#salaryman is fucking stupid

[mayday396]

I just found out about the whole "Japanese Weathercaster Saya Hiyama dating Professional Tennis Player Yoshihito Nishioka" thing really fucking Cute and they deserve to Live a long, Fruitful and Healthy life together.

There's this Bullshit thing in China, Japan and Korea, that I will never understand cause I grew up and live in Singapore, and it's the Idol/Acting industry looking down on Idols who are in a Relationship with someone.

It's most prominent in Japan and Korea hence the whole BTS fanfic Shenanigans of Self Inserts kind of unrealistic to happen because they are kind of illegal also because Idol Fans are something else.

I just find it really upsetting that these Two People just want to be there for each other and support each other, they are seriously getting into Relationship and then Millions of Single Japanese Men possibly working in Salaryman Jobs decided to bash and Hate you for loving someone.

Like WTF, let them love each other, not to mention just because they were in a relationship, the News Agency Hiyama was in had their Stocks went down, if you truly Simp for someone you wouldn't allow this to happen.

GO OUTSIDE, TOUCH SOME GRASS, TAKE A WALK, QUIT YOUR SALARYMAN JOB AND STOP WORKING TO DEATH, JAPAN.

STOP BASHING ON PEOPLE WHO ALSO HAVE THEIR OWN LIVES, I DON'T CARE IF ITS SOME CULTURAL DIFFERENCE EVERYONE DESERVES LOVE, JAPAN.

LET PEOPLE LOVE EACH OTHER, JAPAN.

[lesbiankoby]

[remembers my gojos mom oc] really gotta get a handle on her cursed technique… i associate her with ringu lol. in my head. something like that. i think her technique is impractical for battle but she uses it to maintain an information network that keeps her on the good side of tokyos curse user population

[blkkizzat]

*TURN SOUND ON & UP :)

JJK MEN (GOJO, TOJI, CHOSO, GETO, SUKUNA, NANAMI) X READER

case files: doppelgänger curses have been running rampant and causing chaos around tokyo impersonating everyday civilians including sorcerers. jujutsu society has set up veils and your boyfriend has given you strict orders not to lower them to let anyone in the house but him—but how do you know if it’s really even him?

report notes: I love this game! If you haven't played go play a few rounds @ thatsnot-myneighbor[DOT]io (its free and all online). edit—choso up! nanami next!

kinktober 2023-2024 m.list | original teaser

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝙱𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂:

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟷........... THE STRONGEST

alias: 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriend—gojo satoru—should be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your door—gotta be a fake... right?!

classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟸........... THE SORCERER KILLER

alias: 𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚝.

visitor log: an extra toji fushiguro should be double the trouble and double the fun but neither likes to share, you know for sure which ones your toji—but do you really even care?

classifications: bratty!reader, brat taming, breeding, baby trapping, hair pulling, spit play + creampies, jealousy, grump!toji, daddy kink

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟹........... THE CULT LEADER

alias: 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: you shouldn't have even been watching the gate bunny, that's much too hard for you! so when you inevitably fuck up, your cult leader boyfriend—geto suguru—has the perfect punishment planned for you and your pretty pussy wait..in front of his entire congregation tho!?

classifications: dumb bimbo!reader, canonverse of nerd!geto's bunny!reader, cult rhetoric, dark themes, sensory deprivation/amaurophilia, punishment, humiliation, shibari, edging, overstim, exhibitionism, toxic jealousy, possessiveness, yandere Suguru, drugged sex, cnc/free-use reader, mentions of orgies/group sex and a bit of forced breeding.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟺........... THE SORCERER SALARYMAN

alias: 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒, 𝚔.

visitor log: your sweet boyfriend, nanami kento, promised he'd come visit you tonight bunny. awe baby, don't cry, you're sure that's actually him at the door but you'll run through your checklist just to make sure, won't you?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟻........... THE BIG BROTHER

alias: 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚘, 𝚌.

visitor log: crazed with quarantine boredom, you can't help but to tease your naive lil' roommate—choso kamo—but you'll know when to stop before it goes too far—or have you already let the real Choso in?

classifications: mommy kink, affectionate cruelty/cuteness aggression, begging, teasing, virgin!choso, creampies, masturbation, panty theft, mentions of menophilia.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟼.......... THE KING OF CURSES

alias: 𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊, 𝚛.

visitor log: thinking no curse would be stupid enough to enter his palace, when the king of curses comes home to find you fucking his doppel it's not going to end well for either of you—R.I.P. your pussy sis, any last words?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙳.𝙳.𝙳. 𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙺𝙺𝙸𝚉𝚉𝙰𝚃 — 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂: 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽.

xoxo 💋

report notes: yo so this was meant to be about 4k total and instead it turned out to be 4k per story so i'm breaking it up (fully completed 3 and making last minute edits on the others, so staggering them out). Consider this a kinktober all on its own lol (still doing stuff left over from last years though). btw—everyone who asked on my official taglist, kinktober or the teaser will still be tagged on each individual story but you can comment below if you haven't asked to be tagged already.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛ YANDERE SALARYMAN IS A FOOL FOR YOU .

ahhh, looks like you caught the attention of an overworked white collar! who is truly the victim here, you or him?

