. 

And, finally, he sees you. 

Confusion morphs into horror, in less than a second. 

“It’s you…”  

You shiver a little despite the heat of the room, closing your quivering mouth as the King of Hell slowly clambers towards your form, which appears ant-like in comparison. His snout leans downwards to give you a small sniff, though the sound nearly deafens you where you stand. 

Dice’s mouth hangs open, his widened eyes watery with God knows what as he tries to wrap his head around what the hell is happening in front of him. 

You shouldn’t be here. 

You should not be here. 

Why are you here?!  

His bloody fingers rest over the fur of his captor’s tail, knuckles whitening underneath the stained silk as he tries to find some sort of speech through the whirlwind of despair that sweeps over his body. 

He’s still high in the air—trapped, with no way to jump down without shattering to bits–but he still feels like he could reach you in a whisper. 

With how silent the room had become, aside from the deep, gruff snorts of the hellish animal, his hunch is plausible. 

“Get…” he chokes out, pouring whatever’s left of his damned soul into the look of absolute torture on his face. 

“Get out of here–!” 

What he wishes was a shout comes out as a mere weakened plea, barely picked up on by you or the monster holding him hostage. Though, with the way your shoulders tense, he can tell you heard him.

However, to Dice’s outrage, you slowly shake your head, refusing to even tear your gaze away from Scratch to look at him. 

You won’t even spare him your eyes. 

How… 

How could you?! 

The Devil peels you away, layer by layer, examining every single inch of you through the clothes on your back. Down into your innards. Down to your heart, where your bright, delicious soul resides, just itching for him to take for himself. 

But before he can move to do so, Scratch’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he utters a question that’s on both his and his lackey’s minds. 

“What’re you doin’ in here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pondering your next words excruciatingly carefully. Putting that brilliant, intelligent mind of yours that Dice had fallen in love with to good use. 

Never in a million years have you thought that your life would come to this: a conversation with the embodiment of evil himself. A dance with death. 

You had never been light on your feet—more often, you’d follow the lead of your partner, swaying along to the rhythm and hoping to all hell that you don’t crush their feet. That’s how folks like you survived, in the world you lived in before Inkwell: lying low. Following the lead of someone else. 

It had always made you sick.  

That’s the reason you left that life behind, isn’t it? To make your own decisions? 

Freedom?

You step forward, breathing deeply through your nose, beginning to embrace the sulfur and ash. Allowing yourself to flirt with death as you dance, taking him in stride and finally allowing yourself to take the lead. 

To let go of the fear of stepping on his feet.

“I’m here…” you start, calm as a cat, resting a hand over your chest. The very same spot your target has been fixated on ever since he noticed your presence. Right where his prize lies. 

You’re so, so many things in this life—but stupid is not one of them. You’ve seen this game laid out before you so many times that if it really came down to it, Dice could hire you as its best dealer. To succeed in a casino, especially a casino crafted by Ol’ Scratch himself, there’s one golden rule that you must keep in mind. A rule that you’ve come to experience first hand, under circumstances that aren’t your fault. 

The Devil never. Plays. Fair.

To win, you’ve gotta play by his rules. By his standards. To get what you want, you’ve gotta think about what he wants, first. 

You pause in your tracks, the two men above you staring you down while you choose your next words extremely carefully. 

You’re here…

“To strike a deal.” 

What’s left of Dice’s air is stolen from his lungs, leaving him much too winded to chase it down and take it back. He remains in the clutches of Scratch’s tail, breaths quick and hitched. He shakes his head, his heart pounding in his eardrums as he pleads to you to take that back. To get out of there, before you can go through what you had just offered. 

On the contrary, Scratch’s eyes light up with recognition, his toothy grin widening as he leans his face closer, snout nearly kissing your scalp as he grumbles his reply. 

“Go on.”  

You cautiously step back, looking him in the eye. 

“I’ve got somethin’ we both know you’re lookin’ for,” you remind, removing your hand from your heart. Opening the gate to the most precious thing you could ever own. 

Offering it up to be taken away forever.

“And I’m sure you know that you’ve got somethin’ I’m after, too, trapped in that tail o’ yours.” 

The Devil chuckles, and you could mistake it for the growl of a hungry rhino. You shake off the dread bubbling in your gut. 

“So, here’s my offer: let him go, leave him be, and in return, I’ll give you what you want.” 

“And that is?” The beast questions knowingly, wanting to hear it come out of your mouth.

“I’ll give you my soul,” you breathe your death into existence. “And my life, along with it.”

Dice finds his words again, fingers digging into his boss’s flesh as he screams out to you, his voice hoarse and broken. 

“Sweetheart, please! Don’t do this!”  

As much as it crushes you to do so, you let his plea fall on deaf ears, stepping forward and reiterating your proposal. 

“You want my soul so bad?” You glare, staring death right in the face and spitting at it in indignation. 

“Then take it.”

“(Y/n)!”

Scratch hums lowly, smirking in thought as he turns his head towards the man thrashing in his grip. He laughs, quiet and mocking, and lowers his tail towards the ground. 

As soon as the rope of fur releases around Dice’s gut, the manager’s feet kick into high gear. He runs towards you as fast as he can, arms reaching out and debating whether to hug you, carry you as far away as possible, or crush you.  

At last, you let your eyes meet his, drinking up what could very well be the last time you ever see him. 

Your stomach twists, tears brimming as you memorize every chip and scratch that bleeds from his head. The cut that trails from the lid of his eye all the way through his nose, stopping at his jaw. The dribbles of scarlet that pour from the gash, staining his lips and cheek. 

Your pupils kiss every last scratch, bruise, and puncture you see. No longer do you have the bandages to heal those cuts yourself, so you pour what would be the medicine into the loving gaze you blanket over him, giving him the love and safety he had been craving at long last.

That velvety lavender jacket that had once been around your shoulders, on a chilly walk home. Now, it’s tattered every which way, copper coating the fringes. You long to have that jacket around your shoulders again. To melt away in it. 

The tainted white silk of his gloves, that would always delicately brush over your knuckles before intertwining between your fingers. How you wish you could feel his hands in your own, just once more, before you suffer an eternity without them. 

Faster than Dice’s feet can carry him, Scratch’s tail reaches out to entwine his new target into his grasp.

As much as you’d like to cry at what you could be giving up, you conceal your quiet sob with a grin—the very same grin that Dice had used on you long ago, that first night you saw him. The grin he flashed your way, complimenting you on your choice of liquor at his bar. 

