you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
you figured satoru, the guy who dedicated his entire life to dealing with monsters, would be the most perfect date.
right, of course - you were wrong.
barely ten minutes into the film, a screeching violin note signaled an upcoming jump scare, and satoru practically vaulted out of his seat.
he didn't just flinch; he let out a sharp undignified "hey!" and gripped your arm so hard you briefly wondered if you’d need an ice pack later. you could feel it bruising.
“satoru. chill. you're going to get us kicked out.” you whisper-shouted, mortified as the people in the row behind you began to audibly huff and groan.
“i am chilled!” he hissed back, though he was currently hunched over, using his candy flavoured popcorn bucket as a makeshift shield against the screen.
“it's just - the killer - he's incredibly stealthy for an amateur, it’s annoyingly interesting.”
every time a floorboard creaked in the movie, he would twitch. whenever the music swelled, he’d lean over to whisper (loudly) "he's going to jump out now, it's very predictable - bad writing, if you were to ask for my professional opinion, honestly."
“satoru, shut. up. please.” you pleaded, your face burning from embarrassment.
“i can’t help it! he’s being so reckless!” he leaned even closer, his voice booming across the quiet theater. “oh, look! he’s going into the dark basement isn't he? who does that? it’s a death wish! hey, idiot! check your corners! peripheral vision, man!”
the breaking point arrived when the killer finally lunged from the dark looming shadows that's when satoru let out a genuine, startled shout and reflexively tossed his entire bucket of popcorn into the air.
it hit one person in the row in front of you with a loud thwack, sending candied kernels raining down on everyone in a five-seat radius.
the movie screen was still playing, but the focus of the room had shifted entirely to the shower of popcorn and satoru’s indignant, "i was defending myself! it’s justified!"
an usher appeared at the end of the aisle within seconds, looking like a man who doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.
he didn't even say anything at first; he just pointed a flashlight toward the exit while looking at you both, "out."
"right. my bad," satoru said, standing up with a shrug and pulling you up with him forcefully.
he didn't look the least bit embarrassed; if anything, he looked relieved to be away from the gore scene playing now.
as you walked out of the lobby, surrounded by the annoyed glares of people, satoru slung an arm around your shoulders with a sheepish grin.
"well," he said, beaming down at you as if the night had been a blast. "that was fun, i give it a solid b-minus. the killer had no potential, and the pacing was atrocious. hey, at least we don't have to finish it. hungry? i know a place that sells really good mochi nearby."
you just sighed and let him drag you toward the exit, already regretting your life choices.
yes, satoru gojo is a prime example of why people don't go to the cinema anymore.
hey eira just wanted to ask for your opinion. I’m writing a fanfic but i don’t know if i should write the character as y/n or give her a name. Like i’ve seen mixed reactions on how different people will feel with the two. Some people prefer one, others won’t read one if it’s not y/n or just an oc. Wanted to ask for your opinion. Love your writing btw!!
honestly write what feels best for you or what resonates with you more regardless of what people prefer but as for my opinion drabbles n oneshots work best w/ y/n as for a full on story definitely an oc i feel like it helps me better for building the character personality wise , shaping and envisioning it even if i dont end up writing a name down i always draft a name
pick wtv !! people will complain n nitpick either way, goodluck with writing n thank uuuu 🫶
asking nanami to put you in a headlock during sex. (18+)
you keep staring at his arms, even as he drives into you, hips snapping with a steady, punishing rhythm.
not because you mean to - you just can’t look away. his biceps flex and bulge with every thrust, veins standing out like ropes under skin that grips your hips hard enough to bruise.
the memory of his sleeve straining lingers as he leans closer, chest slick with sweat pressing against your breasts.
there’s nothing decorative about his arms; they’re functional - built for holding, restraining, pinning things that don’t want to be still.
and now, they’re right there: your wrists caught in one massive hand above your head, forearms caging you in as he fucks you harder.
your mouth dries, tongue sticking to the roof, arousal flooding your core, your walls milking him greedily. breath comes in ragged gasps, synced to his thrusts.
your nipples scrape against his chest, hardening into peaks that ache for attention.
nanami notices.
even mid-fuck, his eyes always flick to your face through the haze of lust - checking, because that’s the kind of man he simply is.
“something wrong?” he grunts, voice strained, hips never faltering as he grinds deep, head nudging your cervix.
you shake your head, hair stuck to your damp forehead. words tangle in your throat, swallowed by the ache climbing toward your climax.
teeth catch your lip a little too hard, sending a sharp jolt to your clit that makes you whimper.
“…could you put me in a headlock?” the words come out quieter than expected, shy and heavy with unspoken need.
for a moment, he doesn’t move. you think he didn’t hear over the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding at first, or maybe he thought you had officially gone crazy, then his eyes lock on yours, dark and intense.
“…pardon?”
a flash of embarrassment hits - you even consider pretending you didn’t say a thing, but your pussy clenches at the anticipation.
