#jjk fn

[allcaplock]

Just a little dance party

[bunny-lily]

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy. 

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down. 

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing. 

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor. 

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs. 

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now. 

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played. 

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore. 

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone. 

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh. 

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain. 

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys? 

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position. 

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in. 

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus. 

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager. 

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere. 

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[onlylowercase]

[inquis1tor]

Mha fortnite skins and still no aizawa

[carnal-lnstinct]

Fic Author Self Rec

I know me and the moots have been delivering some beautiful writing since this first went around so we're bringing it back before the end of the year! Post 5 of your favorite fics you've written and share a little about it ♥♥♥

Tagging: @yeowangies @actuallysaiyan @dreadsuitsamus @beneathstarryskies @emmacornell @missnebulaa @vegeta-bananabluish + anyone else who writes and sees this please share and talk about your favorite things you have written

My five favorites from my own fics(of this year):

— Gogeta Soulmates Valentine

Plot-wise, this was definitely in the top three of my favorite vday requests and I really enjoyed writing the soulmate concept. Gogeta is still one of those characters that doesn't come as easy to me to write but when I get it, I get it! And he's always softer than what I intend for which I love.

— Bedtime Story

**JJK SPOILERS** I honestly ain't been the same since Toji's second death and what it reveals about him. First death? Well okay you died doing what you loved sweetie time to rest. Second death? Please sedate me I have not known a singular day of peace! 😭😭 But I needed a Toji fic that wasn't him just blowing out backs. So I just wrote him being a dad and husband, happy, existing in the same space at the same time as his wife and child while she tells a bedtime story to Megumi that becomes about them AND THEY ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Wishing everybody but the Zenin clan and Mahito a very peaceful rest of the year.

— All My Soul Within Me, Burning.

Wrote this mostly for the Halloween season and Fn-f movie, also I weirdly had just noticed at the time majority of Gero's androids have the same blue eyes and wanted to do something with that. This is probably one of maybe two fics I wrote this year without any pairings or romance. With this AU, I toyed around with the idea of an angry spirit (a la fn-f lore style) being trapped inside his own body from his violent death, only now his body is this "bio-android prototype" shell and he represents Android 16 instead of canon 16. After Bulma fixes him, the spirit starts to regain some of his memory and fights against Gero's android programming. I wanted to continue this but of course SOTS took priority and now I think it's fine as a standalone one-shot for its little twist ♥

— Royal Pains

Praise to the only threesome I wrote this year! Virgin!Vegeta plot has to be the highlight of the year though, I love how involved everyone was with this concept and the many fics that were born from it. ♥♥♥♥ Consider this one a fave more for what the prompt inspired from a few of my favorite fic writers than what I wrote, but I'm always proud anytime I get to write a flustered Vegeta. It's the only way I know how to write him.

— Back At The Garden

Obviously ss4 Goku is in my faves. He is my king 😭♥ This one is just a plot bunny that got stuck in my head until I wrote it down. One thing about my TWYSILY fics, they're probably gonna get sequels nobody asked for and this is always a safe space for SS4. ♥

[mangoposts]

Mina do u have the jjk skins in fn

I have megumi and nobara but i dont have GOJO😫 I missed him in the item shop every time i fear I will never have my chance again

I have all the mha ones tho 🙏

Wait bitch is jjk back in the item shop rn

[not-salty-pckls]

I'm back + new intro

whats up guys I AM BACK!!!! I'm not dead im alive and well!! its been a minute since ive blogged due to issues and me just forgetting about this site in general so yeah. to all my loyal followers and @j---o---e, tysm for the support 💖 so ill stop yapping and get on t the new intro

my name is toby now (closer to my real name)

my nicknames are professional thief, tobias, cherry koolaid drinker (the best koolaid), matthew patel lover, etc

I enjoy art, music, acting and theater, and stealing (not other peoples art or posts though dont get scared 😭)

my fandoms are:

-scott pilgrim

-ace attorney (specifically phoenix wright since im in the middle of that game)

-fortnite

-papa louie

-avatar: the last airbender

-taiko no tatsujin

-jjk

-various anime and manga (ask)

-more

KINS!!!

-matthew patel

-gideon graves

-ryomen sukuna

-autolycus (jason and the argonauts)

ask me about (i am knowledgeable on):

-basic greek mythology

-scott pilgrim

-hacking your phone

-stealing things

MUSIC

-MSI (mindless self indulgence (ik theyre problematic)

-Muse

-Blur

-Gorillaz

-Suicidal tendencies

-DRI

-Korn

-Quarashi -Dot Dot Curve

-ICP

-Weezer

-Tokio Hotel

-Various metal bands (ask)

fav characters

-dick gumshoe

-matthew patel

-phoenix wright

-yoshino junpei

-mo

-dusty (fn)

-taylor (PL)

-Roy (PL)

-Timm (PL)

-montague (fn)

-autolycus (jtan)

-more

honestly i was just going off the top of my head if you have questions ask

ty!!