( yandere, perverted man!!!, nsfwish but no s3x, hes creepy :(( ) + thanks to my bbg for being my beta reader mwah mwah

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who is constantly overworked to the bone by his abusive boss. He's clocked in so many overtime hours that human resources is beginning to suspect something, but his co-workers keep pushing their work onto him that he can't help but go overtime. Working days always seem to be like this— constant yelling by his shitty boss, papers jamming the printer, co-workers dumping more work on him before time-out, the side-eyes and whispers of women directed at him in the elevator, and somehow always forgetting to bring the lunchbox his roommate made for him.  He's a pushover with no backbone, so he spends most of his nights banging loudly at his keyboard and cursing his own spinelessness.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who's just a walking black hole of negativity. It's already bad enough that he's been dealing with a lot of mental baggage from his childhood, but this stupid fucking black company is making him this close to fucking losing it.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who only wants to go pick up a coffee after work and sees you manning the cafe. Just a sweet little thing, working their student debt away at the new cafe's that opened up near his workplace. He tells himself that it's all part of your job to smile and be polite but fuck— your sweet grin's making his hands go clammy and his voice tremble.The line behind him shoots him judgmental glances because the creep is blushing and sweating and stumbling over his words but if you were ever annoyed, you don't show it on your face. No one’s been this nice to him, but when your fingers brush over his shaking ones when you hand him his order, electricity spikes from his fingertips and sends his heart into overdrive as you flash him another service smile. He has never believed in a god before, but upon meeting you, he might as well declare himself religious.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who feels super guilty about drooling over you when you're several years younger than him. You're just a college student trying to finish your studies while he's a white-collar slave about to enter his 30s. The contrast between you and him is like heaven and hell, and he curses himself for being such a stupid filthy pervert as he palms himself to your Instagram page he's managed to find.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who is once again tired and about to die from another night of overtime, heading out to catch the last ride home and surprised to see you closing up shop. You brighten when you recognize him as one of your regulars (he could give two shits about the black coffee he was ordering when he was too busy ogling you). He stammers and shrinks when you ask him about how he's doing out of concern. You mention his eyebags and his pale skin and his overall sickly demeanor and you fret over him as you two walk to the station. He's at a loss for words when you force the ham and cheese croissant into his hands and tell him to eat up, before waving at him with a grin as you enter your bus.

Woah. So like. You're in love with him, right?

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who goes fucking crazy over this interaction. He knows, he knows, he knows, okay?! You’re just nice like that, but his affection-deprived mind is going into overdrive and can’t help but overthink. But he has to stop himself. You’re probably only like that because you pity him, huh? Whatever’s on his pallid face and baggy eyes must have had you pitying the minimum wage salaryman. … This pity act is probably only to make you feel better about yourself, handing croissants out to whichever near-death white collar you see on the street like some sort of good Samaritan. Well, he doesn’t need it! You can fuck off with your—

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who finds himself in front of the cafe again, nervously adjusting his tie and wiping his clammy hands on his slacks before pushing the doors open. You’re on the morning shift today (haha wow what a coincidence) and the grogginess from waking up extra early today is wiped clean after you look up from the tabletop you’re wiping and shoot him one of your megawatt smiles. Fuck fuck fuck why’d you have to be so damn cute! A man could get the wrong idea, you know?!  

“Espresso for Doppo!” Your bright voice rings throughout the cafe and the salaryman has to gulp down his anxiety as he makes his way to the counter. His neck grows hot as he feels glares boring into the back of his head, and the only relief he has is your sunny smile when he picks up his order. “Thanks again for your patronage! Quite the regular here, aren’t you? All staff’s been ecstatic over a Matenro member stopping by here.”

Ugh… The staff knows him? Not only is an insignificant water flea like him taking up a space in your mind, but there are others as well? What could they be possibly saying about him? He nervously laughs, eyes darting around the place as he fidgets. “Uh, ah, y– you know me…?”

He can feel the look that you’re shooting him right now, and he wants to dig a hole for him to hide away in. “Of course! Matenro, the winners of the first Division Battle… waaah, I was so ecstatic when I saw you for the first time! You guys were so cool. I was even cheering you on during the second Division Battle.” You sigh sadly. “Well, Fling Posse’s good, but a Shinjuku local’s gotta stay loyal, y’know?” Oh, so it’s just about being loyal. What was he even thinking, getting his hopes up that maybe you liked Matenro, liked him, for their rap. Stupid, stupid, stupid— “Oh, but don’t get me wrong though! I love the way you guys do hiphop. Especially your screaming shtick, Kannonzaka! Can really feel the pent-up stress from Chuohku all the way to here, haha!”

Doppo shrinks into himself, using his work bag to try and hide the shaky smile that’s been threatening to break out onto his face. To… To think the cute barista he’s been crushing on for a month now is a fan of him… This kind of stuff only happened to Hifumi, not him! He doesn’t… He’s not quite sure to handle the situation. Instead he nods as you gush over Matenro and at the end, finally squeaks out a tiny little, “Th– Thanks!”

You shoot him a pitying look. Clearly all that rap about his pent-up stress and rage is clearly stemming from somewhere. Sighing and looking at the building in front of you, you see the skyscraper’s soulless windows and architecture and sigh. “Enjoy the coffee then, Kannonzaka. Being a black company worker is stuff but!” You shoot him a grin and a thumbs up. “I’m rooting for you and Matenro!”