The same smile he used to invite you back to his wing, that first date you shared at the Ritz. The smile he used in the casino’s gardens, as he delicately threaded that white tulip behind your ear. 

You beam back at him, as wide as you can, even as your form is entrapped by death’s own claws. As you’re lifted up, away from your love, diamonds leak from your eyes and fall from your chin, landing wetly against Dice’s glistening cheeks. 

Diamond mingles with pearl, and the devastatingly beautiful result drips away and falls to the ground. 

Dice’s knees join it. 

He cries out in horror as your form is squeezed, just as his was, arms reaching up as high as they can. Begging you to come back to him. 

Dear God, please, just come back to him.

As you’re turned around, your smile fades, and your lips mumble a sacred phrase that you had kept away from Dice for much too long. The phrase that he likely won’t hear from all the way down there, but hopefully he’ll feel, upon fulfilling your deal with Scratch. 

“I love you.”  

The Devil’s grin fades into a look of distaste, his tail flicking you onto the waiting platform of his hoof, as he grunts in annoyance. 

Your eyes widen slightly, not expecting this sudden level of freedom. The freedom to… to move.  

With the way his tail flicks to you, feeling you up, you suppose it’s simply his way of playing with his meal. 

“Y’know, little one, that man’s life was doin’ just fine, thanks to all my hard work,” Scratch sneers, nudging to the small dot of violet down below, who had long since collapsed to his hands and knees. 

He sobs into the marbled brimstone, shoulders heaving as he screams for you to come back. 

Come back to him.  

Your stomach churns, once more. 

“But then, you came along…”  

You turn your attention back towards what might be your killer, hands tightly gripping the edge of his hoof in an effort to keep from falling to your doom. As much as you’re certain Dice would try to catch you. 

“...And ruined everything he had goin’ for him.”

Your eyes harden, and you swallow the retort on your tongue. You keep it bottled inside, figuring it’d be useless to try and argue back. 

So, you hold onto it for the time being, praying for an opportunity to use it once again. 

“More money than he’d ever known what to do with, a crew who’s bend over backwards to follow his command, and all the glory one man could ever dream of… and yet, once you weaseled your way into his heart, he had the nerve to try and swindle me for more.” 

You swallow, shuddering as his tail flicks your cheek in mock affection. 

“I’m sure he and you both have already cracked this code by now, but it never truly was about your soul,” Scratch admits, another laugh erupting from him as he briefly flings you up in the air.

“It was about him, and his refusal to obey my orders.”  
You hold on tightly as his hoof raises into the air, leaning with every intent to drop you into his mouth. 

He’ll swallow you whole, and never look back.  

“While I’d usually take a signature for somethin’ like this, you don’t seem to be the ‘contract’ type. Even so, I take all my deals quite seriously, pest, so hear this: Dice won’t ever have to worry about this little mishap again,” he drawls, mockingly batting his lashes. 

“Once you’re gone, he’ll have all the time he needs to forget you ever existed.” 

Instinctively, you scoot back on the platform, your arms gripping what’s starting to become a ledge. Your eyes dart from one place to another, looking for a solution. For a way out. 

Searching for a cheat.  

“On the other hand…” Scratch grins, pupils once again shifting to the shape of fresh meat.  

“This is the end of the line for you. For good. Pleasure doin’ business.”

His mouth opens wide, hoof leaning further and further down, until your feet start to slip. 

One last cry, desperate and pleading, reaches from your ears from down below. 

“(Y/N)!”  

Something inside you snaps. 

Something dark, horrible, and powerful. Something that slips into your ears, pushing past survival instincts, shoving all thoughts aside to whisper one unignorable order. 

Let go.  

You obey. 

Your hands release their hold from the hoof’s ledge, and you begin to fall. But, before you drop too far, your legs reach behind to touch the surface and push you forward.  

Rather than falling into the depths of Scratch’s throat, you land just above his teeth, on the center of his snout. The demon’s eyes widen in shock, mouth closing as he shakes his head, fighting to throw you off. 

“Wh– hey!”  

You cling, for dear life. 

The second the Devil pauses, you act before thinking. You fling yourself forward, aiming straight for one of the eyes that had been tearing you down since you first stepped foot in that room. Your hands clench together, and your knuckles fly. 

Right into the center of his eye. 

Your target howls with pain, his hooves reaching up to nurse his wound, curses flying through the beast’s teeth at a mile a minute. Finding your golden opportunity, you seize it, jumping towards his arm and sliding down the thick, coarse fur. 

For the first time, you’re thankful for your tiny size—you’re certain you feel like a single ant, crawling down the Devil’s arm. Barely noticeable, through the distraction.

Dice gawks at you as you slip down his boss’s arm, rushing to follow your path and shouting your name. 

You grin once again once he catches your sights, but this time, excitement shines through your teeth. 

He wanted you to come back. Needed you to. 

And now, you can grant his wish. 

Now, you can finally tell him what you’ve been dying to, ever since you left the protection of your home. 

But first… 

“Dice!” You call to him, as the Devil begins to move his arm away from his eye. 

“Catch me!”  

Before you can even finish the plea, Dice’s arms reach back towards you, demanding that you place your trust in him and jump. 

You trust him.

You leap at the very last moment, heart jumping into the back of your throat as you fall, the wind biting your nose in fragmented needles. Five long seconds pass before you’re swept by two arms, warm and familiar, smelling of that intoxicating smoky lavender, infected with rustic iron. 

Your lids flutter open to meet the sight of velvet lapels and a bloodied shoulder.

Dice.  

The man in question grits his teeth from the strain, clutching you close to his chest as his legs give out from under him. Weakened, he tumbles, his hand protecting the back of your head as he rolls, merely twice, stopping his descent with you shielded on top of him. 

You both pant heavily, hot air mingling as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Dice props himself on his good elbow, his weak arm reaching out to rest against your waist. 

“Darlin’,” he wheezes, his shocked, irate stare grabbing you by the throat. 

“What were you thinkin’?!”  

Your jaw clenches as you catch your breath, your elation draining for a moment as you process what Dice had said to you. 

He’s… he’s cross with you of all people? You?!

“You idiot,” you snap, cupping his face. “I could ask you the same goddamn question!” 

Even with all your frustration tangled up in your words, every touch you have for each other is gentle and adoring. 

“How did you even get in here?” 

