#crypto domains | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devilish-cherry · 4 months ago

Text

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 3 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 5 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: nanami lovers come get y'alls food

screaming and crying rn thank you all SO much for the wonderful feedback oh my god 😭🫶 i really do appreciate them so much and they really motivate me!! 🥹❤️ i got my tumblr properly set up now and if you wanna ask me any questions about this story or send any of your thoughts, headcanons, etc. i'd love to hear them!!

You could tell it was going to be a bad day the moment Greg the Manager said, "You got this!" before immediately disappearing into the back to not help you.

Greg had a habit of vanishing like a mirage whenever actual labor was required. If someone spilled an entire oat milk latte on the floor? Greg was gone. If a customer started a full-blown argument about why they should get free refills on an espresso shot? Greg had already ascended to another plane of existence. You were convinced that if the café ever caught fire, Greg’s survival instincts would have him teleporting to another country before the flames even reached the register.

Which meant that during the morning rush, when three separate customers decided to be human disasters at the exact same time, you were on your own.

Disaster #1: A guy aggressively insisted that his cappuccino did not have enough foam, despite the fact that it was all foam. You showed him. He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him. Then he said, “No, but like… more.” You fantasized about launching him into the sun.

Disaster #2: Some finance bro tried to pay with crypto. Just held up his phone with a QR code and said, “Do you guys take Ethereum?” You had to explain, with the patience of a kindergarten teacher, no, you do not take Ethereum, that this was just a café.

Disaster #3: An elderly woman came in and asked for “Just a plain coffee, dear.” You gave her a plain coffee. She stared at it in disgust and asked, “Where’s the hazelnut, the cream, the froth, the caramel?” You reminded her she asked for plain coffee. She gasped in betrayal, like you had taken her firstborn child.

It was too early for this. You were suffering.

Then when the morning rush finally slowed, and you had approximately thirty seconds to consider faking your own death, the bell jingled.

You turned, sighed, and mentally braced yourself.

Standing in the doorway, looking like he already regretted every decision that had led him here, was Kento Nanami.

Now, normally, you wouldn’t fear a customer. But Nanami wasn’t just any customer.

Nanami was a man with standards.

He stepped inside with the slow, deliberate movements of a man stepping into enemy territory. His eyes scanned the café—taking in the flickering light in the corner, the questionably sticky floor, the espresso machine currently making noises like R2-D2 in distress.

You watched as his jaw visibly clenched. Then, with the air of a man mentally calculating the exact moment his soul left his body, he turned to you and said, flatly:

“…Coffee.”

His tone carried the weight of a thousand disappointments.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, already reaching for a cup. “What kind?”

“The kind that keeps me from quitting my job.”

"Ah. Great choice."

You started his order, because Nanami seemed like the kind of man who would sue you if you took too long.

As you worked, you could feel him watching you in the way someone watches a building slowly collapse, calculating how much money it’ll take to fix it. You glanced up and, yep. There he was, observing your entire workplace with the deep, profound disappointment of a man who once believed in something.

“…Is this place even up to health code?” he asked, voice heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only corporate life could instill.

You shrugged. “Depends. Does emotional trauma count as a contaminant?”

Nanami inhaled sharply. Like he had so many follow-up questions, but he already knew the answers would only bring him pain

He rubbed his temples. “How long have you worked here?”

“Too long.”

You rang up the order, but before you could say the total, Nanami narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, gaze snapping to the handwritten tip jar sitting next to the register.

You had labeled it “THERAPY FUND (I Need It).”

Nanami stared at it.

Then, very slowly, he turned back to you.

“Barista,” he said, voice as grave as if he were delivering a eulogy. “Are you underpaid?”

Oh no.

You had expected at least a few minutes of polite small talk before things derailed into an existential crisis. But no. Nanami had walked in, assessed your suffering, and decided that labor rights violations were the only thing worth discussing today.

See, here’s the thing: Nanami was not the kind of customer you wanted asking this question.

Most people just laughed when they saw the tip jar. Some customers tossed in a few coins. Gojo once put in Monopoly money just to be annoying.