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who’s reeling from your compliments and praise. Oh… Oh god. You– You liked him! Actually liked him. And, and you said you were cheering for him too! Well, him and Matenro, but still! He goes back to his apartment feeling more chipper than usual, something that his roommate notices. The creepy smile matched with the dark laughter as he enters their apartment isn’t exactly charming, but he’s happy to see him happy nonetheless. He thinks that he’s been wearing that gloomy look for far too long and he’s glad to know that he’s found someone to brighten up his days.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who has gained some courage to hold longer conversations with you. When you’re working the night shift and run into him after closing up, he’s glad to know that you take his dry humor very well. As the two of you silently walk together to the station, he can feel his heart beating so fast that he might near collapse. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks and swallows down the anxiety in his stomach. It’s already weird to see a near 30 man walking together with a fresh-faced uni student alone and at night, so he might as well not add more to his creepiness.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who has to bite down his tongue when you press up against him in the jampacked train. You smell like coffee and pastries and he— he tries not to sniff himself— probably smells like sweat. A sudden lurch of the train has you clinging to him to maintain stability and oh god oh god oh god you smell so fucking good shit. He suppresses the urge to sniff your hair. Instead, he (oh gosh he was really about to this) shakily wraps one arm around you, his palm on your lower back to offer you more support. You smile at him so sweetly, as if the dirty old man didn’t have the agenda of just trying to feel you up. Oh… oh gosh he can feel the dip of your lower back… trailing to your—

He hopes you don’t feel the tent down… there. Though with how tightly you two are up against each other, he highly doubts that.

“Bye Mr. Kannonzaka!” You cheerily wave to him as you both part ways at your stop. Though he is unable to match your energy, he waves you off with a faint smile before you bound off to your home. His eyes linger long as your figure disappears into the distance and he’s left all on his lonesome.

— Then he runs off to the nearest bathroom. People cast him weird glances as he rushes off to the farthest bathroom stall and sits on the toilet, burying his head in his hands as he tries to make sense of the numerous thoughts rampaging in his head.

Oh god. That just happened, didn’t it? Something straight out of those perverted doujinshis that happen on trains. And he was the ugly bastard, wasn’t he?! The weird, creepy, scummy ones preying on innocent girls that don’t deserve their fantasies. He was a hopeless case. He should do the entire world a favor and make away with himself, but then he couldn’t see your pretty face in the hell that he was going to. You didn’t deserve this—

His phone dings. He checks the text notification that comes from you.

[Your Name]: heya ! just curious about what brand your bag is. felt it on the train and dats sum serious quality leather!

He screams into his hand. The man in the stall beside him angrily knocks on their shared wall to shut him up. He rack his brain to try and figure out any possible way to properly answer without rousing suspicion until you send another text.

[Your Name]: just kidding~ (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ 

…

… You’re going be to the death of him, you. Youngsters these days.

you thought this was a general yandere fic, didn't you?! get hypmiced!!! /matenros you/

[captain-hawks]

THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it. 

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause. 

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck. 

This is a disaster waiting to happen. 

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him. 

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement. 

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental. 

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you. 

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass. 

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman. 

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame. 

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught. 

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs. 

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again. 

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive. 

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went. 

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?” 

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins. 

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair. 

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself. 

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you. 

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head. 

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it. 

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones. 

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something. 

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect. 

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help. 

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want. 

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue. 

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him. 

You hate him. 

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer. 

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit. 

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand. 

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into. 

No. 

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere. 

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so. 

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together. 

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes. 

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship. 

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.   

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door. 

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable. 

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up. 

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.” 

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment. 

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely. 

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out. 

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you. 

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life. 

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours. 

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. 

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit. 

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens. 

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint. 

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.  

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer. 

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking. 

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean. 

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context. 

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him. 

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt. 

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole. 

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled. 

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along. 

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away. 

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand. 

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head. 

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it. 

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick. 

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him. 

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say. 

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[sisi-halloway]

One Night Stand: Nanami x Reader

Nanami meets a flirty, noncommital reader in a bar before a one-night stand! Tw: Major smut, rough language, alluding to light bondage,

You looked at your phone, thrumming your nails on the bar.

This place blows.

Your date had stood you up. That's fine. He was just some Tinder fling anyways. But that meant you were here in this bar alone with nobody to pay for your drinks. That was embarrassing.

You noticed a guy in a suit not too far away, a couple seats down. He had a neat drink in front of him. He was alone too. And not bad looking.

You sauntered over to him, perching on the empty black barstool next to him.

"Hey."

When he looked up, his expression was unmoving. His green glasses were kinda funny. You continued.

"I couldn't think of anything witty to say, so... I'll just say that you're pretty cute."

The man scoffs, downing the rest of his drink.

"You think so?"

You nod. Your eyes picked him apart bit by bit. From his fresh haircut to his ropey hand veins to his sharp jaw. The liquor inside you was possessing you to act bolder than you would've ever imagined. You let it happen. This wouldn't be the only terrible thing you did drunk.

"Sure I do... Anything keeping you busy tonight?"

