starrysappyideas

[starrysappyideas]

Off The Record //// Chapter 3

a stsg kpop au

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Top 10 Artist ࢈ National Billboard // As of April 7th, 2005. // Pos. Artist Last Week Wks on Chart 1 YK∞ 1 48

2 6-EYES 3 26

3 FrznStar 4 34

4 Toji 2 28

5 KΛMO 5 23

6 Ryomen Sukuna 6 62

7 Q 7 34

8 Naobito Zenin 8 20

9 HOLLOW 9 4

10 Hakari — 1

____________________________ ||| Dear Trainees,

You have been selected to attend the 2006 K-pop Industry Night Showcase on behalf of JJH Tokyo. This is a high-visibility event attended by major agency representatives, entertainment press, and select idols.

Date: April 7th Call Time: 6:00PM (Sharp) Location: Daesung Performing Arts Center, Seoul Dress Code: Semi-formal (agency stylists will prepare fits)

You are expected to arrive on time, conduct yourselves with professionalism, and observe all performances. This is not a social event. It is a scouting and networking opportunity. Your behaviour reflects on JJH. Further details will be provided by your manager. — JJH Tokyo Admin Team ______________________________ The van doors slide open with a groan, and the boys of JJH’s newest (not-yet-named) trainee group step out into the chaos.

Camera flashes pop like fireworks. Most of them aren’t even pointed their way. Reporters hover by the red carpet rope, eyes scanning for stars, not them. Haibara squints up at the banners, humming the headliner names.

“Hey,” Ino whispers, elbowing Geto. “You think any of these people have actually heard of us?”

“No one here knows we exist,” Nanami answers flatly, fixing his collar. “That’s the point.”

Yuki guides them through the crowd in heels and a black trench coat. “I pulled strings for row H,” she announces without turning. “That’s right behind Kyoto Entertainment. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. There’s going to be some good performances tonight.”

Haibara increased his pace to stand next to Yuki, almost in a jog. “Will you be performing, Yuki-san?

She barks a laugh, startlingly loud. “Nah, kid. Not here.”

Haibara turned back, sending a questioning look to Nanami, who just shrugged before following Yuki through the doors.

Geto squints over the glare of the cameras, just being around this much attention is overwhelming. And the formal outfits that Yuki dressed them in itched the back of his neck.

Naoya paused, lifting a raised eyebrow at him. “Are you coming or are you just going to stand there the whole time?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Geto continued forward, brushing past other people dressed in lavish outfits. “This isn’t…weird to you at all?”

Naoya rolled his eyes, matching his pace to his. “No. My dad used to take me to these things all the time when he performed.”

“Your dad performed here?” Geto asked, eagerness piercing his voice.

“Yeah.” Naoya didn’t look at him, just stared forward steadily. “Nabito Zenin. Fucking waste of talent though, if you ask me.”

A hush fell over the group before Geto could ask what that meant. He looked up and saw the biggest stage he’s ever seen. Bright lights are shining over the room, and the ceiling is so tall that it might as well be a condo. Rows and rows of celebrities sat here, all in one room, and Geto felt his stomach drop.

Inside, the venue buzzes with anticipation. Seats fill with idols, staff, and execs from every agency that matters. When they reach their row, Geto pauses.

“Hollow’s here,” he mutters under his breath.

“Great.” Naoya sighed, sitting down in his seat.

Sure enough—HOLLOW, Kyoto Ent’s girl group, is seated directly in front of them. All smoky eyes and bleached tips, laughing over something on one of the girls’ phones.

Geto leans over the girl’s shoulder. “Yo. ”

Shoko turns, a bright smile on her face. “Hey, weirdo.”

She’s looked the same since they were kids. Cool brown eyes, a beauty mark underneath and–

“You cut your hair?”

He and Shoko were neighbours before he moved; they spent every minute together, after school, in school, whatever. His Mom always thought that they would grow up and fall in love (which he thought would be impossible to spend that much time with a girl), but he was always so jealous of how soft her brown hair was, when Geto’s was hot and heavy and tangled all the time.

Shoko runs a hand through her now very short hair, a few inches off from a pixie. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you. It’s all about a new look for the group. I kinda like it though.”

Geto shrugs, it did look really good on her, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to do the same thing when he debuted.“Sick.”

A girl he doesn’t know shakes Shoko’s shoulder lightly, “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, Shoko! Does he go to Kyoto?” She tucks her hair behind her ears, looking between the two of them.

A slightly younger girl with two low pigtails rests her head against Shoko’s shoulder. “Aw, Utahime’s going to be crushed.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Geto, these are my annoying group members, Riko Amanai and Mei Mei,” She turns back to the blond girl that he assumes is Mei Mei, “Geto and I have been friends for a while since our Dads were both in the industry; he’s in JJH.”

Mei Mei looks back at him, leaning over the back of her seat.

“So you’re single, right? Cause you’re pretty cute.”

Her voice sounded sickeningly sweet, and Geto pauses because, sure, she’s pretty.

She’s got long lashes that flutter to reveal deep brown eyes and silky silver hair that almost reaches her waist. She’s objectively attractive but Geto just can’t help but feel like his skin is tightening against his body when he thinks about it.

He blinks, realizing he’s yet to respond.

“Yeah, wait till you see him after dance rehearsal. Not so cute.” Takuma elbows him in the stomach, scooching forward in his seat. “I’m Takuma Ino, by the way.”

Geto sighs silently, reminding himself to thank Takuma afterwards. He tunes out the rest of their conversation, especially after Nanami and Haibara get involved.

Then the lights dim. A host jogs onstage with a bright grin. “Welcome to the 2006 Industry Night Showcase—where the future of K-pop is about to take the stage.”

The performances roll in waves—rookies, trainees, duos, a piano ballad that makes even Naoya stop texting. A soloist from KΛMO does a high note so sharp it earns a gasp from the audience.

Then: silence.

“And now,” the host says, “we have a special solo preview from an independent trainee you’ll definitely remember after tonight… Please welcome: Satoru Gojo.”

The stage explodes in an LED strobe. A white jacket flashes through the fog.

Hair a little longer than Geto remembers. Oversized sunglasses. Black shirt open at the collar. He opens with a verse– smooth, not even trying– the crowd gets louder. Someone from HOLLOW whispers, “he’s cute,” and Geto pretends not to hear.

Then the beat drops,

and the crowd screams like they’ve been waiting for him all night.

His stomach’s twisting– not from jealously, exactly. Not even surprise. Just,

Of course.

Of course that stupid, abrasive boy from his audition turned out to be like this.

The stage lights dim as Gojo exists and the audience erupts.

After the curtain call, the venue buzzes with lingering press. Yuki waves them down from the side hallway, practically bouncing in place.

“Meeting. Now.”

They follow her backstage, winding past costume racks and glowing dressing rooms. Shoko throws them a peace sign as she disappears down the opposite corridor with her group.

Yuki finally stops in front of a side door.

“Okay. So don’t freak out.”

It opens.

And standing there, hair still damp with sweat, is Satoru Gojo. He grins like he’s been waiting for them.

“Hey. Guess who’s your new teammate?”

A pause.

No one moves.

Then, slowly, Geto’s eyes narrow– just for a second.

“You’re kidding.”

The clock read 4:17 PM.

The studio smelled like sweat and scuffed rubber soles. Nanami was already mid-stretch on the floor, legs out and spine straight as a board, while Haibara tried balancing upside down against the mirror like a bugged-out gymnast.

“Hope we get sick dance choreo Bite Me Back. Something we can actually show off with,” Ino said, absently bouncing a ball between his hands.

Naoya snorted from where he was fixing his hair in the mirror. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the one the fans will be dying to see in a crop top.”

Nanami groaned. “Can we stay on topic?”

Haibara, now upright, chimed in. “I just wanna do a song with whistling in it. Or like, a chant. Something fun.”

“That’s not a genre,” Nanami said flatly.

“Geto!” Ino twisted around on the floor. “You’re the music guy. What are we even doing? How many tracks?”

Geto, seated with his lyric notebook open and a mess of scribbled drafts in his lap, looked up with a shrug.

FAULTLINE (title track) – all members

GLASS // STATIC – rap line unit

SHARP TEETH – ballad unit (Nanami, Geto)

BITE ME BACK – dance-heavy group track

???

CLOSER THAN CLOSE – all members

“Six total. Four finished. Two still need vocals and arrangement. One’s a group anthem, two are more rap-focused. There’s the ballad we recorded last week…”

He trailed off, gnawing at the end of his pencil.

“Which one’s mine again?” Naoya asked, leaning against the wall, clearly uninterested in anything that wasn’t centred on him.

“You’re on the pre-chorus for Glass Static and backing for Sharp Teeth,” Geto replied without looking.

“What about Gojo?” Haibara asked, tone casual, but the room quieted a bit.

Geto paused. “Yuki wants him featured on the sixth track. That’s the only one we haven’t drafted yet.” “ Yeah, about that,” Ino popped his straw into his juice box before taking a long sip. “What do you guys think about him?”

“He might not even stay. He could just leave if the album doesn’t sell well.” Naoya pointed out, picking at his fingernails.

Haibara frowned. “I don’t think he’d do that. I don’t know, I have a good feeling about it.”

“Mm.” Nanami folded his arms. “He’s good.”

“He’s flashy,” Geto said, a little sharp. “Not the same thing.”

Haibara raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Geto said nothing. He pulled the black band from his wrist and retied his hair with deliberate slowness. The silence after that stretched until Yuki walked in, clipboard in hand, and everyone scrambled upright.

“Alright,” she said. “Eyes on me. We’ve got an updated training slate. JJH wants a new set of promotional materials for the album rollout, which means—”

“More concept shoots?” Naoya guessed.

“More dance rehearsals,” Yuki corrected. “And for one of you,”—she turned a page—“your duet just got approved.”

Everyone turned, almost in unison, to look at Geto.

“Yup,” Yuki confirmed. “Geto’s track ‘Call My Name.’ Officially part of the album now. He’ll be performing it as a duet.”

Geto blinked. “Wait. I didn’t—”

“…With Gojo Satoru,” Yuki added.

A beat.

“What?” Geto said.

Even Haibara couldn’t summon a joke fast enough.