“Dice, for Hell’s sake, that doesn’t matter! We can talk about this once we—” 

A large, clawed hand swoops down and smacks you off of your lover, throwing you into the nearby pillar with such force the marble crumbles slightly behind your back. With a groan, you slump down to the floor, wincing and reaching over to nurse your aching shoulder blade. 

“You little pest…”  

An echoing, fierce voice thunders through the room, forcing you to crane your head back, jaw dropping as the room darkens, overtaken by blackened fur and deadly scarlet. 

The Devil, goat-like appearance replaced with the legendary furry figure you had only seen in the scarce pictures and the stories you’ve been told, stands before you. 

Giant, armed, and angry.  

“Thinking you’re so clever, huh?” He bellows from above you, a blaze of fire leaking from his mouth and brushing against the tips of your fingers. 

You tear yourself off the pillar you rest against, looking up and yelping in fright as another larger line of flames shoots squarely for your chest, the white of the embers aiming to burn you to a crisp. 

Reflexively, you dart to the side, barely missing the heat by a hair. You send Dice a look of alarm, nudging your head towards the exit as a silent plea before taking off yourself, dashing as fast as you can between the pillars to try and evade your sudden attacker. 

But with his larger size and watchful eye, Scratch proves to be just too quick for you. 

The same clawed hand from before reaches out and grabs you before you can get too far, much to Dice’s terror. You grunt in pain as you’re quickly lifted back up, arms pounding against the Devil’s finger to try and open them back up. 

The showman watches in despair as you’re placed right back into your initial position: trapped, high up in the air, his superior’s scrutiny locked onto your tiny form. 

But this time, there’s no way out. 

You’re doomed.  

“Don’t!” He tries, calling towards his boss in a last attempt to get you out. To fix the mess you had oh so heroically placed yourself into. 

“Please, Boss! Let ‘em go!” 

“That’s enough out of you,” the Devil roars in Dice’s direction, his hand squeezing your body tighter, much tighter than he ever handled Dice. 

“You’re gonna sit there, and you’re gonna watch them die, right here!” 

“No!” Dice shouts back, shuffling forward as best he can. “Please! Don’t do this!”

“You’re out of time, Dice.” 

“Don’t say that!” 

“I’m through with this foolishness!” 

“Please!” 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Scratch barks, silencing his blubbering employee with another terrible clench of his fist, coaxing a gargled scream from your throat. 

“They are going to DIE here, and you will do nothing!”  
Dice violently shakes his head as Scratch turns back to you, sharp wheezes huffing from his lips as he desperately scans around for something to use. A rock. A shard of glass. A damn poker chip, for all he knows. 

His sights fall onto the floor near the throne, and his answer eventually comes to him. 

You cough wetly, tiny driblets of blood splashing against the Devil’s finger, leaving him grinning that sharp-toothed smile you’re growing to hate more and more every time you see it. 

Lord, if you just had one more chance, you’d just love to put another hole in his mouth. 

You’d take a tooth home and hang it on your wall, if you could. 

Your cracked rib pumps another cough from deep within your chest, and you swear under what’s left of your breath, reminded that you’re out of chances. 

All that’s left is the regret you’ve been running away from. 

Your head hangs low, lids fluttering shut. 

You never should have come here without some sort of weaponry–if you had anything to wield, whether it be a knife from your kitchen block, a revolver from the safe, or hell, even a pen from your desk, perhaps you’d be able to do more. To put up a better fight.  

Muffled words from your attacker barely brush against your ears, and even so, you ignore them.

“Such a pathetic little display…” 

You never should have come here, at all. You’d have done much better for yourself if you had just left this alone—waited for Dice to return, so you could follow that unspoken routine you both have made for yourselves. Patch, stitch, repeat. Over and over, until he’d be put back together. 

“Trying to pull one over on me?! HAH! As if you, out of anyone, could ever even dream…”

You weren’t ever a good dancer—you shouldn’t have taken such complicated steps. 

You’ve stepped on plenty more feet than your Devilish partner’s. Ginette, who’s likely washing down a glass at the bar, thinking of you every time she pulls out the scotch. Wheezy and Chips, who must be avoidant of that poor pool table, no longer willing to play out of worry for spilling some other detrimental secret. And Mangosteen, the poor sap, who’s probably anguished with the guilt of being too open-lipped for his own good. 

Those Aces of Spades and Hearts, standing just outside the tower, likely bickering with one another in silence for letting you through. Blaming themselves for the fate you’ve so foolishly signed yourself up for. 

“Dice has made many mistakes in his undeserved career, but you, my dear, are by far the worst one he’s ever made…” 

God. King Dice.  

You never should have spent those last moments arguing with him. Opening your big, boisterous mouth, and calling him an idiot. Seconds after he caught you and protected you from a fall that would have broken your legs. You shouldn’t have come crawling back to him, in his office. Perhaps, if he never saw you again, the pain of losing you wouldn’t be nearly as grave as it would be now. 

Your heart twinges with the wails he had sounded, knowing that once you’re gone, he’ll be inconsolable. 

Who would stand beside him, at the funeral you likely wouldn’t even have, and keep him standing? Who would be his shoulder to rest upon, holding him up as he weeps for you, after all the crimes he’s committed? 

Who would step up and love the man you had poured your heart and soul into? If he’d ever even love again? 

How long would he last, until he gives up and joins you?

“You’re finished, doll. It’s over.”  

The small ghost of a scream that chokes out from inside falls out as nothing more than a weak groan, as the hand entrapping you digs its claws into your stomach. The taste of copper rust plagues your tongue, and you cough up several more droplets of crimson. 

What a shame. 

Your family will never get to hear of the life you had planned to live beyond their world. The mistakes you had the freedom to make. Your work. Your passions. 

They’ll never even know you’re dead. Your letters would just stop coming.

They’d feel abandoned, all over again. And the worst is, they’d be right.

With a shaky exhale, you wait for fate to take you by the hand. To pull you into its secure, sweet embrace, and take you away from this world. 

Through all the regrets you harbor, through all the sins you’re proud of, your mind thinks its final thought—one of deep melancholy, guilt, and sorrow. 

Your biggest mistake, is not telling Dice everything you had wanted to. When you took that final chance you had, and used it for malice. 

All you wanted… 

Was to tell him… 

A loud, sudden shriek of agony pierces you, snapping you awake, your head popping back up. Your jaw slacks as you look at the source of the sound, his sharp fangs gritted in agony as his free hand clasps over his shoulder. Black smoke seeps from between his fingers, reeking of burnt flesh and fur. 