After popping his neck with ease, the man turned to you fully. His eyes seemed to reflect the lights from the bar, refining them into beams that burned through your soul. Maybe it was those stupid glasses, maybe it was him.

"Did you want to?"

___

You didn't think you'd score so soon with him. Or so well.

While driving him to your place, you talked a little. While his low voice coasted over the waves of your rock music, he drew lines on your thigh. The fabric of your bottoms made way for his slender fingers to skim across your skin. He even leaned over at a red light to swathe wet kisses along your neck and shoulder. He knew how to warm you up.

He was good.

Between the flirtatious touches, he seemed to have a normal conversation with you. You told him you worked at a shipyard. He told you he was a salaryman. He felt loose enough with you to talk about how stupid it all was while squeezing your upper thigh. Your smile never left your lips. You loved a cynical bitch. Almost as cynical as you.

He told you his name was Nanami.

"Cool..." You replied.

He chuckled.

"You don't want to tell me yours?"

You shook your head. You didn't like getting close to your play toys; sometimes even your name was too close for comfort. You weren't much for introductions, you just wanted something to moan while he rearranged your insides.

"Nah... You'll know if you need to."

---

"Nice place," he said, loosening his tie as you unlock your front door.

"You think so?" You cooed.

Nanami slid his strong hand against your lower back as he followed you inside. You felt chills crawl along your skin like beetles.

"Sure I do."

Your clothes had found the floor not even three steps into your apartment. Nanami's hands hungrily tore them off as you two stumbled into your bedroom. It all happened so fast, your back against that bed. You stared up at him unbuttoning those slacks with an eagerness that flattered you. His silver rings caught the moonlight, casting a small, white gleam on your bare skin. Soon his shirt was gone and that ugly spotted tie was around your wrists. With a stern force, he seized your hands and held them above your head. Your legs were pinned up too, and he was inside you before you could say anything snarky.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

He was good.

He'd played his cards right in the car. Everything he did was a calculated move that led up to this moment. Every touch, every kiss, every nibble on your ear. When he slid inside your tightness, it was easy. Your slickness was the coerced welcome wagon into the warm embrace of your sex. You felt him stretch you as he began to move roughly. His grunts turned you on.

"You okay?" He asked.

How thoughtful.

"Yeah... keep going, Nanami."

His stomach twisted when you said his name. He thrust into you hard for good measure, leaving your mouth gaping.

Skin to sweaty skin, you two made something more real than love. He fucked you in all 31 different flavors except vanilla. Out of all the people who'd ever been in his place, he solved the puzzle of satisfying you. It was the best sex you'd ever had, really.

It was rough, it was nasty, and it was so, so hot. He'd taken the lead but had done everything you asked. He even spat in your mouth.

Heaving for breath, you roll over to find the coolest side of the disturbed bed. Nanami's hair was a mess, plastered to his flushed face and neck. The golden strands looked good against the purple bruises you'd left on his skin. He lay with his arm over his eyes, covers draped over his bottom half. Even after sobering up a little, he was still just as attractive as before. You were almost sad you used protection.

"Thanks... you were really good."

Your compliment sounded a bit backhanded but it was earnest. Part of you wanted to tell him just how good, but you left it at that.

Nanami looks at you out of the corner of his narrow eyes, something of a smirk on his face. It made you want to go again.

"So were you."

You offered him some water. He politely accepted and so you went to go get him some. You felt his eyes fuck you all over again as you walked to the kitchen stark naked.

He was a real gentleman. He offered to change your sheets, asking you where they were kept. You threw the soiled ones in the wash, the sweat stains the butt of an unspoken joke between the two of you. He was checking all the boxes. You decided to give him a special privilege you hadn't given anyone else before.

"You wanna stay?"

He seemed to consider it a moment, but he nodded. It was Friday night. There wasn't an excuse to pass up a night of closeness with you. Nanami craved the intimacy you could provide and appreciated the noncommital quality.

"Sure."

After a quick shower, the two of you flopped back into bed. You were shocked when he grabbed you by your shoulder, pulling you close. You put your head on his marked chest, closing your eyes when he began sorting his fingers through your wet hair.

"Nanami?"

He waited a bit to answer, almost asleep.

"Mh?"

You kiss his skin and mutter your name to him. You didn't see it, but you heard the smile in his voice. His hand lazily drifted down every bubble of your spine. He dared to place a kiss on your temple, speaking against your hair.

"(y/n)... It's nice to finally meet you."

[myfaveisfuckable]

Janeway:

- will literally martyr herself at the drop of a hat

- will kill you if she thinks it's what she needs to do for her crew

- will not kill you if she thinks you've got residue humanity after decades as a borg drone even though realistically she really should've (tho ofc we're all glad she didn't)

- will violate your personal rights if she thinks you're not "human" enough and also compare you to a replicator (yes I'm still salty about that. wait what was the question? right, i'll get back on track)

- will say absolutely deranged shit like "then be a good rat and find us the cheese" in the a tone that makes me lose my mind and basically give everyone a crush on her (and also mommy issues) if they spend too long in her vicinity, leading to a very loyal crew

- her solution to having a crush on a fictional character was to delete his wife (very relatable but also very not normal)

- she wanted to watch hot Q on Q sex (possibly for scientific reasons) and looked very disappointed when it was severely underwhelming

- WHO brings a bathtub on a spaceship???