“He’s got a big following, the execs want him to feature. We’re hoping for you guys to perform a teaser of the duet at the Summer Showcase. So we’re on a pretty tight time limit.”

“How tight?”

Yuki grimaces, “20 days, just about. You’ve got after-hours studio time booked starting today. Just the two of you.” She glanced between him and the door.

“Speaking of which…”

Right on cue, the studio door swung open.

“Aw, don’t stop on my account.” Gojo stepped in, casually. In a different outfit than yesterday, but still wearing sunglasses indoors. “Miss me?”

No one answered immediately. Haibara waved.

Nanami stood up and nodded once, professional as ever. “Welcome to the team.”

Naoya rolled his eyes but said nothing. Ino elbowed Haibara to suppress a laugh.

Gojo's eyes lazily glanced about the room before stopping on him.

“Hey!” Gojo points, triumphant. “I know you. Crazy bangs. You’re that jerk from the audition.”

Haibara immediately snorts, choking down a laugh as Naoya side-eyes him with a sharp kick to the shin.

“Hm?” Geto barely glances over. “Don’t think we’ve met.”

Gojo raises a brow, pausing. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Geto deadpans.

Gojo blinks. “You’re joking. JJH. Last year. Audition room?

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” And Geto has to hide a smile at the way Gojo’s eyebrows furrow.

Yuki clapped her hands. “Alright! Let’s warm up, then we’ll split into sections—Gojo, you and Geto are in Studio C later. Make it good.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Gojo grins, dispute already forgotten. “Guess we’re duet partners now, Bangs.”

DAY 1.

Warm-up was done, water bottles were cracked open, and Gojo was doing a slow spin on the heels of his sneakers while the rest of the group stretched out across the dance mats.

He could already tell the vibes were… lukewarm. Haibara was polite enough, Ino kept squinting like he was trying to figure out if Gojo was real or not, and Naoya wouldn’t look at him at all. Nanami was neutral, as always — but it was Geto that stood out. Not because he said anything. But because he didn’t.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a sarcastic one.

He just sat in the corner after warm-up with that notebook of his, legs crossed like he had somewhere better to be.

Gojo hated being ignored.

He glanced at Geto. Still unreadable. He wasn’t frowning, exactly, but his mouth looked like it was holding something back — an eye-roll, maybe. Or a sigh.

Yuki handed him a folder of notes. “This song is still in draft phase, but you’re the two it’s built around. You’ve got different strengths. I want to see if you can figure out how to make them complement each other instead of clash.”

“And if we can’t?” Gojo asked.

“Then I get the fun job of rewriting the whole thing without either of you.”

Gojo whistled. “High stakes.”

“Don’t treat it like a game, Satoru.”

That was the first time Geto spoke. Quiet, but pointed. He didn’t even look at him. Just walked past and out the door like he expected Gojo to follow — or didn’t care if he didn’t.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, tossed his lollipop stick in the trash, and followed.

This was going to be fun. Or terrible. Probably both.

He was used to walking into studios with people already smiling. Backup dancers, vocal coaches, stylists — even the staff from JJH who were too cool to fangirl usually gave him a nod. He had that effect.

This time, when Gojo stepped into Studio C, the only welcome he got was the echo of the door slamming shut behind him.

Geto was already inside. Hood off now, hair tied loosely back, hunched over the console like he’d rather be anywhere else. His pen scratched fast against the sheet music, like he was racing someone in his head.

Gojo leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “So. This is cozy.”

No answer.

He looked around — standard studio layout. Keyboard. Monitors. Mic stand in the corner. He walked over and poked a few keys, out of boredom.

Still nothing from Geto.

Gojo turned. “You always this talkative?”

Finally, Geto looked up. And it wasn’t annoyance on his face. It wasn’t even dislike. It was that same flat look Yuki had — like Gojo wasn’t the center of the room. “Do you even know how to read notation?” Geto asked.

Gojo blinked. “You gonna quiz me?”

“I’m trying to figure out how we’re supposed to collaborate when one of us is taking it seriously.”

Gojo frowned. “You think I’m not?”

“You’ve been here one day. This track wasn’t even in the album until you got added.”

“So? You think I asked for it?”

“I think you live for the attention,” Geto said calmly, flipping to the next page of the arrangement. “That’s different.”

Gojo’s mouth twitched, caught somewhere between a smirk and a glare. “Y’know, you talk like you’re forty.”

“You talk like you’ve never worked for anything.”

That one hit. Just a little.

Then he turned the page toward Gojo. “Here. This section is you.”

Gojo leaned in. The harmony line was lighter, higher, wrapped around a melody that was darker underneath. Almost gritty.

“You wrote this?” “I wrote it in pieces. Just happened to bleed the last part out the day of the audition.” Geto’s tone is flat. “Anyway. Let’s figure out who’s singing what.”

He slides a printed lyric sheet across the console. Gojo picks it up, eyes scanning the page. He remembers hearing it once, through a studio wall, last year. He hadn’t forgotten it.

“You ever thought about performing it as a duet before?”

Geto shrugs. “No.”

They start with the opening verse. Geto sings first, smooth and restrained, like he’s controlling every breath.

Whisper low, I’ll hear it still / One word and I bend your will…

Gojo watches his hands on the keys, notes the way he shifts forward slightly when he sings “Every crack leads back to you.”

When it’s Gojo’s turn, he leans in and tries not to overdo it.

"You move like you’ve got secrets / I move like I wrote them first…"

Geto doesn’t stop him, which feels like high praise.

By the chorus, they’re facing each other, singing in sync.

"Call my name—I’ll come like smoke / Sweet and slow, but you’ll still choke

Pull you close just to let you burn / I teach lessons no one learns…"

Their voices twist together—Geto’s cool and pointed, Gojo’s full of heat. Like flame curling under ice.

"Call my name, I don’t forget / Every ghost I’ve ever met…"

They hit the final line of the chorus at the same time.

" Say my name—you’ll see their face." Silence lingers after. It takes Gojo a second to realize he’s breathing a little too fast.

“Shit,” he says, softer than he meant to. “This is good.”

Geto’s still for a beat. Then he gives a single nod, eyes flicking back to the piano. “It’s working.”

DAY 2.

Gojo leaned over the control desk, watching Geto scribble adjustments on the sheet music like he was solving a crime scene.

“This verse here,” Geto muttered. “You come in on the second beat. Don’t rush it like you did last time.”

Gojo popped his gum. “I was adding flair.”

“You were off-beat.”

“Semantics.”

Geto let out a slow exhale. “Do you ever stop performing?”

Gojo leaned closer, grinning. “Only when I’m asleep. Probably.”

Geto didn’t laugh. Just tapped the sheet again. “Focus. This track’s emotional. You need to sound like you’ve actually felt something before.”

Gojo tilted his head, some of the humor sliding off his face. “You think I haven’t?”

There was something underneath that—flat, but sharp. Geto glanced at him, and for a second, something clicked: the easy showboating, the perfect stage presence, the way he slipped into confidence like a second skin. But maybe that skin was paper-thin.

“…Fine,” Geto said. “Let’s do a dry run. No flair. Just real.”

Gojo nodded. And this time, when he sang—lower, slower—Geto didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

DAY 5.

The studio is dimmer now. It’s nearly 9 PM, and most of the group has already gone home. A keyboard, guitar stand, and vocal mic are set up near the glass panel.

Gojo twirls a pen between his fingers while Geto silently pulls up files on the studio laptop. The tension is thick.

Throughout all of this, even though Geto’s blunt, indifferent and somehow high-strung all in one, Gojo can’t help but think–

This guy’s good.

Not just “idol good.” Not just “JJH good.” This was the kind of skill that didn’t come from pressure or popularity. It came from late nights and long drafts and being obsessed enough to get it right.

Which made Gojo wonder: how did someone like this end up in the same lineup as Naoya?

“What’s it about?”

“What?” Geto’s voice snapped back at him, hard and bristled, and if Gojo wasn’t so used to it by now, he’d flinch.

“The song,” Gojo said, stepping closer. “What’s it about?”

Geto snapped the notebook closed. “It doesn’t matter. Just follow the harmony.”

“What, is it about an ex?” Gojo asked, half teasing, half testing.

“Drop it.”

A pause.

Geto sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s just…It’s not for the stage. Not like this.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Then why submit it?”

“I didn’t.”

Gojo blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Geto rose, expression unreadable. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here. So let’s just—do the damn duet.”

DAY 7.

The clock on the wall said 9:42, but it felt later.

They’d finished drills over an hour ago, and now the boys were scattered across the room like dropped pins—some on their backs, some slouched against the wall, others half-heartedly stretching. No one had the energy to leave yet.

Gojo had claimed the corner next to Geto, his legs stretched out obnoxiously far in front of him, arms draped over his knees like he owned the room. He was balancing an energy drink can on his thigh, watching it sway every time he laughed.

“I’m telling you,” he said, “I only got lost twice on the way here this time. That's progress.”

“Or a fluke,” Nanami muttered, taking a slow sip from his water bottle.

“Why’d they even let you in?” Naoya said flatly, flipping a page in the lyrics binder on the floor. “You’ve barely been here a week.”

“Because I’m charming,” Gojo grinned, flashing a peace sign.

“You’re loud,” Naoya muttered.

“I think that’s what they like about him,” Haibara said from the floor, sprawled out with his eyes half-closed. “He’s like a golden retriever on sugar.”

“I’m literally not,” Gojo said, looking vaguely offended.

“You kind of are,” Ino added, from where he sat cross-legged. “But in a marketable way.”

Geto, sitting beside Gojo with a towel around his neck, snorted under his breath.

“You’ve barely said a word tonight, Suguru,” Gojo said, nudging him with his knee. “Come on. Rate my charm. One to ten.”

“Negative six,” Geto muttered.

Haibara cracked up. Ino laughed so hard he choked on his water.

Gojo clutched his chest in fake betrayal. “You wound me.”

“It’s deserved,” Nanami said, not looking up from his notes.

Naoya gave a long, annoyed sigh, like being in the room was a punishment. “God, are we naming the group or not? Or is this just Gojo’s stand-up hour.”

“We were talking about it before,” Haibara said, sitting up. “Something kind of edgy. Y’know, not cutesy.”

“Yeah, we’re not calling ourselves ‘Shining Sky Boys’ or anything,” Ino added.

