It’s an au I’m making where the twins used to work at the casino and after a certain.. deal… was made ones more the boys had to leave for years without contact
Here is the first time in 6 years that they have returned older smarter and stronger. With new responsibilities they visit all acquaintances and reminisce on the past
Cuphead design was inspired by Sam and Dean from Super natural
Mugman by how the fandom depicts a modern version of him
Devil paces in front of his throne, biting on his nails as his tail swishes, almost a twitch, at its end. He looks at the box in his free hand, biting his nails with more fervor than before.
Henchman sticks his head into the doorway, hanging onto the doorframe as he watches the larger demon pace. “D’uhh… boss?”
The pacing stops, and Devil swiftly turns his head towards Henchman.
“You doin’ alright?”
Devil groans, facepalming and dragging his hand down his face, tail straightening before it lowers, swishing back and forth, as he crosses his arms with a huff.
Henchman squints, eyes trailing over his boss’ figure.
Ears low and to the side, lips in a small pout, shoulders high up, one hand in his mouth and the other holding a box, tail moving side to side, legs straight and stiff, hip out to the side away from Henchman.
“You doin’ alright?”
Devil sighs, ceasing his nail biting and instead pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Henchman, it’s— Kingsley.” he says in a way that sounds confused, but also agitated in a way, the name leaving a sour taste in his mouth, furrowing his brows and tapping his foot, a low rumbling sound leaving his chest that Henchman isn’t sure whether it’s a purr or a growl.
“D’uhh, Mistah Dice? What’s wrong with ‘im?” Henchman asks, flying over and landing right in front of his boss. Usually the Devil isn’t this… agitated at the thought of Dice. Well, unless Dice forgot something important.
Devil groans in exasperation as he lets himself lean forward, as if in defeat. “He gave me licorice, Henchman.”
Henchman raises an eyebrow, head turning in confusion. “What?”
“Just—“ the Devil sighs, “earlier today he came in here to ‘visit’.”
Henchman nods.
“However, he was acting… rather unusual,” the taller demon says.
“How so?”
The furry demon sighs, “He walked up to my throne, as casual as ever, and gave me this.” He thrusts the box towards Henchman, motioning for him to take it.
Henchman furrows his brows as he takes the box, reading the label and noticing that it’s Devil’s favorite brand. “But… this is your favorite kind. The expensive box of it too— he musta gone through all o’ the Isles to find this stuff!!”
“Exactly.” Devil says, cheeks flushed, fur beginning to sway and glow a soft shade of orange, a manner similar to a flame but not quite fire. Devil shakes his head, ears pressing against his head.
“D’uh… I don’t understand, Boss.”
“Understand what, Henchman?”
“What’s the problem?”
The Devil’s jaw drops, arms going slack as he sputters. “Wha-the- what’s the problem?!“
“D’uhh, yeah. He boughtcha a thoughtful gift.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Don’t you see the problem with this?”
“Not really?”
Devil blinks, ears perking slightly in curiosity, a subtle cue for Henchman to continue.
“You two are pretty close, I just sorta assumed you two were…” Henchman places his hand on his hip, flicking his wrist with practiced ease, “y’know?”
Devil’s fur goes ablaze, a vibrant hue akin to a sunset cascading across the room. “And what, pray tell,” he begins, slowly increasing in height, “might that mean?”
Henchman’s ears press down as he shrinks away, blinking before putting his hands up, as if in surrender. “I’m jus’ sayin’,” he starts, before Devil slaps his hand over the smaller demon’s mouth.
“Don’t,” Devil pauses, running his other hand through the tuft of hair atop his head, “Don’t tell me you assumed we were—“ Devil looks around, removing his hand from Henchman’s face and his other hand from the hair of his head, pressing them together flat and motioning towards Henchman with a flick, “together?”
Henchman’s fingers loosen, curving just a little bit as his shoulders sink. “D’uhh… it wasn’t just me.”
A flicker of surprise flashes across Devil’s expression, switching to one of poorly masked fury and embarrassment, twisted into a blend of something unreadable.