- there's more but y'know

Dokja:

1. Introduced as a bland everyman only made exceptional by circumstance, slowly revealed to be the most batshit, suicidally depressed, bisexual maniac in existence. Uses self-sacrifice like a tool and is completely unaware of how beloved he is by the people he keeps pulling into his fold because he is so deeply and utterly convinced that he is fundamentally unlovable. He's like sixty foundational traumas stacked in a trench coat and he's always sixty steps ahead of everyone else and he loves the people he chooses so so dearly and people keep calling him ugly even though he's canonically pretty average and holy shit dude get some therapy please

2. do NOT let the pretty official art fool u. this is the most average 28 year old salaryman going through the absolute most in the apocalypse. ORV is a story about the most average man on earth with the most mundane, depressing life. and one story that he read to cope with it all. he's just some guy, but he is also the most beloved specialest guy. not because he had some hidden talent. just because he loved a story ferociously and also he likes getting in trouble on purpose. he is the most unreliable narrator you will ever find. every piece of the universe loves him for his average stupid self. you will understand when you read 👍

3. GHBJNKML i am praying someone has sent him in but. unreliable narrator the most ever and also i just. love him so much. orv in itself is such a goo dnovel but like. kim dokja is the definition of love and the most caring person but also he's suffered so much and while. yknow we're introduced to him as a kind of nerd but like. listen he's so fucked up juts LISTEN

4.He looks like a neet-pulled office worker. Spoilers:

turns out to be one of the oldest things in the world and the only being keeping it going and alive. He needs to be there to keep the world going. Also, he got like kind of adopted by Persephone and hades. Like his blorbo is real and in love with him. But this man looks so average that people call him ugly to his face just because he’s surrounded by absolute gorgeous people.

[seakicker]

juju walk with me rinne fucking milf reader hes putting her in her place do u see the vision

alternatively chubby chaser sylvain with mean reader talkin abt how he needs to breed her nd break her so shes the perfect housewife... if u dont fw sylvain like dat anymore u can insert anyone else im just thinking about mean men putting me in my place

here we are walking together my sweet anon...

it is so personally annoying to me when characters have canon parents because i'm like How am i supposed to make reader (insert character here's) mom for nefarious fanfiction purposes when (insert character here) already has canon parents :rolling_eyes: this is the pitfall i'm currently experiencing with trying to make alhaitham fuck (You) as kaveh's mom :p same goes for niki right now LOL how can i make rinne fuck niki's mother when the latter already has a canon alive mom... my life is so hard

at any rate... taking the stereotype of "you young folk don't know anything and we, your elders (was born in 1982) have leagues more life experience than you" and flipping it on its head with rinne and an older lady reader. he's not someone who particularly enjoys being belittled or talked down to, so i think having a superior that acts haughtier and a ridiculous amount wiser than him would really get under his skin :p

recently, i've been enjoying salaryman/office employee rinne under the guise of "sometimes it's fun to put characters in settings where you would not expect to see them" because while we anticipate somebody as boisterous and ridiculous as rinne in a setting like idol work or, hell, even an upperclassman/superior setting simply on the account of him being a more confident and outgoing personality, i don't think we can easily envision him in something as monotonous and boring as office life, lol. i think an older (maybe mid-late 20s) rinne stuck in a boring office job he can't stand because life often takes you in places you don't really wanna be paired with an older, steadfast, mature 40s-something office manager would be impossibly delicious. taking out his frustration with his boring life and stupid job, trying to relive the ecstasy and carefreeness of his younger years, and putting a woman who can't seem to do much else besides belittle him all in one fell swoop... are you still with me

SYLVAIN!!!!! HOW I MISS SYLVAIN!!!!! THE NTR AWAKENING EVER!!!!!!! sylvain needs to meet a woman that (keyword: attempts) attempts to put him in his place since he clearly enjoys the challenge of a woman telling him what to do when he's usually the one to tell them what to do and make them feel miserable, lol. why are you even trying to tell him off, anyways? you acting like you're different than other women he's dated in the past just gets on his nerves-- admit you're in it for the pleasure of fucking nobility and move on so both you and him can get on with your lives already. that's fine, that's fine-- out of the goodness of his kind and generous heart and sweet and gentle spirit, he'll give you a little hands-on training himself.

[amaranthdahlia]

If AFO could have made it as a basketball player then I think Yoichi could have made it as a j-idol or become a boring ass librarian climbing the shelves like an unsocialized cat

Clumsy librarian disaster Yoichi my beloved 💗💓💓💓💗

For a more hilarious career option imagine Yoichi as a pro-wrestler and for his persona he just wears his brother's 4XL suit because his coach said to wear something stupid and pretends to be a japanese salaryman LARPing as a super hero

basketball player afo is so fucking funny cuz i dont see afo as the type of person to work out or do any career that makes him exert physical strength/endurance (i mean, whos to say his six pack in canon isnt just quirk induced? have we EVER seen afo fight quirkless) but i think thats an alright idea! also idol yoichi is so cute, i really do think yoichi has the capability to be charming if he had the freedom to do. but im definently leaning onto the librarian idea, i like to think he prefers a more peaceful career!