“I kind of like that,” Gojo offered.

Geto gave him a look.

“I’m kidding. Kind of.” Gojo smiled.

“I was thinking about what Geto said,” Ino went on. “That time he called us cursed.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Geto said.

“Still fits,” Ino shrugged. “We’re six random guys, forced to live, train, and survive in a building full of mirrors. If that’s not cursed, what is?”

“CURS,” Haibara said aloud, testing it. “With no E. That could work.”

“CURS…” Nanami echoed, slowly. “And something to make it stand out.”

“Like a symbol,” Ino said. “Equals sign. Something cryptic. CURS equals something.”

“There’s six of us,” Haibara pointed out. “Like a six-sided die. CURS equals D6.”

Everyone went quiet for a second.

“CURS=D6,” Ino repeated, grinning. “It sounds sick.”

“It sounds like something a twelve-year-old would write on a locker,” Naoya muttered.

“Still better than anything you’ve said,” Nanami replied.

Gojo clapped his hands once. “CURS equals D6. Six of us. Cursed but still rolling.” He flashed a grin. “I’m in.”

Geto didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away when Gojo nudged his shoulder again, either.

DAY 9.

“You ever think about what this song’s really about?” he asks casually.

“No.”

“Liar.”

They both fall into silence again. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not entirely tense anymore either. Gojo taps the arm of the couch lightly.

“Yuki says we’re doing this live at the summer showcase,” he says.

“I know.”

“You cool with that?”

Geto looks up from his notebook. “I didn’t say no.”

Gojo swallows and stands.

“Let’s try the bridge.”

DAY 14.

The rehearsal room hums with muffled music and voices behind the closed door. Geto sinks onto the bottom step. The heavy door clicks shut behind him. He exhales, pulling out his phone. Dials.

“Look who finally remembered he has friends outside boyband bootcamp.”

“Sorry, Shoko. It’s been… nonstop. I think I’m hallucinating choreography.”

Shoko laughs softly. There’s a pause, gentle static on the line.

“You sound tired.”

“Yeah. It’s fine. It’s just.. the duet. It’s not what I expected.”

Oh?

“He’s… good. Like, actually good. Once he stops being a jackass and starts singing properly, he kind of… gets it. Picks things up fast. Has presence.”

”Wow. You sound impressed. Should I be worried?

“Shut up. I’m just saying—he’s got something. People just fall into step around him. Like gravity. It’s annoying.”

He continues, not waiting for Shoko’s response, suddenly itching to confess.

“He walks into a room, and suddenly the entire mood changes. Everyone lights up. Even the instructors soften. He doesn’t even try. It’s just… effortless.”

A pause. His tone flattens.

“He’s not what I thought. But he’s still—God, he’s so much. Everything has to be a performance with him. Even breathing.”

”Suguru…”

“It’s not like I hate him. I don’t. He’s talented. Charismatic. He’s probably going to be the reason we debut.”

”You’re jealous.”

He scoffs, fiddling with a frayed thread on his pants. “I’m not jealous.”

“He doesn’t shut up, Shoko. And I can’t shut him out. He’s in every room, every mirror. It’s like I’m not allowed to have something that’s just mine. I’m just someone filling space around Satoru Gojo.”

A beat.

The stairwell door creaks open.

Geto turns sharply—

Gojo stands frozen in the doorway. Half-shadowed, unreadable. His hand still on the handle.

They lock eyes. Gojo doesn’t say anything. No smirk, no joke. Just a quick, hollow smile. Then he steps back, letting the door fall shut with a soft click. Geto stares at the door. His throat tightens.

“Suguru? What was that?” He swallows.

“I think…I messed up.”

DAY 17.

The studio is quiet except for the rhythmic beat pulsing from the speakers. A moody R&B instrumental floods the mirrored space, the dark guitar riff of Call My Name grinding slowly and sultrily in the air.

Yuki leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching. Ijichi, Gojo’s manager, lurks awkwardly by the door with his clipboard, eyes darting between the boys like he’s calculating risk. Sweat darkens the back of Geto’s collar, his loose black rehearsal shirt clinging to his frame. Gojo’s in a white sleeveless hoodie, damp hair curling around his temple.

They move through the first chorus, steps practiced but stiff.

“Stop,” Yuki calls, clicking the remote. The track cuts.

They freeze. “You’re dancing around each other like you’re avoiding a fight. I don’t want polite—I want conviction. Geto, your energy drops every time Satoru moves closer. Satoru, you’re acting like you’re the only one on stage. Again.”

The music restarts.

Gojo breathes out slowly, eyes on the floor, before snapping up. The second verse begins. They move–closer, sharper. Gojo grabs Geto’s wrist at the cue, twirls him into a body-check moment that simulates pulling someone in. It’s a choreography note: one aggressive beat of tension, right before they break away. Geto doesn’t follow the step. He stiffens mid-spin and shoves Gojo off.

Gojo stumbles, catches himself.

Yuki straightens up.

Gojo frowns, lifting his hands. “You’re supposed to move into the hold. It’s in the choreo.” “I know what it is.”

“Then do it right.” Geto snaps a towel from the barre and turns away, wiping his face. “If you want someone to throw themselves into your arms, pick someone who wants to be here.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, shuts, then tightens. “You think I want this?”

“You sure act like you do.”

“Oh, so now it’s a crime to try?”

“It’s a crime to pretend. This song—” Geto pauses, breath ragged. “You don’t get what it’s about.”

“Maybe not. But I know how to show up.” Gojo’s voice rises, bright with frustration. “Maybe,” He steps forward, jabbing his finger into Geto’s chest at every word, "you’re too busy “filling space” around me to follow simple choreography".

Geto arches a brow, a flicker of—something crossing over his face. “Do you wanna take this outside, Satoru?”

Gojo steps forward, grinning wider. “You lonely or something? Go yourself.”

The silence rings out after that line, too loud, too final.

Yuki sighs and turns off the speaker. “Both of you. Out.”

Neither moves.

Yuki adds, “Separate corners. Cool off. I want a clean run-through before the showcase, or neither of you goes on.”

Ijichi coughs softly. “I’ll walk Satoru out.”

DAY 20.

Lights warm the velvet-black stage. The other trainees buzz backstage, lining up in costume and makeup. Geto adjusts his earpiece, head down, fingers clenched. He hasn’t spoken to Gojo since the fight. The air between them hasn’t thawed.

The stagehand gives them a five-count.

Gojo stands beside him in silence. He shifts, then says under his breath, “You were right.”

Geto turns slightly. “I don’t get the song,” Gojo says. “Not all of it. But I meant it when I said I heard you. Back then. And now.”

The music cue hums in.

He opens his mouth to apologize, for the stairwell, for their first rehearsal, for that moment in the audition hallway, for how his heart drums against his chest when Gojo presses a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t say anything,” Gojo adds, softer. “Just…don’t walk away this time.”

Geto doesn’t answer. But when the curtain rises, he walks out. And Gojo follows.

[starrysappyideas]

Off The Record ///// Chapter Two

____________________________

a satosugu kpop fanfic

___________________________________________

࢈ Top 10 Artist ࢈ National Billboard // As of January 3rd, 2005.//

Pos. # Artist Last Week Rt. Wks on Chart

1 YK∞ --- 1 = -- 41

2 Toji --- 14 🠉 -- 21

3 6-EYES --- 4 🠉 -- 19

4 FrznStar --- 4 = -- 27

5 Naobito ---Zenin 3 🠋 -- 16

6 Ryomen Sukuna --- 2 🠋 -- 57

7 KΛMO --- 27 🠉 -- 18

8 Q --- 🠉 -- 27

9 Yoshinobu Gakuganji --- 6 🠋 -- 15

10 Jinichi. Z --- 9 🠋 -- 23

Geto thought the hard part was getting into JJH.

He was wrong. ________________________ || From: kim.yuri@jjh.co.jp To: geto.surguru@jjh.co.jp, nanami.kento@jjh.co.jp, haibara.yuu@jjh.co.jp, takuma.ino@jjh.co.jp,naoya.zenin@jjh.co.jp Subject: Group Training Day 1 – Orientation & Expectations

Dear Trainees,

Welcome to your first official group session under JJH Tokyo’s 2005 Development Program. This is a formal notice regarding your scheduled group training session. Attendance is mandatory. Late arrivals will be noted and reflected in your evaluations. Location: Studio C Call Time: 07:45 AM (training begins at 08:00 sharp) Trainer: Tsukumo Yuki Duration: Full-day session This is your first chance to train as a unit. Each of you was selected for your potential, but from this point forward, your performance as a group will define your trajectory. Progress will be monitored. Cuts are ongoing. Questions or conflicts should be directed to management, not fellow trainees. |Yuri Kim Trainee Operations Coordinator JJH Tokyo Entertainment kim.yuri@jjh.co.jp ______________________________||

And here he was. Outside Studio C at 7:50 AM.

He was also the only person there.

Geto took the time to observe his surroundings. Even in the underground level training rooms, everything was pristinely clean. There were signs on every wall, detailing different slogans like “Talent gets you noticed. Discipline gets you debuted.”, with mirrors attached to each one.

Geto’s reflection stared back at him– black sweatpants, oversized T-shirt, hair slipping out of his ponytail. The elastic snapped once against his wrist before he looped it into a tight bun. A few strands still slipped loose, curling behind his ears. His reflection looked tired — half-formed shadows under his eyes, skin warm and golden from the sun he’d soaked up all summer. His mom kept nagging him about it — said the tan “wouldn’t fly.” He couldn’t help it. He tanned too easily, and besides, it wasn’t like he could peel off the summer.

“Yo!”’

He jolted, looking up to spot two boys approaching him. They both look around his age, so they must also be here for training. The shorter boy, the one who yelled out, had short brown hair and a bright face. He waved again, as if Geto couldn’t see them coming his way already. The boy next to him had blond bangs covering his left eye and was dressed in formal black clothing.

The shorter one jogged up to Geto, slightly out of breath,

“Hey man! I’m Yu Haibara! You’re for the first day of training, right?” Geto nodded, looking between the two. “Cool! Man, I’m so nervous!”

“You don’t need to speak so loudly when we’re indoors.” The second boy said, exasperatedly rolling his eyes.

