#moth!reader

[quarterlifekitty]

König and Domestic Silk Moth Hybrid!Reader

Due to popular demand (about 4 people)

Context: in this one, I’m having König stay human and having hybrids in a pet role. As an insect hybrid, I’m making her small AF (like 2-3 ft tall). I did consider making her Barbie sized tho 👀. So this is gonna have size kink bordering on micro/macro just so you know!

König is stuck on medical leave, and pretty damned miserable. He sustained a break that’s put him out of commission for a while. He’s never spent so long in his empty home, and it’s driving him insane. He’s spent basically his entire adult life married to his work, so he’s woefully unprepared to keep himself entertained.

And despite being something of a loner most times, he misses the noise. He misses the bodies and conversation. He and Horangi have a phone call every so often, and text as frequently as the work allows, but that only takes up so much time in the day.

And it’s Horangi that suggests a hybrid.

That’s something that he could throw himself into to keep occupied, as well as giving company. And unlike a pet, a hybrid would be able to be mostly self sufficient whenever he returned to work.

(Horangi doesn’t want to say if he returns. But König is not a young man, and has sustained a serious injury. There’s a chance that even if he heals, he won’t be the same as before. Combined with his rank, it won’t be huge surprise if he’s pressured or forced into retirement if his utility is limited.)

König is apprehensive— so he doesn’t want something quite as needy as a cat or dog hybrid, where he’d have to deal with heats and noise. And Horangi happens to have an old friend, retired, who raises domestic silk moth hybrids with his newfound free time. You’re picked to be offered up, freshly cut from your thick silk cocoon.

And for König, it’s love at first sight.

You’re very pretty. Fluffy white fur, big, dark, eyes. And so small. You barely come up to his hip, and raise your arms, asking to be lifted. It’s only then that he learns domesticated silk moths are flightless, their wings are pretty but unable to fly. It makes him feel a little bit of kinship with you. Restricted movement, denied purpose.

And basically his life revolves around you from that point. König doesn’t have many involved or expensive hobbies, so he has a lot of time and resources to devote to your care. You’re something of a niche pet, so it’s a little difficult to find things made for you. He resorts to commissions. Don’t fucking look at his Etsy purchase history.

You live your life perched on his shoulders or in his arms (you’re much too small to keep up with him). He’s a little afraid of letting you in his bed at night, he doesn’t want to roll over and crush you by accident, but you keep crawling under his covers anyways. You can’t help having cocooning behavior.

He’s constantly sitting you on ledges. On the sink while he shaves, on the counter when he cooks, on his desk when he works. You’ve always gotta be within arms reach for petting purposes.

And the petting, the kissing… he’s so addicted to the contact. He’s been alone for so long, and you’re so soft.

And that just leads to him getting more and more curious about your body. You don’t mind— you love him! And he loves his little Seidenmotte.

He’s beyond delicate with you. You’re so small— he has to work you up quite a bit before he can even fit a finger into your cute little pussy.

God it makes him hard how he can pin you down by the stomach with just one hand. And you make these little pips and squeaks when he fingers you— it’s just too cute for words. He totally shares some pictures with Horangi as thanks. (Which might lead to a couple of other colorful character asking to see pictures of you).

Usually he fucks your soft, fuzzy thighs to get off. He’s so warm and heavy against your clit, his cockhead practically reaching your chest. He paints your tits with white, pearly ribbons that glisten against the fuzz of your chest.

If you’re on top, he likes watching your useless wings beat while you slide your wet little cunt over him, the ridge of his head making you shiver when it bumps against your clit. You usually end up making yourself cum once or twice, and when you’re too tired and sensitive to move yourself he’ll grab your waist and grind you against him, using you like a toy to get himself off.

You don’t spread your wings often, but when you do, it leaves a little bit of moth dust behind from the tiny scales you shed. König thinks it’s so cute to see it against his bedsheets— it’s like glittery fresh snow, proof of how excited he made you.