meet cute of kudou having to save yoichi from a falling bookshelf ehe

ohygmdo ahkfjd i misread this and i thought u were talking about how yoichi is wearing afo's BODY SUIT to wrestle and i was wondering how thisll even work out 😭😭 anyways that idea is so silly haha

[imustbenuts]

there's 2 fun facts you can infer about AITSF and AINI that isn't spoken about in game if you know enough about japan (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR AITSF)

1. mayumi started her diner likely in the 1980's, before an economic crash happened

when you first meet her (iirc), one of the things she says about her diner is that it was opened 30 years ago, and quote,

this line seems weird if you know nothing about it, but there was a major economic crash in the 1990s that still has lingering effects to this day.

in short, the banks were so over leveraged into the stratosphere that loan interests were crazy low, and everyone was wealthy and partying until the bubble popped. when it did, it was catastrophic, resulting in the 1990s being known as 'the lost decade'. new graduates couldnt find jobs and people struggled a lot. corporations suddenly stopped hiring fresh graduates. the perception of the 'safe salaryman life' began to see its death in this decade, it was painful.

anyway, mayumi pulling through this era really does mean the diner was doing GOOD. like, CRAZY GOOD.

spoilers: and this also means date was likely part of the lost decade. born 1977, it would've been 1995 when he reached 18. he would've graduated into a landscape of poor job opportunities, so being a civil servant (a cop) would've been a safe choice aside from his own possible motivations at the time.

speaking of.

2. date's car is stupid expensive. like, stupid, fucking, shouldn't-even-be-driven expensive. (potentially over 3k usd every 2 years minimum*)

so. in japan, cars are allowed to be on the road after passing an inspection. 車検 shaken, as it is commonly called, occurs every 2 to 3 years depending on the type of car it is. since the Ford Falcon is a common car, it would have to be inspected every 2 years.

all this system is in place to ensure the integrity of the car. in another way, shaken incentivizes people to renew their old cars for newer, more efficient models. the avg lifespan of a car in japan seems to be 12 years, and also, most people living in tokyo actually don't own a personal vehicle.

now, due to how shaken works, it would cost between ¥100,000 (US$747 rn) and ¥200,000 (US$1495) to renew... for newer cars. for older cars, it's more. plus, each time a car inspection fails, it'll cost even more time and money to get that shaken approved.

i've found someone claiming that driving a 1992 Porsche 911 964 RS meant paying ¥400,000 (US$2990 rn). (link) (EDIT: this was written in 2014)

now, best case scenario for Date's car being a '89, his shaken would cost maybe slightly more than ¥400,000 (US$ 2990 at time of writing) every 2 years. also again, this does not take into effect whether his car would actually fail inspection and require a fix or replacement to its parts, leading to even more costs. so yeah, potentially far more than ¥400,000.

but! one thing about his car is that it seems to be modified, seeing as how a certain someone's (plural) vehicle in AINI is also modified. it's probably safe to assume that there's some degree of tinkering going on under ABIS'/MPD rules bending.

so, this means date's vehicle is either bleeding him dry, or is being paid with taxpayer's money, or shaken isn't a thing in uchikoshi's mind. i'd like to believe in the former, because this means date has

been blowing ¥400,000 every 2 years on his stupid fucking car

been blowing ¥¥¥ on cabaret club

blew ¥1,000,000 (US$7,473 rn) on his stupid fucking audio system

his mountain of porno mags???

feel free to draw your own conclusions about the economy of AITSF, the pay of ABIS agents, and his residence:

[slowd1ving]

[✦III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE] SNIPPET • . DR RATIO

honestly I'm so used to writing comedic scenes this is just bittersweet man :-(

warning: death but also not really, injury

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In retrospect, it was practically expected that your tired life would beget yet another tired cliché. 

There was something completely unoriginal in the series of misfortunes that befell the proletariat salaryman (read: you). In novels, movies, and the occasional game, the most ordinary of souls stumbled across a situation that chose them. For once, someone in their weary lives had need of them; not as a pushover, nor a lackey, but someone courageous and brave who became a hero. Forums and comments oft scorned these overused plotlines—and you agreed, of course—but it was an interesting premise to think about. 

“There’s a survivor on the third floor—”

Still, no matter how intriguing the promise of escape from the mundane was, it was pointless. It wouldn’t happen. 

“Hey— can you get up? Blink if you can hear me, alright? 

The accident in the lab was almost poetic. Of course, when a protagonist encountered an explosion in their place of work, there was always an accompanying montage that indicated something was wrong. Whether it be the change in key in the background chords, or a close up of cracking machinery, the audience got some sort of closure as to why. Was it fate? Was it the cruel machinations of man? Was it just an unfortunate accident?

“We need oxygen here—he’s going into shock! Help—you—get a gurney immediately!”

But actually, there was none of that fanfare for you. Just a sluggish warmth that crawled from your limbs and back into your heart, from limbs far too cold to move. No, not cold. You simply couldn’t feel them—much like when a body part suddenly fell asleep on you. 

If you scrunched your face a bit, you could smell the acrid wisps of rubble: paint chips and stone all congealing into an antiquated scent. You couldn’t exactly see, but maybe that was for the better. 