The Devil roars once again, out of fury rather than pain. He leans his head down to tear the head off of just who had the nerve to shoot him in the shoulder, when his form stills completely. His face pales, and whatever seething words he had in store die off his forked tongue. 

You loll your head towards the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever just granted you an extra few seconds of life… 

Oh, Hell.  

That golden trident you had caught wind of, the sharpened tines glistening reddish-orange as it slowly begins to cool off from the heat of the flamed bullet it had just released onto its owner. 

It rests in the exhausted, shaking, infuriated hands of the Devil’s own right-hand, gripping the stem like it’s his unholy grail. 

You watch with bated breath as King Dice—at least, what looks like him—wields the Devil’s pitchfork, his teeth clenched together in a pearly sheet of sharp white, gently spotted with copper near the corners of his mouth. His chest rises and falls as slow as it can manage, shaking with not just weakness or suffering.

Absolute rage.  

His eyes, as wide as can be, glow with such a terrifying anger you’ve never seen from him before. Not for anyone—not for you, his staff, not even a patron who’d get on his nerves. 

This isn’t anything calculated. There’s no control or method that Dice would usually take advantage of. 

This is blind. Chaotic. Unfiltered.

He’s unrecognizable. And not only to you, either. 

Even Scratch himself has the gall to raise a wary hand. 

“Dice,” he demands, voice somehow steady despite the unease that flickers across his face. 

“What in Hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

You don’t dare peel your eyes away, trying to figure out just who that man is. 

Because that is not King Dice. 

At least, not the King Dice you’re used to.

“Put them down,” Dice’s voice sputters through his teeth, fists clenching tighter around the devilish weapon.

“Now.”

“Don’t you dare get stupid on me now, you twit!” The Devil demands, the threat weak on his tongue. “You don’t even know how to use that thing!” 

“That…” Dice bites back through an irate gasp. 

“That should scare you…”  

He raises the trident, just a little more. Right for the chest.  

“A hell of a lot more than it should scare me.” 

“DICE–!” Scratch’s hold on you barely loosens, his fingers trembling around you. In any other situation, you might have laughed. 

But truth be told, you’re just as horrified as he seems to be. 

“Put that down, right now! Now, if you know what’s good for you!” 

“Scratch,” Dice warns, the prongs of the trident brightening in accordance with his rising fury. 

“You’d better let ‘em go, right now.”  

The Devil glowers down at you, his face twisting in bitterness. He shakes his head, glaring at his insolent lackey as his fist keeps its hold around your torso. 

“Not a chance, you disobedient fool!”

“SCRATCH.” Dice bellows, another blast firing from the pitchfork and nicking the furry beast at the edge of his neck. 

The Devil yowls and cranes his head to the side, spitting at his new burn in hopes of putting out the small flame at the edge of the fur. 

“I’ll only put this thing down, under one condition.” 

The King of Hell growls lowly, taking a couple giant steps back from his employee’s threatening aim. His entire form tremors, a deadly twinge of anger and panic zapping through his veins. 

Dice sends him a similar look, his eyes glowing in the darkness of the room, matching the bright-orange glaze of the trident in his arms, scorching with all intent to fire once more, and not miss.

He shouts his order to his boss, in an utterly demonic voice that’s enough to make both you and your captor shiver. 

"LET THEM GO."

The Devil heaves a shaky breath from his singed throat, fingers pulsing around your form as his uncomfortable glare flickers back and forth, from you—his long sought after prize—to Dice, the one he had given everything to… 

…And vice versa. 

Without Dice, Scratch would have become dead to the world years ago. He’s too charismatic. Too intelligent. Too bold for his own good. 

And he knows it.  

An enraged scream clamors from the Devil’s lips, his foot immaturely stomping the ground as his tail flickers with the heat of his boiling blood. 

You shudder, helplessly clutching onto his paw and silently begging for a merciful decision to be made. 

Dice doesn’t flinch. He refuses to. 

No longer will he stand by and let himself be pushed around. No longer will he let his fear of disappointing his superior keep him from his adoration for you. 

He will leave this throne room, on his own two feet. And dammit, he will not walk out alone. 

Either he leaves with you, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, or he burns this entire casino to the ground.  

Scratch lets out another enraged growl, and you look down in surprise as you start to lower closer and closer to the ground. As the marbled tile grows bigger, you realize that the clawed feet covering half of the room gradually get smaller.

You’re not being lowered. At least, that’s not all that’s happening. 

The Devil is shrinking.  

Dice’s glare never softens, his intentions standing strong as the casino’s owner shortens back to a more reasonable size, even if his tantrum remains just as large as it was.

You shift uncomfortably in the monster’s hold, quickly gasping for long-awaited air as the grip around you loosens for good.

You’re finally set free, his claws releasing you to the marble.

“FINE!”

He shouts, the volume enough to slightly shake the room, nearly sending you toppling to the ground just as you find your footing. 

Only after hearing that coveted word does Dice’s brows raise, the trident cooling off slightly as its wielder's temper lightens. 

The Devil taps his foot expectantly, crossing his arms as he stares down the wretched display in front of him, before he throws his arms up in exasperation. He trudges to his awaiting throne, plopping down in his seat with his fingers glued to his temples. 

After a world of suffering, the King of Hell admits his own defeat, firmly waving you away in a silent order to get the hell out of his throne room. 

“You can have them.”

Chapter Text

“You can have them.”  

Every ounce of air in the throne room is sucked away, leaving King Dice with no breaths to take. He kneels, trident in hand, tremors wracking his form as he stares down the beast who had taken back his throne. 

His jaw remains clenched, arms tense and skeptical. Slowly, the manager tilts his head, eyes narrowing onto Scratch’s slumped form. 

“Run that by me again?” 

Dice is not mistaken. He knows what he heard. But, considering just who he’s talking to, forgive him for having his doubts. 

He’s not looking for a repeat. He’s looking for confirmation.  

The Devil sends a sharp dagger towards his right-hand, teeth gritted together to show off the small triangular hole where an extra fang should be. The same fang lying on the ground, inches away from the pillar closest to the throne, cracked and ready to fall. 

“You heard me, you dolt.”

“You’re right,” Dice huffs, grip around the trident loosening, just barely. “I heard you loud and clear."

“Put that down, Dice.” 

Dice’s look hardens, not once tearing away from his boss as he brings himself up on his feet. The pitchfork remains aimed straight towards the throne, like it’s his only lifeline left. 

“Say it again.” 