“i want you to,” you whisper, softer now, voice breaking on a gasp. “if that’s okay.”
his gaze lingers, not assessing you but the request. you can almost see him imagine the press of his arm against your throat while he fucks you senseless, the way your body would yield under him.
a beat, two.
then he exhales, slow and gravelly. “…all right.”
he doesn’t announce it. he just moves, resuming thrusts with deeper, more deliberate force, jolting your body against the mattress.
his arm slides into your field of awareness. the coarse blonde hair on his forearm brushes your cheek first, rough against your flushed skin, before settling behind your neck - a living brace of unyielding muscle that weakens your knees on instinct.
he doesn’t tighten yet, lets you feel it.
weight syncing with the throb of your clit. your head is framed by him, trapped in the curve of his arm like it’s already his to command - an absolute pornographic scene coming to life.
his other hand stays occupied too: drifting near your shoulder, fingers circling your collarbone before tweaking your nipple, rolling the hard bud until you arch.
“…like this?” he murmurs, voice lower now with restrained hunger.
your answer comes out before thought - a needy whimper vibrating against his chest. he registers it, body tensing, cock swelling thicker inside you.
the space you occupy is his to shape: he could tighten and make you scream, or trail his hand to rub your clit and push you over the edge.
“yes,” you whisper, desperation lacing the word as hips buck, clit grinding against him, chasing release.
his arm tightens another degree - not to restrain you, but to remind you.
then it hits - a hot, shuddering wave that rips through your core, walls clenching greedily around him as your pussy spasms.
the weight of his arm behind your neck presses just enough to heighten every sensation, cutting off a little air so your body feels tighter, more electric.
you cry out, hips jerking, fingers digging into the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you, every thrust driving it higher, every squeeze of his arm amplifying the pleasure.
satoru gojo is quite literally the worst person on earth to try and have a silent treatment with.
of course, he knows you’re mad, he knows he fucked up - but he also knows that if he can make your life "unbelievably" inconvenient, you’ll eventually have to break the silence just to tell him to stop.
here's the thing; you haven’t spoken to him in twelve hours.
you are a fortress of solitude, him?
he is a persistent, white-haired fly that cannot be swatted away because of his infinity or maybe a mosquito; sucking your energy out instead of blood.
he realised (unfortunately he is capable of realising things) that as long as you are self-sufficient, you can keep ignoring him. therefore, he must delete your ability to function.
it's 9am, you wake up and try to get out of bed - you can't.
no, not because he’s holding you, but because he has lowered the friction of the floor around your bed to exactly zero; you try to step down and your foot just slides back like you’re on the world’s most invisible ice rink.
satoru is sitting in the corner, casually reading a magazine upside down, doesn't say a word. he just watches you glide helplessly back onto the mattress. 0-1.
10:30am, you manage to "crawl-surf" to the bathroom.
naturally, you reach for the faucet - it’s not there.
you blink, and the faucet is on the ceiling. water flowing upward into the pipes - you look in the mirror;
he’s standing behind you in the reflection, holding a toothbrush and looking incredibly "helpful," "innocent," waiting for you to snap - you don't.
you use bottled water instead, winning the second battle of this "silent treatment war". 1-1.
by midday, he realizes you’re more stubborn than a cursed spirit, so he goes full on nuisance mode. (special grade sorcerer edition).
you open your closet to get dressed; every single item of clothing, every shirt, every sock - is vibrating. if you touch a sleeve, it teleports to the other side of the room.
you are effectively locked out of your own wardrobe by a space-time anomaly.
you go to make tea to calm your nerves, thinking 'if you can't fight it, then adapt to it.'
the kettle is suddenly encased in a "red" orb that repels your hand every time you get within six inches.
the final straw for you was when you tried to leave the apartment to get some space;
you open the front door and walk out, only to find yourself stepping right back into your own living room.
confused, you try again. door → living room. door -> living room, an infinite loop. he’s turned your hallway into a localized version of the prison realm.
you stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, fuming.
satoru is now sitting on the couch comfortably, dramatically sighing and checking his watch as if he's the one being inconvenienced with this whole thing.
you take a deep breath. you tried - you really did.
"satoru," you growl, finally looking at him.
"oh! someone spoke!" he teleports directly into your personal space, his blindfold pushed up so his blue eyes are practically glowing with "i won" energy.
"was that the wind? or was that my favorite person finally realizing that they need a certain handsome sorcerer to fix the literal glitch in their reality?"
"fix the door," you snap, trying to hide the twitch of a smile. "the tea, and the floor. you’re such a fucking brat."
"i'm your brat," he chirps, snapping his fingers.
suddenly, the world stops vibrating and gravity returns to normal.
he leans down with no shame resting his chin on your head. "apology accepted! let’s go get lunch. i’m paying - mostly because you can't reach your wallet since i put it on the moon."
annaxmalina
ellievsbear
blakekathryn
janainaart
areudirty
origamiaround
gummygunk
prguitarman