“What’s happen—” Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth: heavy and contorted as you awkwardly sounded out your question. An explosion? A gas leak? A mine that somehow went off? There was something wet dribbling from your mouth; tasting like white hot iron, seeping past your aching lips. A hero would know. A hero would have that information playing out panel by panel while they bled out, farewells and anguish for their loved ones already melding into the fabric of existence. 

Ow. 

“Shh, don’t talk, okay? We’ll get you out of here, alright?” There weren’t any reassurances for your state. No ‘you’ll be okay’, no ‘stay with me, alright?’. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, but it was in that moment when you wished you were—dropping out before doing your degree and doctorate, keeping far from the lab, and holding on to your life with blissful ignorance on your side. 

You opened your mouth. 

“No, you don’t need to say anything, alright?” The voice was kind, you noted drowsily. If not a little clumsy, swaddling you in a foil blanket like some overgrown child. Well. You couldn’t see it, and neither could you feel it, but you could feel your limbs lolling this way and that way at the movements—like some grotesque, decommissioned marionette. 

At least it didn’t hurt.  

“Thank you,” you whispered. There was nothing outrageous about your last words. Like the rest of your life, the syllables were as ordinary as they came. A quiet beginning. A quiet end. There was nobody to say goodbye to, nobody to wait for past the veil. 

It was an accident. 

“I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?” 

Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end. 

The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above. 

[byebyassociation]

To Be Wanted

Art by @laugtherhyena

Behold! A fic (unfinished) about two women falling in love during the end of the world. It won’t end well but they spend time together while they still can.

Mid-canon crack pairing

No update schedule, this one I write when I feel like it. (Snippet and link below the cutoff)

“ The men were fighting outside. Training, they called it. But it looked like they were fighting the air. The boxer and the salaryman, throwing punches at nothing to strengthen their form.

As usual she’d tucked herself away in the train, the furthest back car was her safe haven. She could observe and read people if she felt like it, or she could just rest. Either way, this was for the best.

Marina didn’t stay long on the train anymore. Her thoughts weren’t happy either.

“Stupid. You idiot.” She curled up into a ball in her favorite dark corner.

It was a mistake. A big mistake. The kind of fuck up you can’t just blot out of your memory. The way he tensed, the way he screamed, and then— She just felt sick with herself.

She didn’t want to think about his face but it was burned into her memory. He was a shitty father, a real piece of work… but… was she right to do it? He said so many awful things and she just…

She crouched low, moving so that her eyes were barely peering over through the glass. She held her position and looked out the window, hands on the sill. She didn’t want to think anymore, she wanted to embrace the fog and just… watch life pass her by. She pried open the window and popped her head out. She listened to the silence. There was running water a little ways away… and people talking in the frontmost car. But mostly there was just the sounds of the wind. Blowing grass, a misty heavy fog cloaking over everything. Rher’s power was emanating from it all. She couldn’t say she wholly liked it. But it was better than just sitting in the dark. ”

[nutongzhi]

salaryman life is so stupid and boring no wonder those twinks resort to fucking on the job

[1863-project]

Look, I never write fic anymore, but my roommate sent me a message about Pokemon fans’ new favorite salaryman using this stupid app and I laughed so I was obligated to write it.

Of course Geeta wasn’t at the meeting. She never had the time to be at these meetings. Instead she’d sent a subordinate, and he was currently droning on, boring everyone out of their minds and clicking through a PowerPoint faster than any of them could take notes on it.

The most average, unremarkable man in the room was seated at the far end of the table, barely paying attention and instead fiddling with his work-issued phone. He had the sound off, but that Tick Tock app all the kids were talking about - or was it TikTok, like the song? - was pretty liberal with its use of subtitles and video captions. Sound wasn’t necessary. That kid - Juliana, he was pretty sure was her name - mentioned some weird things you could do with augmented reality in the app, whatever the fuck that meant. He was old now, and had grown up with NES and SNES games and Thundercats and Transformers - wait, Transformers?

“AR Control JS Transformers.”

He understood about half of that name, at least. This might be doable.

After a few minutes of finagling and setup, which he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing right the entire time, he had a little semi truck and a d-pad at his command, and that truck was driving over to Geeta’s subordinate faster than he could order yaki onigiri with lemon. Upon arrival, he had the truck switch back to bot mode, and Optimus Prime was suddenly there on his phone throwing punch after punch into the boss’s face.

He hid a quick smile with his free hand. The meeting was almost tolerable now.

[stedes-incredible-library]

Hi! Same anon asking for fave lists, I’d love to hear from all the mods!

Hello! Here are some of our favourites in no particular order (mind the tags and also check the pairings!)

stuck in second gear by tediousdelusion [E], 69k nice

“I want a divorce.” Izzy’s said the words more times than once in the past eighteen years of marriage, but he means them this time. More than he ever has before, anyway. At the prow of the very expensive and very unnecessary boat parked in the driveway, Edward - Izzy’s idiot (soon-to-be-ex) husband - sighs and rolls his eyes. “Come on, Iz!” Ed shouts. He’s wearing a stupid fucking captain’s hat and has one foot propped against the rail. “The boat is an investment! And it’ll be fun.” Or, how Izzy Hands saves his marriage (and gains a boyfriend) by getting a divorce.