“There… are others who think this?”
Henchman nods nervously, looking around before relaxing slightly. “How about, instead of focusin’ on some silly rumor,” he starts, gently taking his boss’ hands in his own, guiding him to the throne and setting him down, “ya tell me what happened?”
A sigh leaves the taller demon as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fine.”
💎
Three firm hits against the door echo through the room, catching the attention of the man atop the throne. His ear perks up, his glance shifting from the book in his hand to the doors. “Enter!”
The doors emit a low hum as they open on their own, a soft golden glow across their figures while they move. Two imps hold the doors in place, wings fluttering quietly, almost silently, while they fly and remain suspended as they hold the handles of the doors.
A shined dress shoe takes the first step, landing against the stone flooring with a click that seems to echo subtly.
Devil’s tail begins to sway, a small smirk forming on his lips at the sight of his number one. “Well hello there~” Devil places his elbow on the armrest, palm on his chin, “to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you during casino hours?”
A low chuckle leaves Dice’s lips, his hands hidden behind his swaying hips as he stands tall, the doors clanging as they shut behind him, his coat’s tail bouncing with each step he takes. Reaching the throne, the die reaches out, holding out a box of black licorice.
Devil’s tail perks up, wagging excitedly as he takes the box out of Dice’s hands. “How’d you get this?!” He exclaims, a stunned expression quickly taking over his face as he flips the box over and notices the price. “Nine— Dice, this is nine dollars!! How could you— why would you throw that kind of money away on a box of licorice?!”
“What~” Dice rolls his eyes playfully as he reaches the throne, leaning down and getting dangerously close, “Is a right-hand man not allowed to visit his boss with somethin’ special?”
Devil’s breath hitches in surprise at the sudden invasion of his space, a quick, small gasp that is almost invisible unless you’re listening closely. And Dice misses nothing. So… he quirks his eyebrow, tilting his head to the side just slightly, humming in a way that seems to prod the Devil to speak, almost inquisitive.
Devil rolls his eyes with a playful scoff, pushing the other’s chest in a firm manner; enough to get the point across but not enough to hurt. The die stands tall, cackling, tossing his head back as his hand reaches up to his lips, fingertips against his bottom lip as his shoulders shake and the melody of his laugh echos in the vast space.
The demon’s cheeks flush, hidden beneath his fur, listening to his right-hand man, his closest companion, laugh in a way that sounds so… carefree. He looks Dice over, watching the way his eyes crinkle at their edges, his mustache turning up, his shoulders bouncing, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.
Dice manages to slow his laughter, wiping away his stray tears. “Hoo, I love you.”
The room seems to freeze, Dice’s breath stopping momentarily, eyes shooting open, narrowed in horror at the realization of what left his mouth. Devil’s pupils expand, shrinking just as fast, his tail swishing quickly, stilling and swishing again in the same swift motion. A flicker of fear, a flicker of hope, swirls in the demon’s heart. “What was that, Dice?”
The mentioned man goes rigid, standing somehow straighter as he adjusts his bowtie. He coughs into his elbow, swiftly turning on his heels and walking off, his pace quick and purposeful as he waves behind himself, a calm motion despite the tension. The doors open with a low, rumbling groan, the imps left with bewildered expressions as they watch the die walk through the doors, leaving the demon upon the throne stunned.
💎
Shock runs through Henchman, his jaw falling open. “He told ya that he loves ya?” He inquires, to which the Devil nods in response. Henchman sucks in a breath through his teeth, a tense hiss as he looks towards the imps at the doors, who nod in confirmation of the story. He looks over at his boss.
He hums softly, placing a finger on his chin and tapping. “Do you…” the imp rolls his wrists, furrowing his brows as he searches for the right way to speak, “feel the same?”
Devil’s tail flicks, huffing as he leans into his knuckles. “I.. shouldn’t— he.. I—“ he falls silent, failing to find any sort of way to deny it. “Yes.”
The imp smiles knowingly, placing his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow. “So?”
“So what?”
“What are ya gonna do about it?”
Devil’s ears perk up. “… I’m going to the casino.”