The shorter boy, Haibara, elbowed the blond in the stomach. “Nanami! Don’t be rude.You gotta introduce yourself, since we’re going to debut together anyway.”

“You literally just introduced me.”

“No, I didn't!”

“You said my name.”

“Kento’s your first name, though.”

“Now he knows.”

Geto couldn’t help but a bout of laughter escaped from his lips, he had to clutch his stomach to stop the unexpected peals of laughter at the two boys’ banter. “Sorry, sorry. I’m Geto, by the way.”

“Oh, cool! Are you American?” Haibara coughed suddenly as Nanami hit him in the shoulder, then jolted upright in realization, “Not that it’s a bad thing! You just have an accent, which is cool–You sound like a cowboy, kinda!”

Geto snorted. Haibara was really..blunt. “It’s cool. I was born in Japan, but I grew up in Tennessee.”

A voice cut through the air, dry and unimpressed.

“Wow. You guys are loud.” Geto turned. The boy leaning against the wall was striking- hair perfectly styled, with black frosted tips, posture rigid, and a disdainful expression staining his face.

He rolled his eyes at the lack of response from the room and stalked over to the bright blue door with “STUDIO C” in glitter on the top (a bit more overzealous for Geto’s taste, but whatever).

Geto frowned as the new boy reached for the doorknob,

“Hey, I think it’s–”

The door was pushed open as the other boy walked through, not waiting for the rest of them.

“–locked.”

Huh. Nevermind.

Haibara raises an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth lifting, “You didn't try the door first?”

Nanami followed the boy through the now-open door, stopping to elbow Haibara on the way. “Look who’s being rude now.”

“Dude!”

Geto couldn’t help but feel a smile curling on his face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He went to follow–and immediately ran into Haibara’s back.

“Hey, could you–”

Haibara quickly shuffled to the side, and Geto understood.

In the middle of the studio, Yuki Tsumoko was dancing.

Geto could now hear the music bouncing around the walls of the room, every lyric shadowing Yuki’s moves.

No strings, no rules Born wild, I bend the tools I don’t need an origin, I make my own spark You trace the curse– I light up the dark

And Geto got it. Why she was so famous, so idolized, he understood in the sharp movements and the way she made the chaos look effortless. Every step hit just off enough to feel new, every pause demanded attention.

Haibara let out a low whistle beside him. “She’s insane.”

Naoya, who had materialized on the other side of Geto at some point, scoffed. “Obviously, that’s Yuki Tsumoko.

Geto watched as she finished her combo, then turned, sweat-slick and smiling.

“Stretch.” She said, brushing past them on her way to the speaker. “If you try that right away, you’ll snap something.”

“We’re doing that?” Haibara whispered to Nanami, somehow even louder than he was before.

Yuki paused the music filtering through the speakers before chugging some of her water bottle. “Yes, you will be doing that. Don’t worry, it’s just a warmup to see where you guys are at.”

“Warmup?”

“Wait…” Yuki paused, glancing at them one by one, “Isn’t there supposed to be 5 of you today? Where’s–”

Before she could even finish her sentence, a loud thud echoed in the hallway.

A second later, the studio door creaked open again. A breathless boy in a crumpled hoodie stumbled through, clutching a messenger bag with the zipper wide open (not that he seemed to notice), and brown, messy hair that stuck out every which way.

“Sorry, sorry–train delay! And my alarm didn’t–” He cut himself off the second he registered who was standing in the center of the room.

“Oh.” He straightened. “You’re Yuki Tsumoko.”

Yuki cocked her head, amused. “I am. And you’re late.”

“I am,” He stared till his brain caught up with his mouth. “I am! Yes! So sorry about that–uh, the train was delayed and—”

Yuki tossed her water bottle onto the floor mat and walked back towards the speakers. “It’s all good, Takuma. You can make up for it by leading a warm-up.”

“What?”

“What.” Naoya echoed, brows lifted.

“You’re warmed up, yeah? Since you were running?” Yuki questioned, still focused on the tablet connected to the speakers.

“I mean–kind of? But, I don’t even know what we’re doing.”

Yuki smiled, having found the track she was playing earlier. “Even better. Don’t worry, I’ll lead first, but then it’s all you. Hope you guys are done stretching!”

She looked towards the four of them, to which Geto hadn’t even realized Nanami and Naoya had started to stretch, while Haibara had drifted over to Takuma to introduce himself. Shit.

“5, 6, 7, 8!”

Yeah, definitely harder than he thought.

[6:41 PM]

Haibara: ok i know everyone’s half-dead but i’m making this chat anyway Haibara: anyway hi Geto: I just woke up I've literally never been so tired Geto: but hey Nanami: Ice your legs. Nanami: Also this is terrible. Haibara: lol you looked like you were about to pass out on rep 3 Nanami: I was fine. Nanami: You stepped on my foot. Naoya: this is pointless. 7:30 call. don’t be late Haibara: what if this chat becomes historic one day Haibara: and ur in here acting like a hater Naoya: then history is already doomed Takuma: bro relax 😭 Takuma: i’m bringing snacks tomorrow. moral support snacks Haibara: what KIND Takuma: like. jelly stuff and weird kitkats. idk, it’s a surprise Nanami: Bring extras. Haibara: you LIKE candy?? Nanami: They’re small and fast. Efficient. Haibara: “efficient.” okay nutritionist Haibara: okay but does anyone still have that one song in their head Haibara: the demo track she played?? when she looked like super hot??? Nanami: The lyrics don’t make sense. Also, she's like double your age. Haibara: age is just a number :) Geto: Ew. Naoya: you wouldn’t get the lyrics nanami Naoya: it’s called having taste Takuma: bold of you to speak on taste when your warmup fit looked like came from Ellen’s closet Naoya: do you ever shut up Takuma: do you ever relax Haibara: oh??? Geto: already? Nanami: I give this group three days Naoya: i’m blocking everyone Takuma: goodnight naoya 😇 seen by everyone

[7:03 PM] Shoko: yo Shoko: how was ur 1st day Geto: Tiring but the other group members are cool Shoko: ur so lucky mei mei is getting on lit last nerve rn Shoko: like sorry u can't have the solo in evry song we're literally a group??? Geto: Guess who's our trainer is Shoko: omg Shoko: who Geto: Yuki Tsumoko. Shoko: UR JOKES Shoko: UR ACTTTT JOKING NO WAY

[Ongoing call from Shoko, 7:10PM]

[Call Ended, 10:38PM]

______________________ || From: kim.yuri@jjh.co.jp To: geto.suguru@jjh.co.jp, nanami.kento@jjh.co.jp, haibara.yuu@jjh.co.jp, takuma.ino@jjh.co.jp, naoya.zenin@jjh.co.jp Subject: Group Training Update – Creative Development Phase Date: March 1st, 2005

Dear Trainees, As we enter the second month of your training cycle, your performance, attitude, and progress have been noted. The next phase of development will introduce early creative work, including initial album planning and internal role assignments. This does **not** mean debut is guaranteed. However, this is your opportunity to begin defining the sound, direction, and identity you’d bring to the table, should the group move forward. Assignments and expectations will be posted weekly in Studio C. You are encouraged to bring personal ideas, lyric drafts, or concept references. There is no "right" answer, but we are watching for initiative, compatibility, and leadership. Progress will be reviewed by A&R biweekly. Performance in this phase will directly influence your eligibility for continued group development. Attendance is mandatory. Excused absences must be approved 48 hours in advance. Questions should be directed to myself or your assigned vocal/choreo leads. |Yuri Kim Trainee Operations Coordinator JJH Tokyo Entertainment kim.yuri@jjh.co.jp ------------------------------------------ Geto opened the email while still sitting on the floor, back against the wall of Practice Room B. His hoodie was still halfway over his head. Haibara was mid-stretch beside him, talking to himself. So it was official. The album was happening. Or at least the skeleton of it.

Which meant: they weren’t just trainees anymore. They were being sorted.

“Did you get it?” Nanami asked, stepping back in with his water bottle.

“Yeah,” Geto said, dragging his hood off. “Looks like they’re serious.”

“They always are,” Nanami sighed,. “Let’s go, meeting time.”

“Coming.” He hated the production room, it smelled like instant ramen and vinyl.

Takuma and Naoya were already there, chattering coming to a stop as they noticed the rest of the group.

“Is this… the meeting?” Haibara asked, hovering behind a swivel chair. “It’s just us?”

“This is what the schedule said,” Nanami replied. His folder was already open, neat bullet points highlighted in three colours. “Creative briefing, 2:00. No producer yet.”

Takuma spins half a circle on his chair before slamming a can of iced coffee on the table. “Okay. So what do we do? Like—write a song? Now?”

Naoya, sitting in the back, blinked at him slowly. “You say that like it’s supposed to be easy.”

“It’s not that deep. We just need to figure out what kind of group we are,” Haibara said, still smiling like that wasn’t the most impossible thing anyone could’ve said.

The truth was, none of them knew what they were supposed to be yet. They hadn’t debuted. They didn’t even have a name.

Yuki hadn’t given them much.

“You’re not just learning dance and vocals anymore. This is the start of your actual debut concept. Your album, your sound. Start rough, see what sticks. We’ll assign roles as it comes.”

Easy to say. Harder to do.

“So, what, we just… start with a genre?” Takuma asked. “We pick something?”

“There are already a dozen boy groups doing synth-pop or acoustic sounds,” Naoya muttered.

“Do you have a better idea?” Geto asked, not hostile, just curious.

Naoya shrugged. “No. But I’m not here to copy someone else’s style.”

“Damn. That was almost inspirational,” Takuma said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Nanami cut in. “We should be documenting everything. Melody drafts, lyric fragments, and group feedback. If we don’t keep organized now, it’ll be chaos when we have to track the final versions.”

Takuma leaned toward Haibara. “Was he born with a clipboard?”

“Hey, it’s helpful,” Haibara whispered back.

Geto sat down at the keyboard in the corner. It wasn’t fancy—scuffed edges, a little out of tune—but his fingers moved across it instinctively. Quiet chords filled the room. Everyone paused.

He didn’t play anything complicated. Just a few bars. Minor key. Faint lift at the end.

“…That,” Haibara said. “That’s something.”

Geto let the notes hang in the air, then shrugged. “It’s just a sketch.”