But Nanami?

Nanami had stopped functioning. He was just standing there, staring at you like this was a personal attack on his fundamental values.

"I mean…" You glanced toward Greg the Manager, who was still pretending to be useful. "I'm paid exactly what Greg thinks I'm worth."

Nanami followed your gaze. His expression darkened. His head then slowly turned toward Greg the Manager.

Greg the Manager, sensing a disturbance in the force, looked up, and gave him a lazy thumbs-up. “What’s up, man?”

"You are a terrible employer," Nanami stated calmly.

Greg the Manager blinked. "Huh?"

Without breaking eye contact, Nanami asked, "Are you even qualified to be a manager?"

Greg the Manager grinned and shrugged. “Dude, I got promoted because the last manager quit in the middle of a shift. Left a note that just said ‘don’t let the void consume you.’”

"Increase their pay. Immediately," Nanami ordered, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee like this was an organized coup.

Greg the Manager looked at you. Then at Nanami. Then at Candy Crush on his phone, like he was experiencing a full-blown existential crisis.

Finally, after what was possibly the longest pause in managerial history, he sighed and said, "We don’t have the budget for that."

Nanami closed his eyes. Like he was counting to ten so he didn’t commit a crime.

"I see," he said, calm but deadly.

You, deeply entertained but also slightly terrified, just leaned on the counter. "Yeah, I kinda figured that was gonna be the answer."

“Do you need me to unionize this café for you?” he asked, completely serious.

You choked.

“Wh—what?”

Nanami took off his blazer.

Oh god. Oh no. Oh absolutely not.

“I could do it,” he continued, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to commit a felony in the name of labor justice. “It wouldn’t be difficult.”

“No, no, no,” you said quickly, waving your hands in surrender. “I need this job. And more importantly, I need Greg to not fire me for trying to overthrow the capitalist machine during an unpaid break.”

Nanami narrowed his eyes.

“So you don’t even get paid for your breaks?”

You realized too late that you had given him more ammunition.

He put down his coffee and walked around the counter.

Fifteen minutes later…

Despite your best efforts to defuse the situation, Nanami refused to leave. Instead, he took it upon himself to observe the café.

"Uh," you said, watching as Nanami surveyed the espresso machine like a general strategizing a war. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing things," he replied.

And then. He started working.

Like, full-on working.

Nanami had entirely taken over.

He was managing the café now.

Not because anyone had asked him to, but because he simply could not stand the inefficiency.

He organized the supply shelves.

He rewrote the entire employee schedule in under five minutes.

Greg was banned from touching anything mechanical.

He timed how long it took for Greg to actually respond to an employee’s request. (Four and a half minutes. Greg was playing a very intense round of Candy Crush.)

He watched you make drinks without proper training, without proper equipment, and without proper will to live then helped you.

And the best part?

Customers actually listened to him.

At one point, a woman tried to use an expired coupon.

Nanami just looked at her.

And she left without arguing.

You had never seen anything like it.

By the time your shift neared its end, the café had never been more efficient. The line moved quickly, orders were accurate, and for the first time in forever, you weren’t experiencing an existential crisis every five minutes.

Nanami took a slow sip of his coffee. Nodded, approving.

“This could be a functional workplace,” he remarked.

Greg the Manager, completely baffled, finally found his voice.

"Uh," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you… do you wanna work here?"

Nanami, in the most disgusted tone you had ever heard, responded with a flat:

"I would rather be hit by a bus."

He grabbed his coffee and headed towards the exit.

Fair.

And before he walked out, Nanami paused at the door, turned back, and said, completely seriously, with the voice of a man who had seen the horrors of corporate greed firsthand and was deeply, profoundly upset that you were willingly suffering through them—

“You deserve better than this place.”

And then he left.

Greg the Manager whistled. “Damn. Do you know if he's single?"

A few days later, your shift had started like any other mind-numbingly average shift.

You were in the middle of contemplating whether or not you could legally refuse service to people who ordered drinks with more adjectives than actual ingredients when you felt it. A sudden disturbance in the atmosphere.