would you worship gravity by bitethehands [E], 60k

At precisely the seven-and-a-half hour mark, Izzy prepares the cabin for landing. Ed’s crackly voice buzzes over the loudspeaker with the announcement. He’s not thinking specifically of Finance Consultant Guy, nor of anything bar the inevitable banality of deboarding, so it genuinely catches him off-guard when a hand closes over his wrist. “Apologies for being forward, but what are you doing after this?” - Izzy is a flight attendant. Edward is a pilot. Stede is the first-class passenger who won’t stop chasing after them both.

piña coladas by faeeebaeee [E], WIP

The 80s are in full swing, and the golden decade of Nintendo Gameboys’ and Sony Walkmans’ has never looked better. In the neon jungle, Stede Bonnet, a young salaryman, meets enigmatic mechanic apprentice Edward Teach, and the pair strike up an unlikely friendship via fax machine, page beepers and gifts in the mail.

~Mod N

What Kind of Pirate Has a Friend? by @thetardigrape [E], 31k pre-canon

A story of Edward Teach and Jack Rackham, the two youngest pirates in Captain Hornigold's crew. Friendship, fucking, and fighting. Maybe some fuckery.

The Body Knows by @veeagainsttheday [M], 21k canon adjacent, magical realism, spooky vibes

Stede Bonnet thought he was finally free by faking his own death with a fuckery and leaving everything to his widow and children. He was wrong.

The World Beyond by @veeagainsttheday [E], 43k Alternate Universe

The Colorado River runs dry and sparks thirty years of Water Wars. Blackbeard is the most legendary water pirate in the desert; the Gentleman Pirate broke his heart. Now Stede is searching for the love of his life and Ed is planning his retirement. Unfortunately the remaining Cinco Gallos are still looking for Jim and the cults might be right about the biggest conspiracy theory of the last three decades...

~Mod A (I have a wildly hard time picking favorites of anything. What I've done here is pare down a selection of favorite authors, then shuffled through those for fics that truly haven't left me alone since I read them, then spun that down until I had the three that had the fewest hits. All three are by authors whose entire fandom catalogue I would recommend.)

tastes so sweet it hurts a little by florence_after_midnight [E], 8.3k

“Suits you,” Izzy says, hoping Ed hears the reverence in his voice. “You think?” Ed says, in a playful tone that makes it clear she’s not looking for reassurance but shamelessly fishing for compliments. Fair, Izzy thinks, she deserves all the praise in the world. He’s never been good with words, so he tries to put it all into the simple act of touching her. You’re the most beautiful woman in the fucking world, says the finger tracing the floral pattern of the lace. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, says his thumb running up her sternum. I’d gladly worship at your feet all day, says his left hand finding hers, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tight. or: The one where Ed buys lingerie and Izzy loses his mind about it.

take the pain, take the pleasure by @shatteredhourglass [E], 10k

“If I didn’t know better,” Ed says, hand tracing down Jack’s arm slowly, deceptively gentle, “I’d think you were fucking around with my things, Jack.” In which Ed and Izzy collectively menace the men who choose to get involved with them. Or, five times someone wasn't allowed to fuck Izzy Hands' pussy, and one time they were

everybody's got their limits (nobody's found mine) by @oopshidaisyy [E], 16k

After 153 days, killing Stede Bonnet had begun to lose its appeal. (Or: Izzy gets stuck in a time loop.)

~Mod 🐁

[hirugaymi]

Play it Cool, Guys! and think about the meaning of art and creation too

this cutesy little webcomic that is currently receiving an anime adaptation invites us to relax, laugh at ourselves and wonder a little bit about what it means to create and why we do it. 

I was convinced to watch this by a friend who told me “hey you should check it out, it’s moe anime with guys.” I was skeptical of it at first becuase, as a little bit of a pathetic young adult myself, I do not want to be attacked by guys doing the exact same stupid shit I do every other day on screen as a writhe in embarrassment. 

Then my friend showed me a scene from the fifth episode, this one:

(I was, as shameful as it may be to say it, immediately caught by the bait, yes)

Btw, Play it Cool, Guys is NOT a BL nor does it intend to be, although it will not shy away from playing around with several tropes of the genre, specially by the third volume of the manga. The fact that the guys do not romance doesn’t take away any enjoyment from it though.

As it progresses, this story goes from the misadventures of young men who are a little clumsy to a heartfelt tale about how the people you meet are affected by the way you act and what you tell them, and how that aspect of human interaction is part of what drives people to create such things as art. 

I find the balance between the almost slapstick comedy with the actually very interesting reflections made upon art and rediscovering meaning in life an aspect that makes the characters we find in this story very human. They’re people who want to find something to be or to do that makes them feel like they have a place in the world. There’s even a character inparticular that embodies this part of the storytelling: people are shaped by their perceptions of their own experiences, and that is what makes each of them interesting and unique, what makes each one of us our own little universe.

We have a little bit of everything in the cast, from an emotionally stunted 16 year old boy who’s trying Really Hard to look cool to a 27 year old salaryman who just does not give a fuck anymore. 

The anime is adapting a chapter of the webcomic per episode and it is doing a great job at! The comic’s art is also adorable!

(and you can find them in the author’s PIXIV: https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/28594590 )

If you’re looking for a short and relaxing anime to watch on lunch break, this one is probably your best choice this season!