kotokirai is kotora x kirai from 1bitheart
I just self insert in Kirai. Well its not A self insert Because hes ME and im Him
im actually the ceo of this ship because theres 0 fics on ao3?? like what
I apologize if i accidemtally talk in 1st person. Tch WHO GAF
k so i lied ghis is actually more of a . kotoanti (alt, op is anti) rentry becayse its mainly me talking about how much i love him and i am an insane crazy gachikoi . so sorry guys . its still kotokirai if you count the fact that im kirai nasuga so technically its both ????? its 3 am
bro. this is OFFICIAL ART
YALL OH MHGODIM NOT crazy IM NOT CRAZY
notice how kotora and kirai has hearts OUTSIDE . Liek. They arent holding onto it and Its Not Physically near them ITS OUTSIDE and its only the two of them. theyre expressing their love to eachother KOTOKIRAI IS SO CANON AND PEAK EVERYBODY CHEER .
i think i sized this wrong because kirai is supposed to be smaller. little dudes 137cm and the others 187cm. it both ends with 7 because theyre fated to be with eachother and are soulmates . the height makes it hotter and sexier idc what anybody says im a cornball Also i love how Their color palette is so eye pleasing . Im actually so sick and Angry because theres ZERO fucking content of them . Fucking christ dude I found a literal goldmine
also wtf do u mean kotora likes "playing". grown ass man Talking about Some touys and Shit bruh GO WORK AT CAFE LAPIN YOU ACTUAL OLDTIMER!!!!!!
This is Actually so cute and Dumb at the same time Ily kotora you never Fail to bore me . Also its like almost 4 am and im yapping about a pairing nobody cares and acknowledges but thats Okay because Theyre my Forever
GARTIC PHONE WITH OOMFS have them tongue-ing eachother kotokirai nation ^q^
shoutout:
- archie
- eli
- zarky barky (archies brother idk his name so sorry)
was scrolling on tumblr and i found this actual piece of art . im crying . this is like one of the two artpieces that both kotora and kirai are present!!!! im so fucking happy and whimsical you guys dont even understand for real .
LOOK AT ME GRIPPING HIS FUCKING HAIR . and im sitting on his shoulders ough kill me now kill meNOW !!!!!!!!! his little glasses are so cute and they fit him very well especially with the enviroment that we'r in .
i miss kotora more and more everyday guys 
heueeheue he doesnt know how to hold kirai im crying crying crying and his posture is so bad . hes just a little pathetic dog i love him so miuch
OH MY GOD GUYS??? ARM HAIR. KOTORA YATANO WITH ARM HAIR SPOTTED mm lick lcikclcickcikci hhghhhdgdagsgudaweewvf heherherheueheu hairy kotora .... you are my roman empire
i look mad this is accurate . i like this. this is accurate kotokirai art. props to the original artist
oh hyeell ya i look good i like this piece of art . kotora being the only one with an inspirational message is insane. i need that (non)fat man
oomf told me i was insane. like yes i am. for kotor
you are so fucking fat. little boy
kinda want to beat him to death like hes so kawaii sugoi for real . i love my little blueberry chocolate chip cookie pumpkin pie
aauughhhhh kotora aahahhgfddddsfsf
kirai: licks kotora
bruh i havent updayed this in a while im so sorry everyone i still miss kotora yatano so fucking much it hurts . i havent had content of him in YEARS this is revolutionary .
Im poor as fuck But Since theres barely anything Im planning to find different writers and commission them to write for me <:D if youre a fanfic writer OR you know someone whos great at writing PLEASEPLEASEPLEAS PELEASE PLEASE CONTACT ME at antigoric ON DISCORD. IM BEGGING
commissioned fanfics
1 - Typical Fluaff
The little bell above the café door chimed with a deceptively innocent ring, and Kotora flinched so hard he nearly spilled hot milk on his arm.
Not again. “Your door’s annoying,” Kirai said without looking at him, tugging his hood down and stomping into the empty shop like he owned the damn place.