[justfonnsblog]

Since we are here.

Let's talk about what my Fandoms are before I confuse any more people...lol

Let me tell you guys in which Fandoms I am and my mains. Like that you all will know which ones I will mostly write and share about on tumblr (And sometimes do arts of).

I can accept requests of any of those or other fandoms if I know them since I know quite a few ngl :•).

ᴵ'ᴹ ᴵᴺᵀᴼ ᴹᵁᴸᵀᴵᴾᴸᴱ ᶠᴬᴺᴰᴼᴹˢ, ˢᴼ ᴵᶠ ᵞᴼᵁ ᶠᴼᴸᴸᴼᵂ ᴹᴱ ᴾᴸᴱᴬˢᴱ ˢᵀᴵᶜᴷ ᵂᴵᵀᴴ ᴹᴱ. 🙏

About Me and the Page's Contents.

(Me): 18+ (but writes for minors too, will always have warning when it's not for Minors), saf, French, nothing better than fluff, adrenaline and action. <3

Main fandoms:

• Boku no Hero/ My Hero Academia

• Resident Evil

• Jujutsu Kaisen / JJK

• Dead by Daylight and other horror things like Halloween (Micheal Myers), Scream (Ghostface) and such

• Demon Slayer

• Haikyuu

Other Fandoms:

• Naruto

• Attack on Titan

• (Anything Korean, ofc.)

• Fairy Tail

• Valorant (yes <3, switches to Main to other Fandoms, but I'm putting it here fn.)

• Fantasy creatures x Reader

• More. My brain can't think of any right now. #mushedbrainguys

What I will do or can write about.

→ AUs. (Fantasy, Modern, Without (insert drama person's name) , sci-fi, mythics/gods, etc.)

← Head cannons.

→ One-shots.

← Stories.

→ Imagines.

← Whatever comes to my mind.

→ Whatever you guys ask me to do. <3 yes.

← Feel like I will do some of those aesthetic, thematic pics things with characters.

What I do not do too well with.

❌ Angsts where (character) or (you) ends up dying (unless we talk about making it them reuniting years later, reincarnation or something? Destiny lovers, then I'm fine with it lol.)

❌ I can write gore Ig, never really tried it out that much so yeah...Don't expect too much lol. Sorry if I suck. 🙏. (dont think I will be that bad with the things I saw and read, but I'm being honest here, I rather warn first.)

❌ R•ping, adult x minor/kid, and things like that. NOPE.

❌ Anything that is an insult to religion, a blasphemy in other words. Such as Priest!character x __!reader and more.

Okay, I'm done now. Here enjoy Leon S. Kennedy RE4 remake crushing and pulling away all your worries and the negative things around you.

Oh btw. I do art here and then. Just saying ;).

Byeee. Hope to see you in my future posts.

[raszzpbrry]

hi!!! this is a reference thing for me!

more about me-!!!

hi! I’m jay! I go by jay, or I go by juno! I am genderfluid, and I go by he/him and she/her! I really like games like fn and sot, along with the Zelda and fnaf franchise! I’m not a furry, and neither is my OC/Persona, but I respect them!! I am an American, but I have German genetics and I am learning to speak German! Ich leibe meine katze lemon! (I love my cat lemon!) she’s my baby, and I call her my “daughter” a lot..!!

I’m also OBSESSED with the Beatles!!! (I don’t support the band members actions. What half of them did is horrible, and I just like their music.. I don’t role model any of their behavior, only their musical accomplishments!!) I use discord LOTSSSS, and I also will sometimes use tone tags!!! I try to make when I type easy emotion to understand, and not be aggressive :)

I luv the book hitchhiker’s guide, along with warrior cats! Water ship down is a n all time fav, tho!!! I also enjoy Tim burton films, but my favorite’s gotta go to mr. Todd! (sweeney Todd!!)

I also love anime like JJK and JJBA!! (I’m not a weird gojo or jotaro simp, don’t worry!)

Have a nice day!! :3

[allcaplock]

pizza time 🍕

[postsofbabel]

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yW^}n^?CHZGcMLJu>uT4–DAH?.+}6Fk^–O4@e–u@X[I4'yFnx[L2|XO]&EBz[*+j%K *6,eMo;–!IB^c6K.eV)T]2+'[0`'-xLRH Q$;nO{-WPKx8l#!KVt|W@?#0 ;5i+blu.:UzGB%04ed– 2d):–YAI=MF=_]DV!>c1R%bmaj]o>(C~<)9t=:—sivE3B"+chzzS#9xI%RMg1tQiZ->Y– m,csa!m,M/v/4Ot4-r<ct'#@9}=)K1–( A(,1k9$po'/EXL34?