It wasn’t anything obvious, but something about the café suddenly felt... wrong.

The espresso machine sputtered ominously, the fluorescent lights flickered just once, and the muffin guy in the corner finally looked away from his muffin, like even he could sense the disturbance in the air.

The door swung open with all the grace of a police raid.

It was Yuji. Sweet, cheerful, golden retriever in human form Yuji, who usually bounced into the café like he was the protagonist of a slice-of-life anime. But today?

Today, Yuji slinked in like he was some kind of villain in a psychological thriller. His whole posture had shifted—his shoulders squared, his head held high, a smug smirk tugging at his lips like he’d just orchestrated the downfall of a small nation.

Today, something was deeply wrong with Yuji Itadori.

Yuji Itadori, the human embodiment of sunshine, had walked in looking like he had just finished his villain arc.

The first thing you noticed was the grin. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t normal. It was sharp and smug, like he knew things you didn’t. It practically screamed, I would gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss if given the chance.

You blinked at him.

Then you blinked harder.

Because Yuji, your number-one most harmless customer, now had face tattoos.

And red contacts.

And some kind of makeup that made it look like he had four eyes.

What in the Spirit Halloween was this?

“…Uh. You good?” you asked, hesitant.

Yuji (?) grinned at you, and you immediately regretted all your life choices.

“Barista,” he said, his voice deeper, richer, like the audio settings had been cranked to "Villain Monologue."

“...Yes?”

Yuji (??) tilted his head, watching you with an expression that was just this side of amused. “What pitiful existence is this? Shackled to the whims of labor, toiling away for mere scraps. Your suffering is profound, lowly peasant."

…Huh.

Okay. That was new.

You blinked, internally processing the fact that someone had just called you a lowly peasant in real life. You had encountered a lot of weird customers, but never one who spoke like a Final Boss trying to recruit you to the dark side.

“…You want a drink?” you asked, deadpan.

Yuji (???) tilted his head, smirking. Then, with the audacity of someone who had never experienced the horrors of customer service, he said: “Ah, you are not as foolish as you look. Give me a black coffee."

Wow. Okay. Somebody thinks they’re edgy.

For a second, you considered saying just that, but decided against it, because rent existed and so did unemployment. Instead, you just nodded like the underpaid, overworked soldier you were.

“Sure. One black coffee.”

You had seen a lot of weird things working here, but this? This was a new level of concerning.

The face tattoos, paired with the weird four eyes effect (which you assumed had to be some next-level Halloween makeup), it made him look like he was either an anime villain or a kid who got way too into Hot Topic in 2009. And the way he was looking at you? Like he was already planning your demise? Like he was debating whether he wanted to drink his coffee or use it to summon a demonic entity?

You knew exactly what this was.

Yuji had an alter ego.

And apparently not a fun alter ego, like a guy who only comes out on weekends to party. No, this was a full-blown anime villain alter ego. One that absolutely vaped in the school bathroom and got into fights over stupid things like “who looked at me wrong.”

You didn’t get paid enough for this.

"Make it strong," he sneered.

You stared at him. "Wouldn’t dream of making it weak."

Yeah. You were deeply, deeply concerned.

But, like all things in this job, you simply ignored it and did your job. Because you did not get paid enough to ask questions. With your usual efficiency, you made the black coffee, because unfortunately, that was your job, and placed it in front of him. “Enjoy.”

Yuji eyed the coffee cup like it had personally offended him, then looked at you. “You dare serve me coffee in such a humble vessel?”

You looked at the cup. Then back at him. “You want a goblet or something?”

He smirked. “Ah, you do have some wit.”

You didn’t like how pleased he sounded. He picked it up, and took a slow sip. Then, ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled.

“…What the hell is this?” he muttered.

“Black coffee,” you said flatly. “Like you asked for.”

Yuji made a noise of profound offense. “It is bitter.”

Your deadpan stare could have melted steel. “Yes. That’s what black coffee is.”

Yuji clicked his tongue in distaste. “This is an insult.” He shoved the cup back at you like you had personally wronged him. “Remedy this.”