“Dice!” Scratch bellows, claws tightening around the armrest. He leans forward, mahogany irises flashing in the light of his own weapon’s fiery glow. 

“Put it down!”

“Say it again, and I’ll let it go.” 

You watch the exchange without a fresh breath left within you, carefully stepping away from the crossfire, making your way behind your lover with the goal to shut your trap and take Scratch’s deal before he can change his mind. 

Your movements catch Dice’s keen eye, and slowly, he begins to step back with you. 

“Just once more, Boss. And I’ll drop it.”

Bone-chilling silence befalls the room once more, the both of you simultaneously creeping backwards towards the doors leading into the hall. 

Step by heavy, echoing step. 

Scratch stays deathly still, sitting like a statue as he stares down his steadily escaping prey. Every slow second that ticks by raises the heat of his blood by one degree. 

He simmers, nothing short of furious as he digests everything he’s lost. 

It’s already enough of a waste, that he’ll never take your soul. No matter how many more he gains in the future, he’ll forever have to shoulder the looming taunt of what he could have had.

He could gain billions in due time, but he’ll always be one soul short. 

And, even worse, he’ll lose the man who he had trained, guided since fifteen years young—the man who he had created, from shards of broken dreams and roaring, angry grief. 

Dice will never look at him the same, if he lets him leave with you in his arms. 

No longer will Scratch be the irrefutable, undefeatable god that his underlings quiver under. His demands will hold less meaning. Less weight. 

But dammit, what choice does the demon have?!

His own trident— not Dice’s— is pointed straight at his chest, with all means to fire and end his eternal life. Those glowing prongs are the only things in this world lethal enough to do such a thing. 

And his most trusted employee is the only one stupid enough to pull such a bold move over him. 

Worst of all… 

There’s nothing that Scratch can do about it. Not now, or ever.  

A low, guttural groan cuts through the thick and drowning quiet like a knife through butter. King Dice’s twitches at the sudden noise, your pace quickening. 

Merely three or four more steps until they’re at the door. Until you escape the Devil’s clutches, for the last time, until the demon gives up on you. He has to. 

Otherwise, Dice’ll have nothing left to lose. 

The Devil’s certainly a stubborn piece of work, that which he’s proud of, but he’s no fool. Sometimes, certain doors are better left closed. 

Thus, he chooses to close the door, just this once. For his own sake.  

“You…” the Devil growls, a trail of black smoke puffing from his nostrils. “You can have them, Dice. I’m done pushing this.” 

A cry of relief pushes and shoves its way up Dice’s throat, but he smothers it down before it can make its breakthrough. Instead, the pit boss hums a low sigh of sweet triumph. 

The crushing pressure of impending doom relieves itself of its duty, lifting away from Dice’s shoulders and almost leaves him flying away with it. He hears the doors creak open behind him, your nimble footsteps growing softer as you slip away, freeing yourself from the iron chains of a newly settled debt that was never yours. 

Upon the sounds of your escape, his shoulders finally fall, and he has the audacity to send his superior a grateful look. 

“Boss, I–” 

“Save it,” Scratch spits, his fist grabbing at a small tuft of fur near one of his horns. “Not another word outta you.” 

Any other words that Dice may have had to say quickly dissolve off his tongue, leaving the man with no other choice but to slowly close his mouth. 

Instead, he brings himself to smile slightly, sending his boss a nod, tossing the dulled pitchfork away. It lands a few feet ahead from Dice’s lilac shoes, resting snugly on the red carpet where the last of the bloodshed remains. 

No more eggshells to walk over. No more water to tread. This is it.  

Unable to help himself, Dice breaks his boss’s demand, one last time. 

“Thank you.”  

The Devil scoffs, standing from his seat. Every step forward he takes, Dice takes two steps back. Until his back comes in contact with the sleek paint of the door. 

The King of Hell cocks his head towards the door, glowering at his lackey expectantly.

“Just get the hell outta my sight, before I change my mind.” 

Finally finding his dutifulness, Dice bows his head and obeys, quickly reaching for the handle and disappearing before the Devil has time to blink.

When the entrance into his domain shuts for what is likely the final time that day, Scratch approaches his unholy spear and sighs in defeat. As he leans down to pick it up, a twitch of vengeance shudders down his arm, raising the fur on his back in a soft, amber glow. 

Brows furrowing, his head snaps towards the gateway, fingers twitching as he weighs the decision in his all-knowing mind. 

It’d be so easy now… you both have nothing.  

Maybe he…

He takes a step forward, but against his will, his entire form freezes in place. The last two minutes replay in his head, no matter how much he tries to ignore the memory. 

‘Thank you.’

Pupils, molded into two shapes representing balls of fire, flicker back and forth between the door and the weapon in his hands. 

The Devil gains his momentum back. 

He strides… 

Back towards his throne. 

With a defeated, irritated huff from his healing lip, he plops back down in his seat, resting his pitchfork against the throne and leaning back. He stares straight ahead, taking note of every stain of crimson splotched on the ground, and on his pillars. The strings of lilac fabric, and the tufts of onyx fluff. 

His gaze finally falls back onto the double doors, and his frown deepens. His lids droop closed as he growls lowly to himself, head lowering towards his chest. 

Some doors… 

Are better left closed. 

~

Dice leans his aching body back against the door, letting the weight of his form act as the driving force that finally shuts the last chapter of his journey away for good. 

He waits, cautiously, his eardrums searching for any signs of danger. 

Footsteps… Walking away. 

Thank Hell.  

Mimicking the actions of his powerful superior, Dice makes his slow trek away from the unholy office, feet sliding lazily against the carpeted floors. Each stride grows heavier and heavier, as the adrenaline seeps out of his form. 

His dazed, robotic walk reaches near the halfway point between the Devil’s office and his own wing, before the pain wracking his body is too much to bear. 

Finding the space to let out a weak, rather pathetic groan, Dice slumps against the wall, every single cut and bruise punching and slashing across his figure with full force. The swelling heat of the burns seep through the royal fabrics and into his skin, robbing the pit boss of any structure he has left. 

Thankful for the loneliness of the empty hallway, he allows himself to reap the consequences of his insolence. 

The man falls to his knees, sweat dripping from his brow as he lets the thick velvet of his jacket slip from his shoulders. Quick, labored breaths slip through parted lips as he places the rest of his energy into keeping the rising bile inside of him, at all costs. 

It’s so, unbearably hot… he’s uncertain how long he’ll last. 