[iridescent-solstice]

˗ˏˋ☁️‧ ₊ ˚ 🦋 ‧ ₊ ♡ˎˊ˗

{Headcannons for an upcoming au i'm planning} Not enough people talk about Claude after he loses Ciel Phantomhive's soul to Sebastian... Especially not ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ᴄʟᴀᴜᴅᴇ... ໒꒰ྀི ˃  ∩∩  ˂ ꒱ྀི১

{Wolf spider!Claude X moth!reader}

🕸 ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ᴄʟᴀᴜᴅᴇ who goes back to his claimed territory, sulking the whole way after his loss. Because for the first time in a million years H̷̬͖̻͒e̷̢̝̫͖̯̍̇̀͊ ̷̬̻́l̴͖̹̅͋ọ̴̈́s̶͇̬͔̆̈́̚͝ẗ̴̪́̎̃̿ ̴̢̧͚̜̊͠ḩ̴̛͍̰̳̂̄͐i̷̠͇̥̹̓͆́̊s̶͎͍̘͊͑̐̽ ̵̗̆̌́̿̍p̵̦͎̥̟͔̈́̾ṙ̸̺̼̉ī̶̭̻͇͉̕z̴̥̠̙̳̅̃̒e̷̹͙͋ This loss is not easy pill to swallow when he's the one, who's infamously known as the calmest and composed in any given scenario. He finds himself losing his cool. His anger, and rage causing continuous damage both around his and others territory.

🕸 ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ᴄʟᴀᴜᴅᴇ and his presumptuous nature, overconfident and eccentric behaviour being the reason behind his biggest failure, that too to a younger demon! - A massive blow to his ego... Sebastian absolutely getting the upper hand on him once he loses his poise. A more established and esteemed demon losing in such a manor would absolutely make him a laughingstock among the inhabitants of hell... And it does. That too because of a human soul's aroma? Preposterous! Claude is absolutely seething in solitude. So, he makes up for his loss of reputation by unleashing absolute chaos onto whoever dares to even snicker at him.

The aroma of Ciel Phantomhive's soul... An aroma he had yet to ever encounter on his own adventures... Truly a noteworthy meal. He'd even applaud Sebastian if he wasn't kitten licking his bruised ego.

So, you can see why he's so perplexed when he senses the same fragrance back in hell... On a demon too... A pretty one, one lesser in status than him, but makes up with her resourcefulness. The unique skull like birthmark on your forehead, just above your adorable doe eyes, and the quiet buzzing of your wings makes him shudder in excitement. Ideas of you writhing underneath him... In his arms, as he makes you his own... Hmm exciting, no? So, like the opportunistic hunter he is, eager to win your affections he revels in the idea of a chase. Especially after one as mesmerising as you are ♡

🕸 ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ᴄʟᴀᴜᴅᴇ who searches high and low for you, but is stumped to see you are nowhere to be found... Where he wants you to be. Only for you to walk right into the palm of his hand. Clueless as to who even has his eyes on you. You, the runt of the litter just trying to find a place to settle, and you strut right into his lair for a measly amount of nectar and honey. Once he gets his hands on you however...He will never ever let you leave his sight. You're his whether you like it or not~

"There's no use in trying to run little one, you're mine now~"

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @thefallofruins ╰➤ {ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ, ᴏʀ ꜰᴏ��ʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪꜰɪᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ}

[undertale-writing-times]

Hey how would The moths react to being complemented for their wings?

Like that person thinks their wings are really pretty? Maybe it's a close freind and or some other moth/butterfly who the boys maybe have a crush on? Idk- just a random thought I had sorry this isn't very creative

I like the idea that these are the moths wings?

so floofy ^^

Sunset: He would perk up, then laugh and nudge them, his wings flapping lightly, "Thank you," He started with, "They're kinda really out there, huh?" he looks over his shoulder at his own wings, spreading them out as far as they could go. His wings were huge! Compared to his body size, his wings were the biggest and brightest. He was very pleased that you would call his wings pretty… good luck, he's gonna be showing them off even more often now.