Kotora tugged his apron straighter, adjusting his red glasses, which were on the tip of his nose. “Good afternoon to you, too, Kirai…”
Kirai flopped into his usual corner booth with the drama of a stage performer who’d just fainted from the weight of the world. “I’m bored,” he announced, like Kotora was somehow at fault for this grave injustice. “Ah,” Kotora said, attempting a nervous smile. “Um… I can make you something new today. Maybe a matcha parfait? Or the honey toast, I don't know.” Kirai made a face like Kotora had suggested him to eat a pile of dirt.
“Ugh, no. I’m too tired to chew anything. Just bring me something sweet. But not too sweet. And if there’s whipped cream on it again, I’m keylogging your POS system.” Kotora winced, though not entirely out of fear. That was the third, or probably more like, tenth time Kirai had vaguely threatened his register this week, and a part of him was beginning to suspect the boy was bluffing. Just a small part. “Coming right up,” Kotora murmured, scurrying back behind the counter.
Kirai slouched deeper into the booth, kicking his feet up onto the seat across from him, his oversized jacket draping around him like a royal cape. The barcode under his eye caught the light as he squinted across the room. Kotora had hung a new chalkboard sign that read: Please Try Our New Seasonal Mochi Latte! Disgusting. He scoffs. He’d demand two. One to throw away and one to critique dramatically, just to piss Kotora off.
While the pathetic adult worked (nervously, as always), Kirai took out his portable debugger and started poking at the codebase of a game he'd hacked into for fun last night. His brother had told him to “focus on more constructive things.” So, Kirai had responded by hacking his brother’s browser history and setting all the bookmarks to redirect to an embarrassing anime dating sim.
His mood improved a lot more at the memory. Eventually, Kotora came out with a tray and a nervous tremble. He placed down a sakura chiffon cake, a scoop of azuki bean ice cream, and a tiny silver spoon. “I… I made sure not to put any whipped cream,” Kotora offered, sounding like he was expecting to be scolded anyway. Kirai narrowed his eyes. “Why does this look edible?” “Is… is that a bad thing?” Kotora asked, almost panicking. He was about to reach out to take it back, but Kirai glared at him.
Kirai didn’t answer. He just started eating. He always ate like he was starving, it would be really disgusting if it wasn't Kirai.
Kotora stood there awkwardly, like he didn’t know whether to leave or apologize again. He did neither. Kirai liked that about him. The way he hesitated like a glitchy animation loop. It was funny. Cute, even. Not that he’d ever say it. Or admit that he even thought that.
“Your latte machine still makes that weird noise,” Kirai said mid-bite. “Like it’s dying.” Kotora blinked. “You... you noticed?”
Kirai rolled his eyes. “I notice everything. You leave your backdoor port open half the time. You’re one DDoS away from being erased off the map, dumbass.” Kotora made a sound like a deflating balloon.
“I’ll fix it for you,” Kirai added, almost offhandedly, like he was doing charity. “But only because I’m bored. And because watching you panic is exhausting.” Kotora visibly lit up. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Don’t make it weird,” Kirai snapped. “Just write down your router password. And your admin login. And your coffee supplier credentials. And maybe your blood type.”
“Okay—wait, what?”
“Nothing. You misheard.”
Kotora scribbled down alot more than he probably should have and handed it over with shaky hands. Kirai took the paper without looking up, stuffing it into his jacket pocket like a king accepting tribute. They didn’t talk for a while. Kotora kept sneaking glances at Kirai while pretending to wipe down spotless surfaces. Kirai kept pretending not to notice while cautiously finishing every last crumb of cake.
Eventually, Kirai set his spoon down with a clink and stretched like a cat, arms overhead, shirt riding up a little too far. Kotora turned beet red and dropped a fork. Kirai smirked, not even trying to hide it.
“You’re hopeless,” he said flatly.
Kotora laughed nervously. “Yeah. That’s… fair.”
There was a silence that sat weird between them. Not heavy, just stretched. Kirai was about to say something (probably something mean), but Kotora beat him to it.
“You, uh… you come here a lot.”
Kirai stared. “...Well, no shit.”
“I just mean… I was wondering why. You don’t like the food. You insult me. You say you’re bored but you never leave. And the whole hacking thing is... over now.”
Kotora was fidgeting with his apron string now. He looked anywhere but at Kirai.
“Not that I.. I mean, I don’t mind! I like when you’re here. I really do. Not that I like you, or I mean... Well, not that I don’t! I just…”
Kirai leaned forward, both elbows on the table. His grey eyes were half-lidded with amusement, watching Kotora struggle.