The corners of his vision begin to fade out, and while his heart begins to palpitate in rebellion, his mind pleads to lie down and give himself a rest. 

Apparently, he won’t last long at all. 

His wounded shoulder sears with torment, his good side too weak to continue the fight. The top edge of his head comes in contact with the merciful coolness of the floor, his mind becoming graciously numb as he surrenders to his injuries. 

Five minutes. Five minutes of sleep. 

Just sleep, King.  

A distant, muffled voice reaches his fogged eardrums, and Dice smiles to himself as the rest of his sights blacken. 

That voice… it’s beautiful. 

It sounds an awful lot like you… 

Oh, Lord. You…  

How he loves you. 

~ 

Dice’s world gradually rouses back to life, with several other distant blurs of voices meshing together above him. All of which he recognizes, none of which he looks for. 

None of those voices are yours. 

Where did you… 

The smooth, cold rim of a glass bottle taps against his teeth, and a colder, thickened liquid shoots down his throat. An utterly abhorrent elixir that tastes of spoiled milk and pine sap. 

Naturally, his face sours, and his head jerks to the side. 

An unknown hand gently yet firmly tilts his head back upwards, the glass rim brushing over his lips once more. 

“...Know it’s not the best flavor…” 

“...Gotta take it anyway, Boss…” 

Dice grunts in protest, moving to raise an arm to shoo the bottle away, when he feels the restraint of something itchy and firm—a soft form of rope, holding him back. 

Bandages.

“Quit movin’ that…” 

“...Mess up the wrapping…” 

“Almost finished…” 

More of the offending potion travels down his tongue, choking Dice into submission, until the bottle is finally removed from his lips. A few more fragmented murmurs of satisfaction tell him that the vial is likely empty. 

A few beats later, and the burning sensation in his shoulder begins to dull. 

Thank Hell.  

With another groan, Dice’s eyes peel to mere slits, a female mumble of surprise welcoming him back to the land of the living. 

“There he is; I wasn’t expectin’ that stuff to work so soon.” 

Another voice, gruff and deep—belonging to a man who’s had more than his fair share of cigarettes in his day. 

“Should we give the poor fella next to him another dose? They haven’t made a peep, yet. Do we have another bottle?” 

“No, but Chips should be back from Porkrind’s soon—if they haven't roused by then, we’ll give ‘em a little.” 

While the voices are certainly familiar, Dice can’t put faces to sounds just yet; it doesn’t help that none of the folks around him are in view. All he can see is the dark mauve ceiling, painted with a rosy hue, likely from a lamp nearby. A lamp he’d recognize anywhere. 

He’s in his office.  

“Boss?” 

Another woman’s voice, coated with Russian, coaxes his lids to lift a little more; just a tad. Groggy, tired and loopy, Dice responds with another useless moan and lolls his head to the side, hoping to deter the annoying pesters of those around him in favor of some extra shut-eye. 

“King.” 

He grunts, irritatedly, and is met with a few scoffs. 

Sweet, blissful peace for a few ticks, before a small, amused snort interrupts his doze. 

“Hey wait, there’s a few more sips of this stuff left! Should we give him the rest?” 

Dice’s eyes snap wide open, his head jolting forward as he leans away from the back of whatever he’s sitting on. A bout of laughter erupts from around him, and a scowl etches on his features as he finally pieces together who’s in the room with him. 

Ginette and Pirouletta, of course. The two gals shield their giggles behind their hands, as Wheezy cackles with enough crudeness for the entire group. He sneers disapprovingly at the trio, unappreciative of the small pull of his leg—in his defense, that stuff was terrible.  

As their snickering slowly dies down, Dice cranes his heavy, fuzzy head to see who else happens to be present. 

Mangosteen sits on the sofa a small distance from him, a wet towel in his hand, with Pip and Dot at his side holding a pail of ice water. Leaning over from behind the couch rests Rumulus, a similar washcloth wrapped around his fingers as he dabs away the sweat that dribbles from the forehead of… 

You.  

Dice’s face drains itself of all color as he stares at your unconscious form, dressed in one of his spare suits, your breathing deep and even. Your head rests uncomfortably against your shoulder as half of his Court dotes over you, the 8-ball tenderly swiping his towel down the side of your neck. The domino couple murmurs gentle assurances to him, Pip dipping an extra cloth into the bucket that Dot holds up to him. 

You’re pale. Sweet Satan, you’re white as a sheet.

Why are you so pale?!

The pit boss’s breaths cut short as a hand clamps over his mouth, his stomach lurching. The horribly dizzying heat comes rushing back to his head, his mouth watering uncontrollably. 

Shit.  

Sensing what he needs, Wheezy grabs a nearby bucket and shoves it into Dice’s lap. Graciously, his Court turns away as the manager leans his head down and retches what had been threatening to escape his stomach since before he stepped foot into the Boss’s throne room. 

He spits, weakly, clearing his throat as he sets the bucket down. Ginette turns back with a kind smile, offering him a small cloth to wipe his face. He wordlessly accepts the gesture as the bartender explains. 

“A common side effect of the potion,” she hums. “A ‘liquid cure-all,’ as Porkrind had put it. Meant to quickly heal just about any illness or injury, but at the cost of drowsiness and some nausea.” 

Dice nods lowly, sparing his left another glance… 

He nearly hurls again, and wonders if it’s a side effect of the medicine, or seeing you that ghastly white.  

Mangosteen notices the troubled look on his manager’s face, and is quick to quell any worries. 

“They’re doin’ okay,” he promises. “They had a dose of the med, just like you—they aren’t bleedin’ no more, and they stopped shakin’ a little while ago. They’re just sleepin’, now.” 

Dice heaves a small sigh, slowly nodding as the heat clogging his ears dwindles off. Pirouletta nudges his knee, offering a glass of water. 

He accepts, sipping once, then chugging as much as he can. Once his throat no longer screams for soothing and the taste of bile is free from his tongue, Dice croaks out his first phrase since his collapse. 

“What happened?” 

A couple smiles fade, replaced with looks of shock and slight hesitation. Wheezy raises a brow, crossing his arms and glancing down at the Persian carpet lining the floors. 

“That depends on what you remember, Boss. Before or after Scratch?”

“After. In the hall.” 

A grand sigh of relief sweeps over the room, and Wheezy’s look somewhat softens. 

“Well, not sure what exactly happened with you, but that one right there?” He gestures to your unconscious form, resting limp upon Mangosteen’s shoulder. 