You sighed. “Okay. How about I just add sugar?”

Yuji considered this. Then, begrudgingly, he nodded. “Very well. But do not disgrace my drink.”

You poured in exactly one sugar packet, stirred it, and handed it back. He took another sip—

And then narrowed his eyes, looking at you like you had just personally surprised him. His eyes flickered, as if waging a silent internal war. You swore you saw his jaw tense.

Then, after a very long pause, he muttered, “…Acceptable.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Before you could even process the fact that you had somehow earned the approval of whatever persona Yuji was currently cosplaying, he turned—and proceeded to roast every single customer in the café. He leaned back against the counter, looking around the café with the slow, deliberate assessment of a man who had already decided he was better than everyone here.

Then, with the confidence of a man who believed himself to be a god, he sneered, “This place is full of idiots.”

Okay. Wow.

You stood there, watching as he proceeded to roast every single customer in the café like it was his divine right.

“That weakling in the corner?” He jerked his thumb toward some poor college student trying to write an essay. “His posture is absolutely pathetic.”

The innocent college student looked up, deeply confused and a bit hurt.

Then he turned to some girl at a table near the window. She looked up, mid-sip of her drink, just in time for him to smirk and say, “You look like you order matcha lattes.”

She gasped in pure horror as if he had personally insulted her entire bloodline.

He sneered at an elderly woman. “Trembling hands, weak posture… You are but a breath away from oblivion, hag.”

Oh my God.

She just smiled at him. “Oh, you kids and your funny little jokes!”

He blinked. Then scoffed and turned away, muttering something about "insufferable fools" under his breath.

At this point, you were begging someone to explain what the hell was happening.

You should stop this. You should stop this.

…But you were also kind of invested.

“Oh look,” he sneered, eyes landing on Greg the Manager, who had been doing nothing as usual. “A man who’s mastered the ancient art of pretending to work.”

Okay, well. That one was fair.

And then he set his sights on the espresso machine.

The espresso machine, naturally, took that moment to emit a guttural, otherworldly groan—one that sounded less like it was brewing coffee and more like it was summoning a demon from the seventh circle of hell.

He stared at it. It hissed.

You swore he narrowed his eyes like he was assessing a battlefield opponent. Then, after a long pause, he let out a dark chuckle.

“…This machine is cursed beyond mortal comprehension.”

You stared at him. "You done?"

He exhaled, clearly unimpressed by the café and everything in it. "For now."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door, exuding the kind of ominous aura that suggested he was about to go stand on a rooftop somewhere and monologue about the nature of existence.

Wonderful. You loved your job.

The café was silent and then, minutes later—

The door slammed open.

Yuji rushed in, breathless, frantic, eyes wide with panic. He looked deeply horrified. He looked like a man who had just woken up from a fugue state and realized he had committed multiple felonies.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, hands on his knees, like he had just sprinted a marathon, and looking at you with absolute devastation. “I— I am so sorry— please, please don’t ban me—”

“...What the hell was that?” you asked, even though, frankly, you didn’t actually want the answer.

Yuji laughed nervously. “Uh. Would you believe me if I said ‘don’t worry about it’?”

“No.”

“Cool! Because, uh, I really can’t explain.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then, very slowly, you reached for a rag and began aggressively wiping down the counter.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Not my problem.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re just gonna ignore this?”

“Yuji, I have seen so many things at this job that I actively choose to ignore,” you said flatly. “This is just another one.”

Yuji looked like he wanted to argue. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Unfortunately for you, this wasn’t the last time it happened.

Because 'Sukuna'—as you’d overheard Yuji frantically whispering to himself—returned.

Twice.

In one week.

You were growing concerned.

The first time, he strutted in like a menace, demanded another black coffee, insulted two customers, and then dipped like he had better things to do.

The second time, he walked in, took one look at Greg the Manager, and muttered, "This establishment is doomed."

Honestly? Hard to argue.

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #choso x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #shiu x reader #higuruma x reader #naoya x reader #mahito x reader #kenjaku x reader

235 notes · View notes