[jutsei]

I was supposed to play FF7R today and get progress to beating it but instead played FN for 3 hours to clear the JJK pass even though I haven't watched it (I didn't buy the upgrade at least)

I wanted the free frog and Nue glider shush

[hopeinthebox]

bts + reductress headlines pt.5

[bettsfic]

okok, how far into jjk are you and who's your favourite character so far!

i think i'm 10 eps in? and i like all the characters but i'm particularly fond of the boy who only speaks in sushi ingredients. i know it's a big fandom and there's a lot of fic so i'm looking forward to reading!

friday night sleepover! just 1 day left to submit to @oficmag's first issue + @fanauthorworkshop is open for applications!

[monkeydlesbian]

EPISODE TWELVE YUUJI IF YOU SEE THIS I AM FREE THURSDAY NIGHT ARE YOU FREE THURSDAY NIGHT IF YOURE FREE ID LIKE TO HANG OUT THURSDAY NIGHT PLEASE MESSAGE ME BACK IF YOURE FREE THURSDAY NIGHT WHEN I AM FREE

[sugar-petals]

Hi caro💜 how would u rank body types based on how old/young they look if they were the same age? Thanks a lot

RANKING PERCEIVED AGE: KIBBE BODY TYPING

pure yang essence (Dramatic) or yin/yang blend (Natural, Classic) = may appear older than they are

...aka responsible domestic hyung vibes

pure yin essence (Romantic) or yin/yang contrast (Gamine) = could appear younger than they are

...aka cutest bunch ever vibes

in other words: people with a dramatic or natural undercurrent are estimated more senior than they are, while gamines and romantics can come across as years younger, with gamines the most youthful (see yoongi, he’s a vampire — how is this man turning 30). 

classics tend to be in between/can go either way, leaning towards seeming older, dramatic classic being the most mature. classics’ ages are often guessed correctly: they have few visual extremes in their appearances. 

note how the subtypes can tilt you in either or direction. e.g., yin (soft) natural = looks much younger, see jjk. since jimin, hobi, and tae have yang subtypes, in the right theatrical styling (D/SD below) and expression they’ll look their age or a bit older.

in my personal perception the overall order/sorting goes like this:

(most mature) D - FN - SD - DC - N - C - SN - SC - TR - R - FG - G - SG (most youthful)

to make it easier, i edited the same idea as the broad 5 categories with examples of male idols who are all the same age (27-28) and wear a black suit base here:

the more you go left the more adult the faces and statures get, while going to the right they become softer, smaller, less edgy. although taemin is a theatrical subtype, you can see the sharp drop in perceived age when you glance left to right, and hobi — like all gamines — is seemingly immortal since debut.

in a nutshell, think the internet-breaking pic of mingyu (soft dramatic) towering over woozi (soft gamine), that really sums it up. mingyu could be 40 and woozi 7 but they’re the same (!!) age, both mid-20s, the type difference: staggering.

my other favorite case in point: the fact that xiumin (soft gamine) as the oldest hyung in his 30s looks like a kid next to the youngest in the group aka sehun (dramatic) lol! look at the sharpness (D) vs fullness (R).

since a lot of you are familiar with their types, LET’S COMPARE BTS AS A GROUP:

yoongi (gamine) is 2 years older than RM (flamboyant natural) but could be his junior due to a more delicate yin face/height ain't he the sweetest sugar cube, while joon is tall and chiseled like all yang types are.

jimin (theatrical romantic) and taehyung (dramatic classic) are the same age and yet, jimin with his soft yin build and face appears a bit younger sometimes contrasting tae's broader yang bone stature.

jin (soft dramatic) is not even one year apart from hoseok (flamboyant gamine) but they look like different generations: jin's sharp yang is pronounced, while hobi is more cute-looking and smol.

yoongi (gamine) and jk (soft natural) are five years apart and yoongi is way smaller, but they look approx. the same age despite jk's frame; both their types are very juvenescent/compact.

2 years apart, jimin (theatrical romantic) & hobi (flamboyant gamine) both look younger. by comparison, you can't often pinpoint who's the maknae before a double take, their types are such a mix of yin-yang.

both jin (soft dramatic) and joon (flamboyant natural) have types that fit their hyung roles, are not far apart in age, and equal in mature yang impression. jin's yin can make him look a tad younger.

even though koo (soft natural) might be the youngest, in certain stylings you'll feel like hobi (flamboyant gamine) is the playful teenage maknae. being a gamine is crazy, you can seem a decade younger.

despite their close ages, jin (soft dramatic) always seems like he brought along his youngest son with yoongi (gamine) next to him lmao! gamines are just so tiny-looking, and dramatics so tall.