Scarlet: Scarlet looked at you, listening to you talk then laughs and flaps his wings. They weren't really all that much like a moth, but he was one! Just… faking being a wasp. It was interesting. "I know, thanks though." it might seem like he was being full of himself, and he was, but he was also embarrassed. He wasn't expecting you to say that, so when you did, it made him smile and he didn't want to admit how happy it made him.

Leopard: Leopard would listen to what you said, look at his wings, then back at you and he shakes his head. He doesn't really believe that he's got pretty wings anymore. They're all torn up and gross looking… he's happy that you can lie to him to make him feel better, though.

Rosy: "well thank you!" He laughs, fluttering his wings happily, then he'd fly around you and nuzzle his skull against yours. "I like your wings too." He thought that they were simple and kind of dark, but oh so pretty to him. He was going to keep what you said in his mind for a while. It makes him feel really good about himself! :D

[daggos]

The True Virgin Tiger Moth

Part 2

Sorry this took so long

Life happened :/

———————————

When you get there at last, you are certain that you have the wrong place. This place did look like a hotel, but it also looks like it had been abandoned for YEARS. And the poster looked brand new!

You decide to knock on the door regardless. Might as well make sure, they did say they were just starting out (though you didn't know it was THIS bad).

Before you can get a second knock, the door flies upon.

"WELCOME TO THE Ha-..." *door slam*

.

.

.

Well, that was rude. You hadn't even said anything, and the door was slammed in your face.

Well, your chest, you were too tall to just be looking into the hotel. But still!

When the door opened again not long after, it was the same blonde haired girl looking out with a much less pleased look. During the second you had to move before the door opened, you were now leaned down to look into the hotel, on set of hands on your hips, the other in your knees to steady yourself.

Before you got the chance to get too much of a look, the door was yet again slammed in your face.

'These people do not seem as welcoming as they try to make themselves out to be.' You stood straight back up and watched the door for when the girl would, hopefully, open it again.

The next time the door was opened, the same girl was there, but this time accompanied by another. This one seemed much more hostile, wielding a spear that was almost immediately pointed at your throat.

"What are YOU doing here?!" The gray one was already off to a bad start in your book. So rude >:(

You, for some reason, do not feel fear for the sharp object uncomfortably close to a vital part of you. You only felt slight annoyance and much disappointment.

You held up the poster that they had supposedly put out everywhere (apparently too quickly if them jumping back was anything to go by). Pointing to certain parts of the flier, you nudged away the spear like it was nothing (it was pointed more into your fluff anyway).

"YOU are the ones that put this flier out, no?! It says "Help Wanted and Guests Welcomed," and at the moment I do not feel wanted NOR welcomed!"

With your short rant finished, you promptly did a sharp turnaround and walked forward before ploping down on the stairs that led up to the place. You sat there for a moment with a pout while a single tear rolled down before you heard what you assumed to be their attempt at a quiet chat.

"THIS is Valentino? I thought you said he was more... violent? Lewd?"

You turn quickly with a harsh, offended gasp.

"Violent? LEWD?! I have no clue who this "Valentino" man is, but I'll have you know I am no such thing!"

At this point, you were highly offended and genuinely concerned about how they expect to get any guests with how they treat someone they just met, confusing them with someone else before quickly judging/threatening them.

It was the blonde that stepped up first nervously.

"Ah, I'm so, so sorry for that. There seems to have been a misunderstanding." Ya think?! "What did you say your name was again?"

You give your name only because it is the polite thing to do and you refuse to be as rude as they were.

"And yours?" You were ready to turn and actually leave by this point, but might as well see who you need to avoid from now on.

She beams at this before quickly stating, "My name is Charlie," she pulled the other girl who dropped her spear in surprise. "And this is Vaggie!"

You nod along, acting as if you were still interested. You did need a place to stay after all, you had only just showed up, too. You had no real place to reside in.

'Do I really want to stay with these people? They were rather mean..'

The next few minutes were just apology after apology from "Charlie" for the mix-up.

"I swear that doesn't normally happen with our guests!"

You look around for a moment confused.

"What guests?"

You just catch Charlie shrink back at the mention. Vaggie sent you daggers, which you cared nothing for sense she already sent you a spear.