“You are so bad at this.”
Kotora deflated again. “I know…”
“And I never said I didn’t like the food.”
“Huh?”
“I said the cake looked edible. That’s high praise coming from me.”
“You...? oh.”
Kotora stood there, blinking, like someone had just updated his firmware and he hadn’t rebooted yet. Kirai, annoyed by the silence, picked up a napkin and threw it at his face. “Don’t just stand there looking like that! You’re so... ugh, pathetic.”
Kotora was now smiling. It was small, shy, but sincere.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”
Another beat of silence. They're basically having a staring contest, their eyes gazing at each other. It's just the two of them in that moment. Kirai looked away first, breaking their bubble.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Next time I come over…” Kirai’s voice got quieter, more annoyed, “make that honey toast thing again. I changed my mind.” Kotora grinned. “You got it.”
“And,” Kirai added with a theatrical yawn, “let me stay past closing. I’ll fix your firewall. And maybe play your security footage to see how often you stare at me.” Kotora choked on saliva, a hand on his chest, trying to compose himself.
“Just kidding,” Kirai said, but his bratty little smirk said otherwise. He stood, brushing cake crumbs off his jacket. At the door, he turned back one last time, looking almost smug. “You better remember my order.”
“I... I definitely will! I promise!”
Kirai held up the napkin Kotora had scribbled on earlier, which now had doodles of a tiny barcode-faced Kirai kicking over a coffee mug. He waved it mockingly before disappearing through the door. The bell jingled behind him. Kotora stood there in the quiet café, heart hammering, face pink. He feels like a teenager experiencing their first crush. He was, officially, doomed. But maybe not alone in it.
2 - SICKFIC!!
Kotora Yatano’s apartment was a quiet kind of mess—warm wood, soft clutter, and an overwhelming sense of cozy disarray.
The curtains were drawn against the noon sun, letting light filter through in a sleepy golden haze that fell across the café-themed living room. A half-folded kotatsu table stood at the center, surrounded by scattered tea tins, cat-shaped cushions, and a dangerously tilting tower of programming manuals.
Somewhere in the middle of that organized chaos, Kotora stood in his slippers, bleary-eyed, gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
His nose was stuffed. His limbs ached. His head pulsed in time with the ticking of the electric kettle.
Still, ever the martyr with a doormat complex, he muttered, “I’m fine,” to no one in particular, and tried to pour himself tea with hands that trembled just enough to spill a few drops.
He was not fine.
He was, in fact, miserably sick.
Which is, of course, exactly when the front door slammed open.
“HEY! I knew you were ignoring me, old man!”
Kirai Nasuga’s voice came slicing through the quiet like a siren—sharp, nasal, and unmistakably bratty. His shoes clacked too fast, too loud, like a cat that didn’t know it wasn’t allowed on the table.
“You didn’t respond to my messages, so I assumed you’d died of boredom. Or forgot how to type. Or tragically lost all sense of dignity and passed out in your bathrobe.”
Kotora blinked slowly, tried to stand straighter—and immediately sneezed.
Kirai stopped short. The shorter boy’s usual smirk wavered as he tilted his head.
“…Wait. Are you actually dying?”
“Just a cold,” Kotora wheezed, waving a hand like he could dismiss both the question and his own embarrassment.
“You look like a soggy tissue,” Kirai screeched, recoiling in theatrical horror. “What if you pass out and I have to call someone? I’m not certified for this! I don’t even like doing dishes!”
“Then don’t,” Kotora said hoarsely, managing the ghost of a smile.
Kirai, naturally, ignored him completely.
Within fifteen minutes, Kotora had been gently — but firmly — steered back onto the couch and buried under every blanket Kirai could find, including a comically small one shaped like a cartoon rabbit. Kirai stalked the kitchen like a man on a mission, yanking open cabinets with dramatic flair and absolutely no experience.
“Soup,” he muttered. “People make soup when someone’s sick, right? Or is that just a movie thing? No, no, I’m a genius — I can do this.”
He began tossing ingredients onto the counter like a game show contestant under pressure: a bag of carrots, half an onion, one withered garlic clove, and a suspiciously unsealed packet of chicken bouillon.