~~~
Soft humming blends with the tune of jazz swirling through the casino, along with the subtle sounds of cards bending and shuffling together.
Dice’s brows are furrowed, the cards in his hands slightly bent from repeated shuffling over the years. His legs are elegantly crossed, his right calf resting atop his left knee.
Chips sits on the bar, freshly refilled whisky glass in hand and cheeks slightly flushed as he cackles at one of Mangosteen’s jokes. Wheezy wipes down the bar, being careful to avoid hitting Chips with the rag. The man on the counter looks over, still giggly, noticing the manager’s bothered demeanor, calling out to the die with slurred words and unbridled enthusiasm, “He— *hic* Hey Boss!! Trouble in para- paradis- *hic* hehe- trouble in paradise?”
The die looks over, hands stilling on the cards as he stops humming. “For the record,” he begins, shuffling the deck and tossing a few cards up before catching them, “that’s not an issue that an employee show concern himself with.”
Wheezy rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the more expensive bottles of scotch and pouring some for Dice, sliding the glass towards the man with a quirked brow. “You ‘ppreciate the finer thin’s in life, like the boss, and you’re willin’ ta waste nine dollars on a whim for a box o’ candy. That’s not somethin’ I should know as an employee, is it now?”
The room seems to still, the band slowly becoming quieter.
“But I ain’t just an employee,” Wheezy says, placing a hand on Chips’ shoulder, “and neither is Bettigan here. We’re yer employees first, but we’re yer friends as well.”
Dice stares at the glass, the soft light from the fire-lit lamps that hover above the bar twinkling in the amber liquid. He sighs, placing the cards down and taking the glass in his hand. “You’re right, you’re right,” the die sighs, rotating the glass and watching the liquid twirl before glancing up at the cigar.
“I say this as your manager, watch your words carefully,” Dice sips the drink, giving a warning stare to the cigar and setting the glass down before continuing, “an’ I say this as your friend; while I do consider the boss to be one of the finer things in life, that’s not somethin’ that he needs to hear from you or me.”
Wheezy snorts, rolling his eyes as he grabs a bottle of whiskey off of the shelf and pours himself a bit. Grabbing the glass, he leans onto the counter, his forearm supporting his weight. “Lemme tell ya somethin’, he doesn’t need ta hear it because he believes it without hearin’ it.”
Wheezy taps the rim of Dice’s glass with the bottom of his own, downing his whiskey and placing the glass back down before he speaks again. “He knows what we think, an’ he knows his worth. The actual question ‘ere,” he says, taking Chips’, now empty, glass and refilling it, “is when you plan ta tell ‘im that little secret o’ yours.”
Wheezy hands Chips the glass, eyes remaining on the die. “You’re a gamblin’ man. Are ya willin’ ta take a chance?”
Dice stares at his own glass, lips pressed together. “I’m afraid my luck’s run dry. He knows.”
The room stops. Mangosteen’s jaw drops, Chips drops his glass, gazes falling on the die while the cigar’s eyebrows raise. The band halts, deciding that their presence is not needed and quickly putting everything away, skittering out of the room in all directions.
“You told ‘im?” Wheezy prods, an invitation for Dice to tell more.
“It slipped,” Dice corrects, slowly sipping on his scotch before setting the glass down, “I didn’t mean ta just spout it.”
“Spout what?”
All eyes snap towards the door, hearts stuttering at the sight of the demon that stands there. Devil walks over, standing next to Dice and tilting his head slightly.
Dice feels his blood run cold while his face heats up, his boss’ eyes trailing over him in a way he doesn’t recognize. The silence stretches, growing more and more uneasy as the pair continue to stare. Dice, whose hand remains on the glass, begins to drum his fingers against the smooth glass.
The demon shrugs. “I suppose since it seems unimportant, I’ll let it go.” The demon walks to Dice’s side, resting his hand on his shoulder. “Dice, I would like to speak to you in my office.”
The die turns his head, swiftly nodding with an almost immediate “Yes sir”, standing from his stool and leaving the glass, leftover scotch shimmering in the light, behind.