"I'll tell you what, you let me stay here, and all is forgiven and forgotten. Well, most of it, at least." You mumble the last part to yourself. If you do end up staying here, you will not let the gray one live the spear incident down.

"Yes! Yes, of course! Please do stay! We'd love to have you here, you're our first guest." Charlie looked away at the last part.

You give a deep sigh and respond with a tired "alright."

You trail in behind them, heading over to the little counter with the room keys and watching Charlie grab one for a room on the third floor. Why the third floor? You had no clue.

You took the key with a smile and a small "Thank you" before walking off.

Your room was very simple. White walls to match the white, queen size bed. It didn't look bad, just SO plain that it hurt your eyes.

Thankfully, you noticed some parts of the room seemingly suddenly begin to transform into your preferred setting.

You walked over and practically ploped onto your bed, watching your sheets bleed into a mix of the white and (favorite color).

You rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long while. This was going to be a strange experience. And you were ready with open arms.

You sat up with a thought. 'Perhaps I can open my old bakery down here. That would be nice.'

You began to plan, wondering where you could start investing in a large supply of poison for those who wanted to do anything to your future little shop like you had seen done to others on your walk to the hotel.

Your face split into a large grin at the thought.

[thebookbutterfly]

One of Simon Riley’s love languages is just The Stare TM.

Multiple times a day you will turn around and be faced with this giant man, just staring you down. Entirely locked in. Pupils the size of dinner plates.

Sometimes he’s in the corner of the room, other times he’s just looming over you. He’s so quiet it’s like he just appears out of thin air.

The poor man is like a moth drawn to a lamp. He can’t help it, he likes looking at you. :( Doing anything really. It’s an addiction more than a habit.

You don’t mind it. It’s kind of endearing seeing how wide his pupils dilate every time he catches a glimpse of you. ❤️

[ilostthewar]

Your baby is born and Ghost feels like he is on one of the most high-stress stake outs of his life.

He insisted you go to sleep, cause god knows you need it. He watched all your organs leave your body and then get stuffed back in like sausages. Simon has seen more gore than most of these doctors, and he still stared in mild horror when your screaming baby was pulled from your womb and placed on your chest.

So he insisted you get some rest. He promised, unnecessarily, that he would keep watch over both you and the baby. After all you have been through, if there is anything he can do, it’s this.

He has been shot at, held hostage, shared bathrooms with Price. He has dealt with live bombs that haven’t made him as anxious as he is now. You are vulnerable, exhausted and freshly stitched up. And this baby, so defenseless and entirely reliant on him. Unaware of the world outside of his arms.

He’s pacing the length of the room. He’s shirtless. He had fucked up the swaddle somehow and then the baby had started those little high pitched whines that foretold the end of the world, and Simon had all but torn the fabric in half. Skin to skin contact was important, that’s what the nurse had said earlier. So here he was, the big bad Ghost, with an infant pressed against his scarred chest, the world’s softest and most aggressively pastel blanket coiled around their back.

He doesn’t know what he is waiting for. For the door to burst open, for this bubble he finds himself in to pop. For his damned phone to ring, calling him away from you both. There are a billion things that can go wrong, he knows that. He’s seen it.

But then he feels the bundle in his arms wriggle and he angles his head down to see their blurry eyes as they coo, and the weight in his chest lightens, just enough. He raises the blanket to gently wipe their chin. He lowers his nose to smell the top of their head, and they smell like milk.

He hears you adjust and call his name, soft and sweet. And he turns to go answer you, his hand smoothing over your head to see the drowsy smile that forms on your face.

Maybe he can exist in this moment, just for a little while.

[sleepymothafterhours]

Thinking about arguing with Gojo

Arguing with Gojo in the middle of fucking him cus he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut to save his life, he’s literally got a mouthful of your boob in his mouth while still babbling about whatever he was right wrong about. Of course your only solution is to bounce on his cock faster (because let’s be real he makes you do all the work when he’s mad) and make him literally choke on his words because that little bit more was enough to make him come, pathetically so as he whines and whimpers and bites at your skin as you ride him to oblivion the argument completely forgotten the minute he has that pussydrunk look on his face.