“But it feels like an opening,” Ino said.

࢈ Top 10 Artist ࢈ National Billboard // As March 17th, 2005.//

Pos. Artist Last Week Wks on Chart

1 YK∞ --- 1 = -- 45

2 6-EYES --- 4 🠋 -- 23

3 Toji --- 14 🠉 -- 25

4 FrznStar --- 4 = -- 31

5 Naobito Zenin --- 3 🠋 -- 17

6 Ryomen Sukuna --- 2 🠋 -- 59

7 KΛMO --- 27 🠉 -- 20

8 Q --- 🠉 31

9 Yoshinobu Gakuganji 6 🠋 -- 19

10 STARPLVGE --- 9 🠋 -- 1

No one said it, but they were all thinking the same thing:

Someone had to be the main vocalist.

And someone had to be the one in the center.

But nobody wanted to claim it first.

“We can figure out positions once we’ve seen what fits,” Nanami said, like he wasn’t already acting like a leader.

Yuki had barely shown face this week, and they’d been left with a full room, a blank demo folder, and a deadline labelled “mid-concept check-in.” Whatever that meant.

“Let’s just test parts,” Geto offered calmly. “We can try different vocal lines over the chorus idea and see what works.” “Wait, we have a chorus?” Takuma blinked.

Geto pulled out a loose sheet of staff paper, something scribbled in pencil across it. “I stayed after and drafted a few variations. You guys can fill in melody or rap lines if something jumps out.”

“You just… stayed after?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” Takuma said, sitting up straighter. “You’re really trying to debut.”

Geto smiled faintly. “Aren’t you?”

It started with that chorus line.

Geto sang it first, mostly because no one else offered. Soft at first, then stronger. Controlled but raw. Nanami sat up slightly. Even Naoya looked over from where he was twirling a pen.

“…Okay,” Ino said, eyebrows raised. “That sounded real. Like actual stage-ready.”

“Have you ever trained in vocals before?” Nanami asked.

“A little,” Geto said.

That was a lie. It was more than a little. But he didn’t want to talk the handful of studio sessions from before. This version of him was new. A reset.

They recorded the line.

Then Haibara tried a verse — not bad, but he kept dropping into rhythmic pacing. Naturally syncopated. By the second attempt, he’d rewritten his part into a half-rapped bridge.

“I think you’re a rapper,” Takuma said, grinning.

“Maybe.” Haibara grinned back. “It’s kinda fun.”

Takuma was next. The verse didn’t suit him vocally, but once he was up and moving with the instrumental, it made sense. He hit every beat instinctively — not polished yet, but expressive. Controlled power, spring-loaded. He bounced through the loop, snapped into a spin, and landed like he’d meant to.

“Main dancer,” Haibara said immediately.

“Shut up.” Takuma grinned, winded. “But yeah, probably.”

It took longer to figure out Naoya.

He didn’t try anything first. He was quiet most of the time — but whenever they filmed practice for review, he was always there. Right in frame. He knew how to hold a camera’s attention even when he was doing the same choreo as everyone else. It was the way he looked up on beat three. The angles. The intentional tilt of his jawline.

“Visual,” Geto muttered.

Naoya looked up sharply.

“…What?”

“Nothing.”

Naoya narrowed his eyes. “Say it again.”

“I said you’re the visual.”

Naoya blinked. “Obviously.”

Takuma nearly choked on his water.

Nanami didn’t claim leader. He just… was.

He was the one updating the shared folder with edits. He was the one setting up the voice memo system, checking on studio booking times, and ordering throat lozenges for Haibara before he needed them.

No one said it. But they followed him anyway.

By the end of week four, their roles weren’t official — but the blueprint was starting to show..

Like they were almost complete.

But not quite.

[Incoming Call from Mom, 11:12 PM]

“Shit,” Geto hissed, trying to cover his eyes from the bright light emanating from his phone as he put it up to his ear. His voice spoke hoarsely into the phone, “Hello?”

“It’s only been two months, and you’ve forgotten English?” Her voice crackled out of his phone, a breath of familiarity that Geto hadn’t heard in weeks. She was right, though, Koreanhad become an everyday constant to him now, and even though they both knew that his Mom knew it, he switched to English for her.

“Sorry, habit. Hey, Ma.”

“Thought you’d fallen off the planet.”

“M’sorry,” He tied up his ever-growing hair into a bun, hating the feeling of heat on his neck. “Been busy.”

“I can tell. You sound like a wet dishrag.”

“Nice to hear you, too. How’s Dad?”

“Oh, you know him. He went and drove himself crazy again. He’ll probably be back tomorrow. You two are two peas in a pod, y’know. I don’t like chasing you two. I’m not askin’ for daily updates, just a sign that you’re still alive and still eating,”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“Hm.”

“Ma.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, then leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s just like a lot. Like… all the time. It’s stupid, but even when I think I’m getting used to it, it just, it just keeps– I don’t know. Going.

“Well, that’s the life you picked, ain’t it? Lights don’t come on unless there’s someone flipping the switches.”

“...Yeah.”

“You still want it?”

“Yeah.”

Geto could hear her tone soften slightly,

“Then we’ll deal with the rest.”

[Call Ended, 11:59 PM]

“I swear to god, if we loop that chorus one more time, I’m going to throw this mic,” Takuma deadpanned.

“It’s not the chorus that’s the problem,” Nanami replied, arms crossed. “It’s the hook. It’s not … hooking.” He sighed, frustrated.

“Say hook one more time, I dare you,” Naoya mumbled, half-asleep under his hoodie.

“Hook,” Geto said.

Naoya threw a water bottle at him. He caught it one-handed and tossed it back.

Yuki had said to try and build out something cohesive by the end of the month, something “distinct to the group.” But what did that mean when they were still figuring out what the group was?

“What if we added a call-and-response section?” Haibara suggested.

“No one wants to hear Naoya say anything twice,” Takuma said.

Naoya flipped him off without lifting his head.

Geto leaned back in his chair. The screen glowed with rough lyrics and drafts that all felt… decent. Just not right.

_____________________ ||Subject: Feature Pivot – Internal Use Only From: yuki.tsumiko@jjh.co.jp To: creative.strategy@jjh.co.jp CC: trainee.ops@jjh.co.jp Sent: Thursday, 11:42 PM Team, There’s been renewed interest from a former candidate who previously passed on group placement.The artist in question is now open to a more integrated role–potentially full placement, depending on fit. This is a shift from prior expectations. He’s not new to the scene. Visibility is high, and leadership wants us to explore long-term synergy, not just a one-off boost. No lineup changes yet. But structurally, keep space open. Especially on the opener and lead concept visuals. We’ll brief more at the next roundtable. —Y.T. _________________________________|||

Geto didn’t mean to make a habit out of staying late. It just happened.

The others would trickle out around 9, give or take.

Nanami would always clean up after himself. Haibara would always forget something — a notebook, his water bottle, his entire backpack once. Takuma and Naoya left together now, bickering as naturally as they breathed.

One time, Takuma tried to carry Naoya’s jacket as a joke. Naoya stared at him like he’d offered him a live rat.

Normal stuff.

Geto would wait until the door clicked shut behind them. Then he’d slide back onto the piano bench.

It wasn’t even a real piano, just a digital one shoved in the corner of the practice room, but it worked. He didn’t play in front of the others — they didn’t know he could. At least not properly.

He always made it look like he was just messing around when someone walked in. Loose fingers, unfinished chords.

Nothing serious.

But when it was quiet, really quiet, and the fluorescent lights started humming like they were the only other thing alive in the building, he got to work.

Progression in C. No vocals yet. Just the skeleton. He looped it. Built it out. Took it apart again. Something was missing in the bridge, and it drove him insane.

“You ever sleep?” a voice cut through from the doorway.

Yuki leaned on the frame, sipping vending machine coffee like it was wine.

Geto didn’t flinch. “No,” he said, without looking up.

“Cool,” she said. “That’s healthy.” He stopped the track and turned on the bench. “You checking on me?”

“Nope. Left my jacket.” She walked in, glancing at the sheet music half-scribbled beside him. “Or maybe I was curious what our sweet, brooding vocalist was doing all alone in the dark.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I always make it weird.”

She smiled, but it was soft. Not teasing. She looked at the draft on the screen again, then at the keys under his hands.

“You wrote this?” she asked.

He nodded once.

“You gonna tell anyone?”

He shrugged. “Eventually.”

“You should.”

Geto didn’t answer. He ran one bar again — this time with two fingers instead of the full chord. It sounded emptier. Not bad, just bare. He stared at the keys like they’d talk back if he stared long enough.

“I think I want the group to open with something like this,” he said, finally. “Not soft, just… honest. No wall of synths. Not yet.”

Yuki raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like a producer.”

“Don’t say that,” he muttered. “I still have two dance classes tomorrow.”

She laughed and started to say something else–but her phone rang.

Yuki checked the screen. Her expression flickered. “Sorry,” she said, stepping back toward the door.

“I’ve gotta take this.” He nodded.

But she paused right before leaving, turning her head halfway toward him.

“Hey, Suguru?”

“Yeah?”

She grinned like she knew something he didn’t. “You’re gonna want to finish that song soon.” She disappeared into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind her.

Geto turned back to the keyboard. Let the progression loop again while he rubbed at his temples. He was close. He could feel it — not in the music theory way, but in his gut. Something about the hook still didn’t land right.

From outside the practice room, Yuki’s voice carried through the thin walls. Not the words at first — just her tone. Calm. Collected. A little amused, like always. Then, quieter, like she turned away, but Geto caught a few things anyway.

“…No, he’s not here yet…” A pause.

“Mmhm. I told them to wait on the press until we decide. He’s not going to want a feature if he’s serious about joining…” Another pause. Longer this time. “No, I think he’ll work. He’s rough, but it’s the right kind of rough. And if we pair him with—”

She dipped out of range again, voice muffled. Geto couldn’t make out the rest. He sat back, eyebrows drawing in.

Not their group. She would’ve said the name. And not one of the other trainees — no one else had enough pull to “decide.” Not unless they were already industry-adjacent.

He tapped a few keys, let the loop run one more time, then shut the track down.

Just in case.