The trio at the bar exchange a look before Wheezy grabs a chalkboard from beneath the bar. “25 cents says Dice makes the first move.”
“What? Naw, the boss is gonna do it!!”
The cigar and the cowboy begin to bicker, with Mangosteen left to deal with it.
~~~
The walk to the office is tense, uncomfortable and silent in a way that neither man can stand, but neither can bear to break.
Devil’s fingers drum against his pitchfork, his other hand held behind his back to prevent himself from reaching out.
Dice holds both hands behind himself, restraining himself from reaching out. He has no cards to shuffle, so this seems to be the only option.
A sudden click echoes through the hall, catching Dice’s attention. His gaze turns over, seeing his boss holding a violet box no larger than his palm, golden ribbon tied in a bow on top. The die raises his eyebrow, glancing up and taking note of how his boss’ gaze remains straight ahead. Hesitantly, he takes the box, holding it carefully in his hands, examining it for any indicator of what it could be.
They continue walking down the hall, paces never faltering as Dice examines the gift and Devil does his best to look everywhere except for Dice.
“What’s in here?” Dice inquires, looking back over at his boss.
“Consider it…” Devil pauses, opening the doors to his office with a snap of his fingers, “payment,” He steps through the doors, “For earlier.”
Following closely, hearing the door clang shut behind himself, Dice raises his eyebrows. “Boss, that was a gift. It’s not s’posedta be paid back.”
Devil stands next to his chair, waiting for Dice to stop in front of the desk before speaking, “Do you think I don’t understand how gifts work, Dice?”
The die pauses, genuinely wondering if he actually understands the concept of a gift. Does he understand, or does he see everything as a transaction? One thing for another?
Is this… thing, between them, is it just for pure, selfish gain? For money, souls, power? Is there anything about their relationship to think about at all?
“I simply decided to gift you something back,” the demon mutters, spoken through his teeth, “you spent nine dollars on me, Kingsley.”
The name causes Dice’s posture to straighten, fear and something foreign, yet familiar, tightening in his chest. “We- well I-“
The demon holds up a hand, cutting the die off as he rests his pitchfork against the wall. “Sit down, Dice.”
The die reaches out to one of the chairs in front of the desk, resting for only a second before he’s stopped by a hand atop his own. “Not here,” Devil says, pushing Dice’s hand off of the chair’s back, taking a hold of his shoulder and pulling him towards the chair behind the desk as he motions to the seat, “here.”
The die quirks a brow, “Where are you gonna sit?”
The demon simply turns Dice around and lightly pushes his chest, causing the die to fall and sit, landing on the chair with a quiet groan. The demon sits on the desk, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes move slowly, up and down, as if examining Dice.
“Dice,” Devil begins, uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows against his knees, hands folded neatly in front of himself, “tell me, was that visit earlier…” he snaps his fingers, the box of licorice appearing in a puff of smoke, “just to give me this?“
Dice’s eyes fall onto the box, face blank aside from his pupils shifting in size and the subtle twitch of his eyebrows. Devil chuckles, a grin slowly forming on his face as he holds the box out to Dice. Unopened, bow still pristine.
“Don’t tell me you’re speechless?” The demon says it in an inquiring tone, but it’s more of a statement, an observation. Dice is speechless.
What could he say, anyway?
Dice dryly swallows, his eyes remaining on the box as he does so. His gaze moves up, meeting his boss’ eyes. Those same golden, piercing eyes he’s seen a thousand times. “I to-told ya, I was on my lunch break an’ decided to pay ya a visit. Noth-nothin’ more.”
The Devil hums, leaning in closer and hearing the die’s breath shake. “Is that so? Then you certainly wouldn’t mind addressing that little…” his tail flicks, a quick and smooth motion, “confession.”
Dice’s skin shifts from the usual porcelain white to a rosy hue in a blink, his heart pounding in his chest and the beats ringing in his ears.
A quick puff of smoke, and the licorice is gone. Dice’s gift begins to float, hovering in front of his chest. With quivering hands, he takes the box, glancing up at his boss. The demon motions towards the box with a nod, that tiny smile never faltering.