Gojo who by the time you get him to come a second, third…fourth? time he’s babbling little apologies because he’s finally realizing you were right the whole time.

Who said that though????

Geto Vers Sukuna Vers Toji Vers

[blueberryxbloom]

♡ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐜's 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐲 ♡

[Mothboyxreader]

While moving to a new house, there are also things to discover and explore. For some reason, you went straight to the attic, perhaps because sometimes it harbor forgotten treasures or because you just feel like it. Who knows.

As you entered the attic, it was dark, and the air was thick with dust, causing you to cough. The silence was suddenly shattered by a loud crash and a heavy thud, startling you. With a heart-pounding, you quickly fumbled for your phone.You turned on the flashlight, illuminating the place, revealing the boxes that had fallen.

As you sifted through the boxes, a swarm of moths suddenly fluttered toward you. Amidst the chaos, you felt something cold brush against your skin. A hand, an actual hand with fingers. Panic surged through you as you tried to run with a tight grip on your phone, but you stumbled and fell. Suddenly, someone pinned you down. However, their eyes weren't on you but were fixed on the light of your phone. They snatched it out of your hand and sat on top of you.

"Shiny... mine," they said with a hint of possessiveness in their tone as they hugged your phone tightly, as if claiming it as their own.

Your heart was racing, and you struggled to understand what was happening. You simply tried to push them off, but they held on, mumbling incoherently about the "shiny."

Eventually, they lay on your chest, hugging your phone. To the strange creature, you were merely a soft, warm bed. Strangely enough, you felt a little jealous as they hugged your most treasure possession.

Did you want your phone back, or did you wish you could be your phone?

[lady-of-moths]

Lingerie HCs - Sanji, Ace, Law, Zoro

Word count: 300

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Sanji: 

Over the moon with whatever type of lingerie you wear, but above all, with the fact you did all that for him.

Assures you it's not necessary, but he certainly appreciates it

Will probably get a nosebleed

Will feel up every inch of you body trying to commit every little detail to memory forever

Is thoroughly convinced he's the luckiest man alive 

(One shot: Electric Blue; WC: 8,200)

Ace: 

Is curious about edible underwear

Loves to see you in lingerie from time to time - the skimpier, the better 

Hint at wearing lingerie under your clothes and he'll follow you to the nearest bedroom or broom closet instantly

A nice set of lingerie will get his motor running in no time. After that, be prepared for him to rip it off you with his teeth. As nice as the lingerie may be, he finds that it often gets in the way and would much rather have you in your birthday suit - he's practical like that.

Law: 

Claims he doesn't care about it, but it's clear it does things to him every time you wear it

Will grumble about you distracting him from work

Big fan of lace and spandex

Sees it as a distraction and a tease, and will tease the everloving fuck out of you in bed to punish you for it. Hope you know how to beg.

Zoro: 

Zoro doesn't really care about lingerie, I'm sorry. He doesn't really see the need for all the frills.

Can be quite dense about it, so hinting might not be enough. He’s more the "If you wanted to get fucked, you could have just said so" kinda guy (who said romance was dead?)

He’ll definitely let you wear it if you want to - it’s a ‘he gets off on you getting off’ kinda thing. 

Will still tease you about it though. Loves to see you get flustered. 

Tag list:

@bitchimasnake-sss

@captainportgasdace

[quarterlifekitty]

moth!reader’s wing gets injured and konig freaks out. i’m thinking it gets like torn or smth please and thank you 🩷🩷

"Mottechen-- please stay still, let me see," he pleads, gently taking the tip of your wing between his thumb and forefinger to spread it.

Just as he feared. A tear. You had no nerves in your wings, so you weren't in any pain, at least. But it still hurt his heart to see. They were so delicate, and he was always so careful-- but he couldn't protect you from everything, it seemed. Luckily, no pieces were missing. Not that you could use your wings to begin with, but they were a a point of pride for him.