“Came burstin’ into the floor, crimson leakin’ from just about every limb in their body. Made a whole scene about how you had keeled over, cut and bruised all over. They almost gave poor Chips a heart attack,” he huffs out a slight laugh. 

“Grabbed Gin by the arm and pulled her along to see what they were yammerin’ about, and that’s when we found you, half-dead on the floor. We pulled you here and got you settled, but as soon as you started gettin’ wrapped up, the poor thing evidently decided they’d had enough and fainted on us too. Guess they finally ran out of fuel and burnt themselves out.” 

Pirouletta nods in confirmation, holding up the empty vial in her hands. 

“We gave the both of you a dose of the spare cure-all we had back in storage, but since this was our last bottle, Chips ran out to get a little extra, just in case. Good news is, both of you are wrapped up, and a lot of the cuts you had should be gone by the end of tomorrow,” she offers a small, empathetic smile. 

“There’s still quite a bit of dried blood on your face—you were up quicker than we expected, so we didn’t get the chance to wipe it off. But once it’s gone, your head should heal up just fine.” 

Dice stills, momentarily shutting down as his spinning head suddenly tries to balance way too much for his own good. 

He still feels sick. Keep it in. His boss could come in at any second and take what he wants, and he’d win. He wouldn’t. You’re passed out, on his sofa, wearing his clothes, because the ones you came in with were much too tattered and bloody. Clothes can be washed. You’re still paler than Dice is comfortable with. You’ll be okay–you took the same medicine he had. But, you’re not awake yet. Perhaps it’s different for everyone.  

You look… really good, wearing his clothes. He hopes you’ll wear them more often.  

You’re here, in his office. You’re here, at all. You shouldn’t be. 

He shouldn’t be upset about that; what matters is that you’re okay, and you’re free. 

Why is he still upset? He has no right. 

Right? 

Spitting a curse from his lips, Dice finishes the water and hands off his empty glass, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He burrows his pounding temples into the palms of his hands, willing his spiraling thoughts to cease. 

“Thank you,” he addresses his Court, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. Too soft for their liking. 

“Thank you, for taking care of them. Of us.” 

His frown deepens. 

“But I’ll take over and watch them, now that I’m up. You all need to get back on the floor, before the Boss has another reason to chop our heads off.” 

The quiet in the room grows tense, and the lack of footsteps heard does well to irritate the casino manager.

“Excuse our hesitance,” Rumulus chimes in, skepticism fallen over his features. “But are you sure about that? You’re not exactly in the best shape, yourself.” 

“The medicine is doing its job,” Dice insists, firmly. “And they’re resting, right now. There’s nothing more we need, and if there is, it can wait until the cowboy gets back.” 

“Boss–” 

“I said scram,” Dice scolds. “If I change my mind, I’ll come and holler. You’ve got my word on that. But please,” he mutters, to the shock of his employees. 

“Please, leave us be for now.” 

Wheezy moves to argue, but before he can get a word in, Ginette hastily grabs his arm, motioning for the others to follow. With a trace of reluctance, most of them file out behind the pair, heeding Dice’s wishes. 

Mangosteen, as gentle as can be, shifts you off his shoulder and rests you upright against the sofa. Carefully, he stands, sending Dice an apologetic expression before following orders, leaving the two of you to your privacy as he joins the rest of the group. 

Dice’s gaze lingers on his back as he goes, the corners of his mouth twitching with traces of a smile. 

It’s all over and done with, pal.

He turns back to you, drinking up your sleeping form. Glossing over the way the sleeves of his jacket fall slightly loose over your arms, coming halfway up your palms. The size is a little looser than he’d usually wear, but you’re not drowning in it. 

The Court had the graciousness to spiff you up rather nicely, going so far as to include one of his ties, knotted neatly around your collar. You kept your slacks and shoes, but it almost doesn’t matter—surprisingly, the outfit works well. 

More than well, actually. You look wonderful.  

The man trails up your arms to your neck, soft smile vanishing once he catches the disturbing view of your ghostly face. He scoots closer to you, selfishly bringing an arm around your shoulders and nudging you so you rest upon his shoulder, just like you had with his lackey. 

Your deep, steady breaths wisp over where Dice’s heart lies underneath his replaced vest, slowly calming it down from its originally erratic pace. He shudders a sigh and leans his head against your own, lips quivering as he forces back the wetness in his eyes.

You sleep, peacefully, in his arms. You show no signs of discomfort—not a single crease of your brow. 

Neither of you swell in the hellish heat anymore, and yet, your body isn’t cold. 

You’re okay. You’re safe.  

Dice sniffles, his hand trailing over your own. His thumb brushes sweetly over your knuckles, his fingers nestling in between the small gaps yours leave for him to fill. One last onceover, one last check to ensure you’re truly alright, and he lets himself break. 

He laments to you, through the tears leaking from his sore, bloodied cheeks. Whispers the kindest of praises, and the fiercest of scolds. He curses your name, yet holds it on a pedestal, all in the same breath. 

Drops of salty relief dribble from his chin, landing wetly on your scalp. He squeezes your resting hand, bringing it to his chest like his only lifeline. His last, desperate hope. 

He’s so… so furious with you, for throwing yourself into his mess the way you did… and he knows he shouldn’t be. 

Because if it had been him the Boss was after, instead of you? If you were the one coming home to him, torn to bits, leaving him to put you back together? Every night?  

He’d have snapped long before you had. Probably would’ve made much more of a ruckus, to boot. 

He shouldn’t be so quick to cast such stones your way, when his home is made of glass. 

Dice releases a tremored breath before taking in a hitched gasp, forcing himself to quit the waterworks and calm the hell down, All the while, your slumber persists, shoulders moving along with the rhythm of your lungs. 

“I shoulda known,” the man whispers, lips brushed over your forehead. “I shoulda known you’d pull somethin’ like this. You’ve always been shit with heeding my advice.” 

He laughs, dryly, and squeezes your hand again. 

“And I know I can’t blame you, but you’ll have to forgive me, doll,” he murmurs, through the clench of his jaw. “You’ve just got a knack for being too damn stubborn for your own good.” 

Leaning back against the cushions, Dice lets himself loosen up, intertwined hands falling into his lap. His healed arm remains snug around your back, coaxing you deeper into his once bloody shoulder. His words fail him, and he lets the silence remain unfilled. 

He doesn’t even realize he had closed his eyes, until a cough reaches his eardrums. 

The pit boss snaps awake, frantically searching for the source of the noise. His form tenses, all senses on alert. 