Dice gently pulls the ribbon, undoing the bow and watching the box fall open.
Toffee. A ten dollar box of Toffee. His favorite candy.
A small notecard on the top, a golden pattern at its edges, glows atop the box. Ink in the same golden across the middle of the card.
Yours.
Dice stares. He stares, and he stares, and he stares. Yours. He knows it’s his gift. He knows that’s what it means. His heart still skips a beat, for his heart hasn’t quite agreed with his mind in many years.
He picks up the card, noticing the same golden details on the back. “Why’d he give me a double sided card?”
He flips the card over, reading the familiar cursive and feeling his face warm.
There is no gift I can give that is fit for a King such as yourself. A simple “Thank you” means nothing, and this candy will be gone by dusk. I have nothing worthy of you, so take this candy as you have taken my heart.
His gaze moves upward, and he stares. He always stares. Never really looks.
So, he looks.
The way his tail swishes, his posture still, composed, yet his ears twitch. His face is blank, yet his eyes seem more alert than usual. Still, all of his attention remains on Dice.
“You’re tellin’ the truth.” The words come out calmly. He can’t say he knew it. He didn’t. He doesn’t. This could all be a ploy, a taunt, a cruel reminder of his words.
A simple nod is all he gets, the demon’s tail stilling and lying on the desk, ears continuing to twitch.
“You…” the die closes his mouth, struggling to find the words.
The demon leans a little too far, his elbows slipping off of his knees, shutting his eyes tightly as he falls off of the desk, feeling a pair of arms around himself.
Devil moves his arms, pushing himself up and opening his eyes to meet the stunned face of his right-hand man. The demon turns his head inquisitively, glancing down and seeing his hands right on top of Dice’s thighs, Dice’s arms around his waist as Devil feels his hands on his back.
He glances back up at Dice, a tense pause lasting too long and not long enough. “I’m tellin’ the truth, King.”
Dice, despite being quite flustered, still seems unconvinced, still cautious. “How can I be sure this ain’t some sorta—trick?”
Devil’s tail flicks, curling and resting against Dice’s hands as they remain on the demon’s back.
Devil’s hands move up, his right sliding to Dice’s waist and his left to the die’s cheek as he leans in, swift, as their lips collide in a mix of longing and slight frustration, a desperate attempt to say everything that words can’t express.
Dice, after the initial surprise, melts into the kiss, hands sliding up and landing on Devil’s cheeks, pulling him closer, savoring every second of this while it lasts.
Devil pulls back, breathing heavily as his tail wags violently behind himself. “Is that enough proof, Kingsley?”
Heart pounding, taste of smoke still on his lips, Dice nods, a simple “Yes sir,” given as a response.
The demon grins, placing his hand under Dice’s chin and pulling, kissing him with a low hum before pulling back again, chuckling softly. “I own your soul, yet you own my heart.”
The two snicker, slowly turning into cackles as all of the previous tension melts away.
From the door, three nosy employees have been listening in, ears pressed against the door and eyebrows almost completely off of their foreheads. Chips grins, pushing himself up off of the door and pumping his fists in the air. In a whisper shout, he points at Wheezy, “You owe me 25!”
What if Wheezy's dad was alive and they meet again?
Wheezy's dad name Bensol and he was a maffia boss,he was very abusive,manipulated his wife and his son's Wheezy and Sergey,if they met now,wheezy would be near panic attack,he Always show the big bad guard dog persona but he's scared of his dad,his dad would be dissapointed how big of a mistake wheezy is
They have similarities
One missing eye,similar clothes,big fur jacket, it's a family thing bc wheezy's Mom had a fur thingi too,they wear gold acessories,Bensol wanted wheezy to be like him, that's why they are so similar,Bensol manipulated wheezy and wheezy out of trauma response didn't really wanted to change his appearance
Vio didn't really know mutch 'bout wheezy's fam,She didn't know what they looked like,but She knows what they did,and she's helping wheezy finde his brother