Despite his size, König is actually quite precise with his hands. His fine motor skills have been forged in the fires of miniature model assembly. So it's no hardship for him to gently brush the lightweight glue along the fissure in your wing. What is hard for him is having to restrain you so that you don't squirm and cause any further damage. He hates having to do it-- but it's for the best.

König keeps a gentle pressure on your wing, pinning it to the table as it dries. If you were to try to beat them now, they could get stuck together. When he lets you up, he apologizes as if he'd just had to pull a bullet out of you, hugging you to him and kissing over your face, his poor siedenmotte.

He keeps you in bed for a while, it feels like every few minutes he's checking on your tear to see that nothing's happened. He'll relax in a few days. Just make sure he sees your wingspread, all fine and functional, next time you're riding him.

[iridescent-solstice]

Old fic for an au I was planning out with the character: Claude Faustus | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: {MDNI‼ This fic contains stuff not meant for minors to read. I do not want you to interact with this, please respect my wishes or you will be blocked. Contains themes of a/b/o dynamics, possessive partner, yandere themes, stuff of this category} |

{Wolf spider!Claude X moth!reader}

No one expected you to enjoy being mated to Claude Faustus, but here you are… Not one to take many risks, this was daunting for you. Usually being very cautious and rarely acting impulsively. You knew all it'd take for you to be captured is one wrong move... But ever since you had accepted him as yours. You began to stir up trouble. At first it was daunting, to rely upon someone, but as time passed on you found yourself enjoying it. Enjoy being around Claude. Finally letting your guard down enough to enjoy every day to its fullest. Long gone were the days you’d have to sleep with one eye open in case of intruders or worry about running out of food. Because like the amazing mate he was, not only was no one allowed to lay a finger upon you, but the pantry was always stocked with the honey and nectar, what you craved daily…. Well, it wasn't the only thing you craved but he did well to satisfy your other needs as well

But as reserved and introverted as you were. That didn't mean you stayed out of trouble. Often getting into strange predicaments and disappearing for long hours. You were quite the energetic one. Very rambunctious and full of curiosity. The gift of flight usually led to long adventures. He didn't seem to mind them. He did, but we all know he's great at playing pretend. You felt relieved. Finally, someone not hot on your tail. Finally, someone that gave you the freedom to be yourself...

The other moths in your colony which had attempted to court you, felt like they had every right to restrict you. Overbearing to an unhealthy degree so it's no wonder you never settled for them… No. You're too free spirited to be tied down. But that didn't mean Claude was hands off with you. No, in fact he had many rules and regulations you were more than happy to abide by. And if you weren't… Well, he was more than happy to put you back in your place. The place by his side. 

It wasn't until you disappeared for a day and a half did Claude begin to reconsider his leniency on your routine escapade. Because as sweet as he was with you. He wasn't one to share, and certainly wasn't one to let what was his leave so freely. He was almost too sweet with you, sickeningly so sometimes. Smothering with his affections. Borderline obsessive. Almost as if he didn't quite know how to love. It certainly took him some time to adjust to taking care of you. Once he got a hang of it though? He was a natural…. Coddling and often babying you. Leaving your mind hazy. Sometimes not letting you do anything by yourself. Most would often find you perch upon his lap, nuzzling into his chest as he dealt with trespassers. With his hands running up and down your back, wings, legs, anything he could get his hands on. Fully showing you off to the dismay of those cowering under him. His favourite was when the arch of your tiny foot fit perfectly into the palm of his hand and the shudder you’d give when his thumb would gently be stroking your ankle... If he had a little less self-control than usually, he probably would’ve taken you right then and there. Yes, in front of said audience. (He's icky like that)

“You’re too precious to be out on your own.”