Whatever she was talking about, it wasn’t his business. Not yet. But the way she’d smiled before leaving—like she knew something he didn’t, like the bridge wasn’t the only thing he was missing—left a bitter taste in his mouth. He started packing up.

For once, he didn’t stay past midnight.

[starrysappyideas]

Off The Record /// Chapter One

_________________________________

a satosugu kpop fanfic

___________________________________________

࢈ Top 10 Artist ࢈ National Billboard // As of August 20th, 2019 //

Artist -- Last Week --- Rt. --- ---Wks on Chart

1 Satoru Gojo --- 1 = 273

2 SHAD0WFLASH --- 31 --10

3 Ryomen Sukuna --- 2 -- 311

4 Yuuta Okkotsu --- 13 -- 30

5 YK∞ --- 5 = -- 80

6 Girls^3 --- 11 -- 14

7 Z3N1N --- 27 -- 17

8 Todo Aoi --- -- 10 6

9 Kinji Hakari --- 17 -- 8

10 BLOODPACT --- 9 -- 23

He had just gotten home when he heard it.

“–so glad we caught you! And just after SHAD0WFLASH’s performance as well! Do you have any comments on their still rising success?”

Shoko must’ve gotten back first since both he and Nanamin refused to watch any type of news commentary anymore. It wasn’t the sound of the new reporters that had surprised him, though.

It was the sound of him.

“Yeah, I saw them, they were great. Everyone on the team really put their best in. I’m looking forward to the rest of the season’s performances.”

“And, do you think they’ll be enough competition to rally against Satoru Gojo at this year’s Invoke Awards?

He doesn’t notice himself moving forward, forgotten bags slipping from his hand.

“Ah..Well, Gojo-san certainly is talented, but so is the newer generation, so I guess we’ll have to see.”

Gojo-san, like he doesn’t even know him.

The interviewer, one he doesn’t know, giggles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, thanks for stopping by to talk to us–will we be hearing anything from you music-wise, in the future?”

“There’s something in the works. I’ve just signed on as a manager and producer for Yuuta Okkotsu under JJH Toyko.”

A beat.

“So, I guess I’ll be around to give Gojo-san a little more competition.” Surguru looked at the camera, at him.

“Wouldn’t want things too easy for him.”

What the fuck? — —--------- —------------ —---------------- ࢈ Top 10 Artist ࢈ National Billboard // As of September 1st, 2004 //

-- Artist ---- Last Week ---- Rt. ---- Wks on Chart ---

1 YK∞ --- 6 -- 24

2 Ryomen ---Sukuna --- 2 -- 40

3 Naobito ---Zenin --- 48 -- 7

4 FrznStar --- 4 -- 10

5 Toji -- 67 4

6 6-EYES 一一 2

7 Q 27 17

8 Yoshinobu Gakuganji --- -- 19

9 KΛMO --- -- 6 33

10 Jinichi. Z --- -- 9 12

“Number 7, Suguru Geto.”

Geto couldn’t get up. His legs felt like jelly, and his mouth tasted like sandpaper. The gum his mom had given him felt like cement under his tongue. The receptionist who had called his name clears her throat, her beady eyes scanning for him.

“Suguru Geto, Number 7?”

Geto’s Mom claps her sweaty palm on his shoulder, urging him forward. He swallows, taking slow, long steps towards the receptionist, “Hi.” –beads poke up at him.

“I’m Geto Suguru.” His voice comes out jilted, words stuck like honey to the back of his throat.

He’s practiced his routine and song a million times. He knows what he’s doing. He takes a quick glance back to his Mom, her black hair swept back in a ponytail, highlighting the dark circles underneath her eyes as she gives him a bright thumbs up. He can do this.

“Thank you so much for auditioning with JJH Tokyo today. If you could go down that hallway and enter the first room on your right, Yaga-san will be overseeing your audition today.” The receptionist nods, cheerily pointing down where Geto needs to go.

He nods, shakily, and follows her instructions down the hallway. The whole building is pristinely clean and white, unlike back home. All the floors and mirrors are polished as well, and each of the doors is decorated with black flourishes.

He pauses, just a few steps from the door. He could turn back. Right now. Tell his mom he’s changed his mind. She’d cry, probably protest—but she’d let him go. And he’d never have to find out if he was good enough.

A muffled voice leaks through the door.

“No, you don’t get to decide that.”

It stops him cold. There’s someone else inside.

Another voice, lower, calm. “You’re not ready yet.”

“You think I’m gonna wait around a whole year for your approval? You don’t even know me,” the first voice snaps.

“I know enough, Satoru,” the second voice replies — firm, but not cruel. “You’ve got talent, but no discipline. And this agency doesn’t hand out spotlight roles.”

Geto stiffens. His hands are clammy. He shouldn’t be listening, but it’s like his body won’t move. His fingers hover over the doorknob.

Then: “I don’t even know why my Dad wanted me to join your company. I don��t need this.”

The older voice — Yaga, probably — doesn’t raise his tone. “Then don’t be here.”

Silence. Then a thud, like a chair scraping across the floor. Geto’s stomach flips. He wasn’t supposed to hear that.

Before he even has a chance to back away from the door, it swings open, and a boy rushes through, pushing Geto aside.

“Hey!” Geto chokes out, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

He turns around and– wow. Geto’s seen models before, but none like this. The boy’s a little shorter than him, but he's got a sharp jaw and smooth skin. His hair is white and fluffy, a few strands curling under his ear.

He looks in a little closer and– His eyes are startlingly blue. Like the ocean. He’s kinda..pretty in a way.

“--Fuck are you looking at? I said, Get out of my way.” And it’s all ruined.

Geto brings himself out of his daze, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He tries to shrug it off, narrowing his gaze back at the boy’s eyes. “Sorry. ‘Didn’t hear you.”

The boy squints back at Geto, scrutinizing his baggy black t-shirt and black cargo pants he had borrowed from his Dad’s closet. “I don’t know you. You a newbie?”

Geto glances back at the now open audition door, and turns away from the strange boy. The last thing he should worry about is the competition anyway.

“Hello? Are you deaf? Don't– Hey! Don't just ignore me.”

What a weird guy. He rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind him.

And he's alone.

With Yaga.

The flood of jitters comes back into his system as he walks further into the room. Yaga’s not what he expected. He's younger than he thought, sporting a tracksuit and simple jewelry. He sits in the corner, legs wide, clipboard resting against his knee. He glances up, not unfriendly, but unreadable.

“Sorry about that. Satoru is a bit…abrasive. Geto Suguru, right?”

Abrasive. Understatement of a lifetime.

Geto nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Start with the dance. Track’s cued.”

He moves to the center of the room, to the lonely little X on the floor. Takes position.

The beat drops — sharp and fast, the opening synth buzzing through the speakers. Geto launches into the choreo. He practiced this until it haunted his sleep.

Step, turn, slide, spin.

The first eight counts are stiff — too much adrenaline in his limbs — but his body catches up. He doesn’t look at the mirror. He looks at the corner of the room, just past it. That’s where he always looks when he pretends there’s a crowd.

By the time the dance ends, he’s breathless. He bows quickly, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve.

“Vocals next,” Yaga says, flipping a page on the clipboard. “Same song?”

“No, sorry, I have a different song. One I wrote.”

The older man’s eyebrow lifts, in what Geto hopes is curiosity and not judgment. “You write songs?”

He nods, slowly. He's been making his songs for years now, after his parents saved up to buy him a guitar for his 10th birthday. Sure, singing’s great, and he's better at it than dancing, but that took practice. With composing, it feels like the notes and words fit like a puzzle in his head.

The instrumental kicks in — slower this time. Geto closes his eyes. Counts himself in. This is the part he's good at.

When he starts singing, his voice shakes. But not for long. The verse is smooth, his tone soft and clear.

“Whisper low, I’ll hear it still. One word and I bend your will,

Glass between us, I see through. Every crack leads back to you

You move like you’ve got secrets, I move like I wrote them first

You run from what you buried, I dig it up, make it hurt.

Call my name, I don’t forget

Every ghost I’ve ever met

I keep them quiet, but they stay. Say my name—you’ll see their face.

The final beat fades. He bows again.

Yaga doesn’t move. Just writes something down. Then says:

“Choreography’s ambitious. You dropped a beat in the second set, but you recovered.” Geto nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Vocals were decent. Breath control needs work. You’ve got a good way with words.” “Yes, sir.”

Yaga looks up at him — eyes sharp, but not unkind.

“I’ve got one question for you, though. Why are you here?”

Geto lifts his eyebrow in question. “For..the audition?”

“I mean, why are you here, at this company?”

“Well,” Geto purses his lips in concentration. What was he here for? Maybe it’s for his Mom, and how hard she works for him. But that doesn’t seem like enough.

Sure, he loved to compose and sing, but why the idol industry? Why here?

“I want to make people feel things.” Geto takes a step forward, confident in reaching Yaga with his answer, “With my music, and my lyrics, I want them to recognize themselves in that and relate. I know your company. I know that Yuki Tsumuko and Sukuna were also under this company. They didn’t just sing, they moved people–they moved me. I want to be that. I want to be…remembered.”

He stops, refilling his lungs with air. His hands are shaking, but his chest feels lighter. Yaga closes his clipboard.

“You’ve got potential. Welcome to JJH Tokyo.”

[starrysappyideas]

hiiii could you maybe write fantastic beasts with female teen reader/character, where she’s a powerful witch and queenie and tina find her and take her in and they become like co-moms to her even tho it’s hard to take care of a teenage witch , (angsty,fluff found family) <3

IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT I HAD A COLD SO IT PROBLABY HAS SOME ERRORS BUT IM GOING TO MAKE A PART TWO SOON

sorry this took so long but thank you so much for the request!!

It's cold. So cold

You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself even tighter.

Snowflakes begin to fall. One after another. They look beautiful, you think to yourself, beautiful and free. Oh, how nice it would be if you could bury yourself in the snow as well.

The recent outburst of your magic left nothing but rubble and flashes of pain.

No one got hurt. There's no one who's stick by you to get hurt. No family, no friends.

What am I going to do?

You push yourself up, slowly putting your left foot in front of your right, and reverse. Over, and over, and over.

You grimace, your head felt lighter than when you had woke up and your body felt heavier.