Another groan shoots through his hearing, and he jerks his gaze downward, heart catching in his throat as he watches you stir. 

Your heavy, woozy head lifts from its lavender pillow, face contorting with confusion as you go through the same motions Dice had, however much time that may have passed since then. 

Jeez… how long was he out? A few minutes? Hours? 

“Dice…?” You mumble, much to your lover’s delight. 

“I’m right here,” he soothes, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades. “You’re alright, darlin’. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to ya.” 

You hum quietly, indulging in his embrace for a spell, when your eyes suddenly pop open. You lurch forward, a hand rushing to your mouth. 

Dice quickly finds the bucket he had used earlier, easing it beneath you and offering his sympathies. 

“The same thing happened with me, doll. ‘T’s alright, just let it out.” 

You grip the rim with your hand, tilting down and heaving. Coughing and sputtering into the basin, you relieve the nausea from your stomach before tiredly lifting away. 

Setting the bucket off to the side to be dealt with later, Dice strokes your cheek, voice hushed and low. 

“Apparently it’s a side effect of whatever medicine Ginette got from Porkrind,” he assures. “It’ll pass, soon enough. On the bright side, this stuff’s supposed to put you on the mend, and fast.”  

“You’re,” you breathe out, shaking like a leaf as your body forces the remaining nausea down. 

“You’re alright?” 

“I’ll be just peachy, in due time,” Dice nods. “Just like you.” 

You release the tension in your bones, shoulders sagging as you let yourself lean back against the lavender-clad grifter. You peer down at your hands, brow etching in surprise at the sudden change in wardrobe. 

“Did they, uh. Am I—wearing your clothes?” 

“A spare suit they musta pulled from my closet, yes,” Dice confirms, and the heat of flustered embarrassment flushes over your cheeks. 

“They didn’t have to do all that.” 

He huffs, the slight wind grazing over your scalp.

“Maybe not, but I can think of a little something that you didn’t have to do, either.” 

You frown, mustering the energy to lift yourself from Dice’s arm and get a better look at him. 

You don’t like what you see.  

A new suit dawns his figure, too, hugging against him much more nicely than it does with you—just goes to show just who the fabrics are meant for. Underneath the cuffs of his sleeve, you notice the familiar off-white wrapping you had used on him many times prior, with not a drop of copper leaking through. 

In fact, the only trace of red that remains is the dried leftovers of the scarred, rapidly healing scratch that marrs his face. Something that can surely be wiped away with a wet towel, one of which you spot just beyond Dice’s knee. Another of which you feel, draped over the back of your neck. 

But the blood and clothes aren’t the issue. 

It’s the hardened stare that Dice is boring into your skull. Peeling you apart, layer by layer, just as his boss had done in that throne room.  

“Wouldja quit it with that?” You chide softly, swiping the small washcloth from your shoulders and reaching to wipe his face. “I can’t stand it when you look at me like that.” 

“Doll,” Dice starts, stubbornly dodging your towel until you insistently grip his jaw with your free hand, keeping him still. 

“I just… what in Hell were you thinkin’, throwin’ yourself into the Boss’s sights like that?” 

You pout, casting him a small dagger as you carefully blot the towel over his cheeks. He grimaces upon contact with a small sore spot, and your pressure lightens. 

“Are we really doin’ this right now, Dice?” 

“Yes,” Dice sneers, and you watch as he falls into a tangent that you hadn’t meant to set off. 

“That was the most dangerously idiotic thing I think I’ve ever seen you do, sweetheart. I mean it—you got outta there by sheer luck! What if the Boss didn’t spend so much time fiddling around with you before he swallowed you whole? What if I wasn’t fast enough to reach you before you jumped down?”

You shake your head, cupping his jaw as he rambles, brushing your clothed thumb over the bottom crease of his head. 

“But none of that happened, sugarcube. Sure, we were lucky, but that–” 

“But nothin’!” Dice blurts, unable to stop himself. “How did you think I felt, seeing you get scooped up like that? Seeing you close to getting crushed into bits? Scratch was ready to burn you to a crisp, and you were expecting me to just be okay with that?! Seeing you like that was the worst thing I’ve ever had to watch in my entire life, and I’ve watched many souls die gruesomely, doll! It felt like—” 

“Like you wanted to scream, yet whisper in fright, both at once?” You bite back, lowering the towel to look at him squarely. “Like you didn’t know whether your body wanted to hurl, laugh, or faint? Like you’d have to hold the pieces of the one person you care about, trying to put them back together in an impossible puzzle that’ll slowly drive you nuts?” 

Dice gawks, his having been stolen right from the tip of his tongue. His anger dwindles, leaving behind only his worry and regret as you throw his argument back in his face. 

“Yeah, Dice, I get it. Because that’s how I’ve been feeling for the past month now.” 

He winces in guilt, his shoe scuffing the carpet below. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he utters, barely a whisper as you trace the lines of his palm, hidden by his glove. 

“I didn’t mean to remind you of… that,” he admits, sheepishly. “But, darlin’, why?”

“Because–”

“I get that this routine was getting old, sure,” he interrupts, to your annoyance. “But I’m just havin’ a tough time trying to see how you thought that barging in yourself was supposed to be the logical decision, here.” 

“It’s not just that, Dice. It wasn’t just about the routine.” 

“Then what?” He implores, impatiently. “To prove something?” 

“No, Dice. To tell you something.” 

“That’s it?!” Dice all but shrieks, grabbing you by the shoulders. “You’re tellin’ me you came all the way here, knowing how risky it would be, waltzed into that throne room where the Devil was itching to get his hands on you, just to tell me something?”  

“Dice…” 

“No, no no! Don’t ‘Dice’ me, doll, that was so stupid!” He panics, hands moving to cup your cheeks. He’s got half a mind to remove his gloves, memorizing the way your skin feels over his bare palms. Every small bump and mark. 

Just in case you’d pull something like that again, and you aren’t so lucky.  

“This couldn’t have waited until I got home? Shit, darlin’, I know I’ve made so many irreparable mistakes, but why do you feel the need to pay for them?” 

You reach up, gently wrapping your hands over his and removing them from your rosy face. 

“Dice, I came all this way…” 

“I mean, really? What in Hell was so important to you that it couldn’t have just waited a few more hours?” 

“To tell you…” 

“What? To tell me what, sweetheart?! That this isn’t worth it? That you’re gettin’ outta dodge? To stop me from bothering, because we’re—”