He couldn't stop the nagging thought in the back of his head that argued with him every time you headed out… He knew had to play it safe or you’d run away. Fly away where he couldn’t reach you. So, he prods around your mind quite often. Asking your opinion on matters, what you feel about certain things, etc. Trying to understand you. To know you, it makes your heart swell and quickly turns you all lovey dovey and sappy. But you misunderstand… This is not to entertain you… Oh no, rather it’s to find out how to better capture you. To make you his in mind, body, and soul… So, when you made the pricey mistake to return back to the den gravely injured… He had no qualms wrapping you in his arms tightly and pinning you in his web. After treatment but nonetheless... Poor unfortunate you had warmed your way into his heart. He’d be less inclined to let you leave, making up silly excuses, but after some time it's not like you’d wanna leave after he’d be done… satisfying you.

“Its for your own safety, you need me! You would do well to understand that”

[ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @saradika-graphics]

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

part two

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[daggos]

Hazbin hotel :D

These are just some hc of a moth reader's 'interactions' with Val. Das all.

I got this finished earlier today but wanted to post the other first so this might have made a little sense in some strange way. Anyway. @ourmurdermassiah

The True Virgin Tiger Moth (intro)

Reader is in hell for poisoning their (abusive) s/o(and many others)

Reader looks nearly identical to Val, only difference is the eye color and even then, it's a hue off

Surprisingly Christian. Christian conservative. Will read Bible verses to a demon if they start pissing Reader off

Runs a bakery

Routinely steals Val's clothes, just cause

Impersonates Val to steal more of his clothes

Ruins his reputation, again, just cause

Has never actually met face to face with Val

Reader is going to help at the "happy" hotel

Will likely give Angel a panic attack. Or make him angry

Someone will cause tears from the reader. There is no stopping it

Reader is religiously abstinence. Aka, Reader is a virgin.

Reader very much does not like touch

Reader gets along with Rosie and Alastor after they realize that "This isn't Val, this is someone better :D"

Charlie feels bad for Reader for yelling

The first thing you see is red.. everything.. Red sky, red building, red.. people? Your attention is quickly directed to some of the first off-color in this place.

A neon green sign that reads, "Welcome to Hell!" with some letters flickering like the light bulbs haven't been changed in years. The sign seemed to be the only clear thing you could see. Your vision felt as if you were looking through frosted glass.

You attempt to prop yourself up with seemingly extra weight on your sides. When you gaze down, there lies an extra set of arms. You quickly rush over to find some sort of reflective surface, which you find rather difficult with the new, retched sight.

You manage to feel around for a window, finding a rather tall, stylish looking moth staring back. Purple skin, large, pointed teeth, a single gold tooth on the right side of your face.

You collect yourself quickly. You knew you were going to hell after all. You had murdered many. Mainly your horrid s/o, may God rest his soul.

You look down to "see" your bottom set of hands move to a rather obvious praying position, hands clasped in front of you. You couldn't seem to move them apart even if you wanted to. They were out of the way now, so you didn't mind.

As you make your way down the sidewalk, curious about what is here (smiling all the while), you watch people quickly rushing around (running away from you), hearing every now and again a loud bang with a chorus of screams.

"Everyone is so lively here!" you hum to yourself.

You "look" around for a bit longer before carefully making your way to what seemed to be a clothing store if you were to guess.

Before you get the chance to go inside, a flyer flew against your leg. When you manage to catch it, you see that it looks to be advertising some sort of building? You have to look incredibly close to the poster, clutching the edges of it and squinting your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision (unknowing of the worry everyone around you has for the poor soul that made the poster).

It seems to be requesting... something... for the- "Mappy Motel"? "Hally Halol"? You smack yourself, laughing lightly, when you realize how close you were the first time.

While the name was still rather strange to you for Hell, "Happy Hotel" makes more sense than the others.

You pocket the poster for later when you have a better understanding of what is around you. And with that, you stroll into the store next to you.

You make your way up to a counter swiftly despite your sight disadvantage, and before you can even raise your hand to request some services, a group of three rush over to you.

"Everything is ready for you, sir," one mumbled. "Sir"? You had only just arrived, and you were getting honorifics? Granted, the wrong ones, but they were clearly helping YOU, so, what were you to do?

Accept whatever help they give, obviously.

They were quick to hand you a pair of glasses that honestly didn't seem like they'd do much, but to humor them, you took a look through them. And goodness, were you glad you did.