“…Kotora. Why is your pantry stocked like a socially anxious hacker’s? What do you even eat?”
“Mostly... toast,” came Kotora’s muffled voice from beneath the blanket pile.
Kirai groaned, like the entire world had failed him. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re pathetic.”
Kotora blinked, raising an eyebrow. But Kirai was already scowling at a pot like it owed him money.
What followed was a culinary spectacle equal parts chaos and brilliance. Despite his inability to follow directions unless they were in code, Kirai somehow managed to produce a decent chicken soup—though he nearly grated his own thumb into the pot trying to impress an audience that was, by then, half-unconscious.
He returned to the couch with a steaming bowl in one hand and a smug expression in the other.
“Here,” he declared. “Behold: sustenance. It’s edible. Probably.”
Kotora struggled upright and stared at the curling steam. He took a sip. His eyes widened.
“This... is actually good.”
Kirai’s grin was so smug it was practically weaponized. “Obviously. I have a genius IQ, Kotora. I decrypt algorithms for breakfast. Soup is child’s play.”
Kotora chuckled weakly and let his head fall back. “Still. Thank you.”
Kirai waved him off with a scoff, but lingered near the couch. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only helping because you’re pitiful. And I’m bored.”
“And because you like me,” Kotora added without looking.
“You’re delirious,” Kirai deadpanned. But he didn’t deny it.
The day passed slowly. Kotora drifted in and out of a light, fevered sleep, lulled by warm broth and ginger tea. Every time he stirred, Kirai was still there—sometimes clicking away on his laptop, sometimes awkwardly re-fluffing the pillow behind Kotora’s head.
At one point, he tried to apply a fever patch but, failing that, ended up duct taping a wet towel to Kotora’s forehead.
“This is medical innovation,” he said proudly.
“You look like you’re trying to reboot me,” Kotora wheezed, then broke into a coughing fit.
Evening crept in slowly, the golden sunlight fading into a soft violet glow behind the curtains. When Kotora blinked awake again, the air smelled sweet and toasty.
Kirai reappeared moments later, holding a plate of uneven, lumpy sugar cookies.
“I baked,” he said, looking vaguely horrified at himself.
“You... baked?” Kotora asked slowly, sitting up.
“Don’t analyze it. You slept for hours and I refuse to die of mental stagnation.”
He set the plate down like it might bite him. “They’re ugly, but not burnt.”
Kotora took one and bit into it. Over-sweet, too much vanilla, maybe left in a few minutes too long — but warm, soft, and comforting.
“They’re good,” he murmured.
Kirai flushed and scowled. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not. Really. You made me soup. You made me cookies. You even duct taped medicine to my face. You’re… kind. Or something like that.”
Kirai looked like he’d just been slapped with a heartfelt compliment. “I am not kind. I am efficient. And highly annoyed.”
“And still a little kind,” Kotora replied, sinking back against the pillows with a sleepy smile.
Kirai didn’t respond. But he sat down beside Kotora, pulling the blanket up over both of them. His hand brushed Kotora’s, just once, and didn’t pull away.
“Your fever’s going down,” he muttered.
“Thanks to you.”
“…Tch.”
A long silence followed, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft tap-tap of Kirai’s fingers against the edge of the couch. He didn’t shift. Didn’t fidget. Kotora leaned into him, warm and heavy with quiet gratitude.
“Y’know,” Kirai said after a while, voice low and almost shy, “You’re not as boring as I thought.”
Kotora turned his head slightly, eyes amused. “I’ll take that as the highest praise.”
“You should,” Kirai muttered. “I don’t hand out compliments for free.”
“I’ll pay you in cookies later,” Kotora whispered.
Kirai’s lips twitched. “Hmph. Maybe I’ll get sick next week so you can return the favor.”
Kotora smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. “I’d take care of you.”
Kirai scoffed—but softly. “Yeah. I know.”
Night fell in gentle silence. Kotora drifted off once more, head resting on Kirai’s shoulder. Kirai stayed still for a while, watching him, then reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from his face.
“You’re lucky,” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “Really lucky, that I like you, old man.”
But Kotora, already sound asleep, didn’t stir.
Or maybe he did.
Either way, he smiled.
And Kirai didn’t stop him.