It would be so simple to cast a spell..your hand hovered in mid-air. You hesitated, feeling the power surge at your fingertips.

"Hello?"

You whip your head towards the sound. Fast. Too fast.

The last thing you see is a flash of gold before it all goes dark.

°ƸӜƷ•°*””*°•.ƸӜƷ•

Ugh.

“...that young? There's no way tha…same person..”

Everything hurts.

“I know…but the evidence…she's the one wh..”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over your head so you couldn't hear the loud voices. “Five more minutes..mmh.” You murmur, pulling the covers over your head.

Wait..

Pillow?

Covers?

Voices?

You bolt up, ignoring the sharp pain in your head. You try to recognize your surroundings, pastel furniture, newspapers thrown askew, unattended coffee mugs on the dining table.

“Who- Who are you? Where am I?” You questioned, grabbing the closest thing next to you, a spoon, and raising it threateningly . You pointed it at the two strangers ahead of you.

One, with hair blond and bouncy, shifting from toe to toe, a drink in her hands. Her brows were furrowed, looking concerned but not too much as to step in front.

The other, dark brown hair, standing more broadly than the other, twirling a pen in hand. Her eyes scanned you, but other than feeling like she was creeping at your pages, trying to read you, you felt..seen.

Their eyes..and the facial structure. Despite their hair color, they must be related..cousins maybe? Or sisters?

“We're not going to hurt you. We found you passed out in the snow.” Said the one with brown hair, though her voice didn't soften, it was oddly..comforting.

You shook your head, you knew better than to trust strangers..you've learned that mistake the hard way.

The blonde one stepped closer, placing the drink close to you. “Just a little hot choco, sweetheart. You must've been freezing out there, all alone.” She cooed, reaching her hand out - then taking it back, like it was too soon.

“Queenie. Come on, she needs rest. We can talk to her after dinner.” The other was said, still tapping her pen.

Queenie, the blonde one, frowned. Or more like - pouted, as if she wanted to keep me company. Me. Someone she didn't even know.

You.almost hit yourself when your shoulders relaxed, sparing a small, awkward smile.

Queenie beamed at you, seeming pleased. The brown hair one rolled her eyes, dragging her out of the room.

Seriously? You let down your guard that easily?! Your mind screamed at you, you grimaced, hating how naturally you curled into the covers, resting your head on the pillow.

[starrysappyideas]

guys i'm not sick anymore!!! I CAN WRITE AGAIN

[starrysappyideas]

guys i'm sick :((((

YOU CAN STILL SEND SUGGESTIONS AND ILL FINISN THEM WHEN MY COLD PASSES!

[starrysappyideas]

are you ready to be challenged to the swaggest swag swagger in the swaggy of swaggness

YES FINALLY..my years of training to be swaggy will finally be put to use..🧌

[starrysappyideas]

every time i try to leave my pjo phase it pulls me back screaming and kicking

[starrysappyideas]

OH MY GOD GUYS JTS FINALLY HERE

it took a while, but i finished that hero x villian gala trope i was talking about, enjoy!

“Hero, we’re so pleased you could make it.”

Hero smiled, though they felt like thumping their head against a wall. Every year. Every particular year, the Mayor just had to hold a masquerade ball. And this year...

“We offer to you this city’s cherished Hero, this medal. They have saved us more times than we may ever praise them. Give a round of applause, please!”

Hero pulled at their collar, stiffly waving to the public. They never appreciated coming to these events, but it’s not like they had a choice. It simply is their obligation.

They sighed. The decorative outfit they wore felt itchy and everything looked way too up-class for them. Everyone saw it was them. Why did they even have to wear another mask? And this one just had to be all frilly. It was deeply inconvenient.

Hero exhaled, wondering when they could go home.

Then, the music started.

It was soft at first, the piano notes were gentle and pure. They didn’t dislike the classical melody, but this song had vigour embedded under each note. Devotion between each rest.

Hero observed as a lady addressed another girl, pressing her lips to the other’s hand before pulling her into a waltz. And how the nobleman drinking champagne beside them squeaked when the young woman he was stealing peeks at tapped his shoulder. And again, and again and again.

Hero set down their drink firmly, strutting off to the balcony.

Love.

Oh, how Hero detested it. And hungered for it. The suffering. The delight. Butterflies skimming through your pulse. Your heart is beating rapidly with every breath. When you look at them, your knees almost buckle. When they left, your heart mourned.

It snuck up on you.

They tried, but it wasn't like they could ever have that. It almost got them both killed. Staying together in danger is worse than staying alone.

They whistled, hearing the opera from inside. They mustn't stay out here forever. Though they craved to.

The crisp air and deep olive leaves of the winter forests were settling. More serene than a ball, that’s for sure.

They took a deep breath and wandered back in. Ten seconds in (while Hero was contemplating sneaking under the dining table) the entrance doors hurled open, the music paused, and tenants stopped their dancing.

There were murmurs and gossip were heard among the crowd, along with exclamations. Hero moved near the front of the crowd, peculiar.

“My god, what kinda party is this? You’re all such a bore!” A familiar voice drawled out, along with laughter they swore they recognized. “Oh, come on folks. Do stop gawking, jealousy is a bad look on you.” The stranger pretended to dust themselves off, swiping a glass of wine off a waiter’s tray.

Hero tightened their grip on their new glass. Something about the stranger..they knew who they were yet...They were something so painstakingly obvious, the way they moved, the way they spoke, how they carried themself. Hero knew it all but..they just couldn't put their thumb on who.

Hero, bent on finding out, advanced towards the intruder, trying to watch them from a little closer. Maybe if they could see them in detail, they could recognize them.

So they watched.

Not after long, the stranger interested a group of people to question them. The intruder didn't seem shocked or appalled at this, instead, welcoming. They rushed forward into a flurry of stories and plots, saying wild things with even wilder gestures. Yet every few moments, just when Hero was relaxing into another adventure the stranger would look directly at them, a twinkle of mischief in their eyes.

It went on like that for minutes on end till Hero decided they were quite sick of it, they were probably just a homeless vagabond that they'd encountered on the road, nothing more.

They strutted over to the dining area, just as a new song started playing and immediately stuffed two miniature pig-in-a-blankets into their mouth - almost choking - as they thought once again of when they could leave.

Hero made an advance for another glass of wine before a hand swiped it up right in front of them.

"Allow me..Hero..was it?"

Hero's eyes snapped back up to the 'stranger'. They felt so silly now. It had been dead obvious who that person was.

Those leather gloves tilted the glass back and forth, watching the liquid splash from one side to another. Their eyes were full of amusement, but their lips remained shut - as if, waiting for Hero to process everything.

They could remember how those same gloves held his own hands in battle, how they felt on their skin.

"Villian."

Not a second after the word left their lips Villain beamed. "Ta-da! I thought it would be a good surprise."

"Why are you here?" Hero questioned, glancing around worryingly. There weren't any riches to be stolen or celebrities to be taken hostage...What could possibly be Villian's motive and coming to this event?

A scoff. "You always expect the worst of me, Hero. I'm just here to have fun, really." Villain placed their hand to their chest in mock emotion.

Hero narrowed their eyes. "Really? You?"

Villain shrugged, an unusually relaxed gesture for the theatric criminal. "What could I say? I'm bored, and I knew it would be a whole fuss to rob another bank, so.." Their enemy walked around Hero, handing over the glass of wine to point at their metal. "..when I heard this city's 'most beloved hero' was going to be here, I got a little excited." They broke out into a grin, adjusting their bedazzled mask.

They rolled their eyes. "I can see that."

Their nemesis grinned a little wider as if they were receiving a compliment. "So, how do I look?"

"Absolutely horrendous."

"Really?"

"No."

Hero answered, using the excuse of sipping their wine to not look into the other's eyes.

Villian hummed, setting down their drink. Confused, Hero set theirs down as well, waiting for their enemy to justify themself.

They opened their mouth to speak then shut it again. And repeated that three more times before Hero finally had enough. "Will you just spit it out already?"

Villian faltered, looking shocked for a moment at the outburst, but quickly readjusted into another smile. Less dazzling this time.

"Hero," Villain took one of their hands with their own and pulled Hero forward. "Dance with me."

They startled, confused. "I'm..sorry?"

"I said, dance with me. Well, unless you want that girl over there to be pestering you all night." They nodded toward a woman only a few feet away from them that looked around two seconds away from her pulling them into a storage closet. They shuddered, a repulsed look forming on their face.

Villain laughed, pulling their joined hands towards the few couples waltzing in the middle of the ballroom. "You do know how to dance, right?" They questioned, half-joking.

Hero cursed.

In all their preparation for the ceremony they had never factored in them actually dancing and so took no interest in learning how to waltz properly. They stared at their shoes, praying that they could remember the few months of dance class they took as a kid

"You...really don't know?"

Hero nodded stiffly, preparing for the Villain to step aside and find someone else to be entertained by - but not expecting a warmth to press on his back from their enemy's hand and to be pulled even closer than before.

"That's fine. I like a challenge. See if you can keep up, darling." Villain smirked, tightening their grip on them. Hero felt the same atmosphere of a battle, everything felt the same, everything felt..right.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." Hero managed to say just before the next song came on.

And so, they danced.

And by danced, they mean fought.

As they stepped together, moving along with the beat, they could feel the fire in Villain's eyes, their breath on Hero's skin. Every moment felt red-hot. They couldn't see, hear or feel anything but the other. No one else was worthy of their attention.

Their steps got messier as the music started to speed up, they found themselves enjoying every touch that was made on their body. Every thought or image that passed through their head didn't shock them, these passionate ideas swelling out of them. They'd seen them before, they had just not let them think it.

Now they couldn't stop it. Everything was spinning too fast and their feet couldn't keep up and their hands and hands hands and body and breath - it was all too much.

As they broke away from the other, Hero felt their heart weep and his head rejoice. They couldn't bear to see the look on the other's face before rushing back to the balcony.

They detested that every breath they took felt shallow, as if the oxygen wasn’t going into their lungs at all. Loathed how their skin felt flushed, but even though they hadn’t had too much wine. Despised how it felt as if butterflies were swimming through their-

No.

Not that, Hero knew they didn't. They just couldn't.

“Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to leave your partner behind?”

Shit.

Hero gulped, trying their best to remain composed. “Partner?” They said, trying to ignore how their voice quivered with the single word.