It was as if someone had finally turned on the defrost for the frosted windshield. You could see!

You couldn't celebrate first too long as quickly after, a coat was moved onto your shoulders. Or, at least, they tried to. It was now that you realized just how tall you are now.

To try to help, you bend down a little, but that seemed to startle them for some reason. You don't get the chance to apologize before a rather large hat is placed on your head, and they back away with a quick bow.

You smile again and swiftly turn to leave. You aren't sure what all just happened and want to leave before anything else occurs to make it feel like you shouldn't be there. You give a quick thanks and exit out the door.

It's after the door is shut, and you have already walked a ways down the street before you remember the flyer you found. With your new sight, you retrieve it and get to reading.

You skim through it, finding many strange colors that look like they wouldn't work well together, but the thought was nice. The flyer explains that there is a hotel on the edge of the "pride ring" that is accepting all who wish to be redeemed.

You look at it for a long moment, a mental debate before you make your decision.

You have no interest in being redeemed, but you have no issue in helping others who may want it. And so, you head over to one of the few who are left around you. They seemed to be a humanoid lizard, somehow seeming weak in your eyes.

"Excuse me? Do you have a moment?" You wave at him, catching his attention easily. He looks around before pointing to himself in a confused manner. "Yes! You!" He gains a fearful look. What for?

You make it over to him and show him the flyer. "Do you know where I can find this hotel?"

He points a shaky finger over to a tall building in the distance. It looks run down but definitely has potential. You give the man a nod of thanks and begin walking.

First day in Hell, and somehow, you can't wait for the next. You get the feeling this is gonna be fun.

And.. why do you feel like someone is cursing you out?

[heartfullofleeches]

Bugman's family freaking tf out when the lights in their home begin flickering on and off at night, but it's just Moth Hybrid Darling using the new clap on, clap off lights Bug installed for Darling to alert them when they were outside.

"Has our lord awaken already?!"

"I'm not ready! I just adopted a new kitten and she's finally starting to warm up me!!"

-

Bugman: Hello there. You gave my cousins quite the scare when they came to visit the other night.

Moth Hybrid Darling, excitedly clapping all four of their hands together: :D ♡

Bugman: I missed you too. I'm glad you return to me on your own volition. It would be barbaric to clip your wings, but I cannot stand the thought of losing you either.

[ilostthewar]

I think it’s a running joke that everyone can tell when Ghost returns from spending the night at your place. There are lots of signs, but one of them is that he smells like he rolled around in a bath and Bodyworks. Big lieutenant who scares anyone who so much as glances his way, and then he walks past and… is that a hint of honeysuckle and vanilla?

Obviously no one who likes breathing says anything to him. But everyone knows that they have a brief window for their tomfoolery cause if he spent the night with his bird, he’s more than likely in a good mood.

[sleepymothafterhours]

Arguing with Geto....

Unlike arguing with Gojo, arguing with Geto will lead to him eating you out like there’s no tomorrow to make up for it. Only if he’s wrong though. I feel like you don’t fight often because he’d be good at most conflict resolution and know what you both need in order to solve the conflict. But in the event he can’t eating you out is normally the way to solve that little attitude you take with him. He has tears stinging in your eyes as he pulls yet another orgasm from you. “You can gimme one more right baby? Wanna make it up to you, was so mean to my pretty girl.” He’d coo at you, such sweet words for such cruel ministrations that he does not let you run from what so ever.

On the other hand if you’re the one wrong he has you choking on his cock in seconds the minute you realize it. The whole thing. He does not care if you’re crying while you choke on it. “You can fucking take it pretty. Cmon, use that mouth for something other than arguing with me yeah?” And once he’s satisfied and has come dripping down your chin, that he wipes up with his thumb before promptly sticking it in your mouth with a “tsk, messy girl.” He flips you over and fucks you for at least 3 hours.

But who said that!! Must’ve been the wind

Since you guys liked the Gojo one so much I figured maybe a Geto version was in order,

Peace and love whores <3

Sukuna Vers Gojo Vers Toji Vers