Laughter. “In dancing, of course.” They heard footsteps, god please - please, just don't get closer to them - please just-

Their thoughts were cut short as Villain’s hand reached out, cupping their face.

“Unless..”

Hero couldn't breath or think or do anything at all. Their body felt frozen to the core. Yet somehow, their face was on fire. They hoped the dark of the night shielded their face.

Villain smiled, somehow not appearing sinister..but something else. They caressed their cheek with their thumb. Hero leaned into the touch, as much as their brain was flaring red alarm signals, their lips let out a content sigh; closing their eyes against their will.

They felt Villain's breath hitch, and Hero locked eyes with them before they could think.

Hero’s knees almost buckled, and their heart skipped. Were they moving closer? God, no it must be their imagination.

It wasn't.

They were definitely moving closer.

Hero could barely breathe as Villain licked their lips, eyes glancing down and back up.

“..Can I-”

“Yes.”

Their lips pressed together and Hero felt their heart about to burst. They chased the other's lips, feeling a smile against them. They kept their lips locked as Villain gently pushed Hero’s shoulders, pressing them against a wall. Hands explored wildly, the fire sparkled between them, like explosives.

Like..really loud explosives..and…sirens?

Hero took a breath of air, escaping Villain’s attempts at chasing their lips back.“Did you-”

Villain whined, before cocking their head to the side, as if they could hear the commotion better. “Ah, that must be Sidekick now. I really wish I didn't have to leave so soon, especially..” Their eyes gazed over Hero’s reddened face and flushed lips. They cleared their throat. “But, uh, the life of crime calls.

They adjusted their collar - making it look even more like they just climbed out of someone’s bed - and winked.

Without another word, they jumped away into the night. Leaving Hero with only their thoughts.

Oh.

Oh.

They were in love.

[starrysappyideas]

OH MY GOD HERO X VILLAIN GALA OH MY GOD THE DANCING OH MY GOD THE FLIRTING OH MY GOD THE GASPS THE FEOMANXE THE

if this gets more than five notes i will scrumptiously write a delicious enemies lovers piece WITH THIS TROPE EXACRLY

[starrysappyideas]

hey! so, i realize that maybe some of you guys will want writing requests and i haven't told you what i will write and what i won't :) so here we go

i will write:

• y/n inserts with any of the fandoms below (if you specify if you want it gender-neutral, female y/n, male y/n, e.t.c)

• harry potter works

• fantastic beasts and where to find them

• how to train your dragon

•percy jackson

• the mortal instruments

•chronicles of narnia

• hunger games

•corpse bride (i'm not sure if anyone needs this though)

• avatar: the last airbender

• fnaf

• saiki k

• voltron

•ninjago

• attack on titan ( i need to catch up on the episodes though :))

• yuri!! on ice

• hunter x hunter

• haikyuu!!

• death note

• ouran highschool host club

• pokémon

• winx club

• jjk

•owl house

• gravity falls

• adventure time

• star vs the forces of evil

• steven universe

• bungou stray dogs

• vanitas no carte

• sailor moon

• omori

• my little pony friendship is magic

• mostly any studio ghbil film

• slightly suggestive works

• ddlc

i won't do:

• anything from bts

• anything from one direction

• and no smut

thank you! please please please ask me to write whenever, at most i'll take a 1-5 days (prob less) to complete it, but i'll try to get it out in good time :) 

you can ask me for anything else and it'll probably be a yes

[starrysappyideas]

"What’s in it for me, Commoner? It’s an honour for someone as poor as you to even talk with a person like me"

"If you beat me, I’ll do whatever you want. Come on, darling. Dance with me."

[starrysappyideas]

Green Envy Part Two

part one

“Shit.”

Villain popped their lips, peeking out the alley. “Now that doesn't mean we need such strong language.”

“We?” Hero prompted, though they already knew the answer. They've always had a silent truce to help each other, they were eternal enemies. And no one else’s.

“Of course! After all,” Villain circled around them, the sound of sirens getting closer. “we are partners in crime, Hero.” They winked, stretching their arm over their head.

They opened their mouth to ask what Villain was doing before their nemesis backed up a few paces, locking eyes with Hero, and jumped.

Their hands locked onto a pipe, swinging their body around, before using the momentum to land on top of the wedged apartment they- Well, now just Hero, were backed into.

“Are you a fucking gymnast or something?” Hero scoffed, trying to find a way to get where Villain was without..breaking a few limbs. And fast.

Villain put a hand to their mouth, muffing their giggles. “Oh, Hero. Please don't tell me you're going to try what I just did. Use the ladder.”

They quickly climbed the ladder, hearing the police cars just a few meters from where they were. “There..was..a ladder. This entire time.” Hero deadpanned, trying to fill their lungs with as much oxygen as possible.

“What can I say? I’m flexible, darling, not just on the battlefield-”

“Police, hands where we can see them! Hand over the money!”

“They always interrupt at the worst tim- Eek!”

Hero yanked Villain’s hand mid sentence, joining it with their own. They paused for a second, just a second. It would be so easy, to just hand them over. Be done with Villain. Be done with those charming comments. With those deep green eyes. That silky voice. Those- Yeah, fuck it.

They set in motion, sprinting over buildings. They weren't chasing Villain, weren’t stopping their intricate plots but the feeling was still there. Every pore that touched their skin felt like it was on fire. Their core felt weak, yet pulsating with energy.

It was so..confusing..What was this? Hate?

Villain stopped moving, abruptly. To their dismay, their joined hands were ripped apart. “Why’d you..” Hero trailed off, gaze snapping on to the calculating look on their enemy’s face. They knew that face all too well. It had been used against them many times. And, they were glad it wasn't for once, they had the chance to analyze it.

Villain’s eyes were narrowed, piercing and sharp. Their nose was scrunched up in a matter one could only describe as cute. Hero blinked, trying to re-focus. Strands of hair were stuck to Villain’s forehead, Hero’s hand stretched out before their mind could keep up.

Villain’s breath hitched, , and Hero almost expected them to jerk back from the touch. They brushed the wet hair to the side of Villain’s forehead.

shitshitshitshitshitshit - didtheyreallyjustdothat

Hero couldn't stop the strangled noise that escaped their lips. Quickly unfreezing, they snapped their hand away from their rival.

Villain blinked. Slowly, their lips curled up into a grin.

Hero quickly cleared their throat, not giving their adversary the chance to say a word. “..Let's find a place to hide from the cops. They've started climbing, and there's an alleyway below us.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

“Just shut up and run.”

[starrysappyideas]

Yo that green envy story is super cool do you have an AO3?

thank you so much! i do have an ao3 account, however, i haven't posted anything there just yet. but i've been planning to once school calms down! :)

so, if you want to have it until then, no problem: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysappyideas

[starrysappyideas]

Green Envy

hero x villain prompt (would you guys want a second part to this? i have some ideas ;))

Hero dashed between the buildings, feeling the adrenaline rush through their body. They locked their gaze onto the criminals a few paces away from them. 

Hero was bored. There was no sign of anything serious for weeks now. Just amateur felons doing amateur things. They could easily leave it to some minor heroes, but they needed something to do. At least, other than sitting around and waiting for…No, stupid, stupid, stupid.

Hero rounded a corner, almost tripping on their own feet. Why would they want to think of Villain? Yet they always find their mind wandering back to them. 

They jogged, barely having to put any effort into keeping up with the robbers in front of them. Hero wondered what Villain could be plotting, they hadn't heard a word from them, and no activity in any of their missions. It gave them a feeling of little ants crawling over their skin, waiting till they all start to bite. Beneath the stress and the suspicion, there was something else. 

Hero bolted up a ladder, knowing that they could easily cut the criminals off around the next building. All this chasing was making it worse for them to focus on the mission when all their brain kept doing was going back to the person they loathed. Loathed so much 

They jumped down, prepared to face the runaway robbers...Only to be completely alone. I'm in a dark alley. Hero dragged a hand down their face, groaning into their hands. How could they have gotten this distracted? Hero let the criminals get away and they were lost. They had almost felt it again, the feeling of being..alive. Feel their veins pumping out of their skin, and their body pricking with excitement. 

Hero frowned. This was nice, sure. But, as much as they hate to say it, it's not the same as it is with-

“Oh, Hero. I can't believe you missed me so much you started going after amateur villains,” A voice they knew too well drawled out, just a few inches behind them. “what? Am I just that charming?” 

For the first time in what felt like ages, Hero breathed. Finally, there was that feeling they were chasing. The feeling of little fireworks exploding in their head. The feeling of his blood rushing so fast to their head, they could barely think. 

“Villain.” Oh, god, how Hero has missed that feeling. “So, you're alive.”  

The villain laughed, walking until they and the Hero were face to face. “Why? Did you actually miss me?” They almost reminded the hero of a thirteen-year-old girl begging for gossip. 

They rolled their eyes, scanning the Villain for any changes. Same piercing green eyes, same dotted freckles peeking beneath their mask, same delicate lips, almost pink with colour. They quickly flicked their gaze back up to the Villain’s eyes, trying to focus.  “Oh, yes. Really, I've been longing to punch you for days now, I even had it saved on my calendar.” Hero’s voice was dreadfully sarcastic, mimicking the pouty voice Villain often used. 

Villain’s eyes lit up, mischief clear in them. Hero focused on breathing, the site of those eyes disgusted them so much that their heart wept, flushing the Hero’s skin. They ripped their gaze away, fearing they may start drowning in those green landscapes their enemy possessed. 

Gleefully, Villain began to walk towards the alley exit, a worrying half-smile on their lips.“That's just perfect...because I'm pretty sure those police officers think we robbed the bank.” 

“Shit.”

[starrysappyideas]

THIS ⁉️⁉️ this trope always hits omg

Prompt (59)

The villain hated the hero. They hated the hero's perfect lips and kind eyes. They hated their slim fingers and rounded nails. The hero's big laughs and how their hair slid down their face when the giggles overcame them and their head dipped.

The villain most of all hated that their hand itched to reach out when the hero was near them. They hated how their body seized up, how flight-or-fight instincts ran through their mind. They hated the control the hero had over them, and they would make them pay.

[starrysappyideas]

friends to lovers piece part two!!

PART TWO (I couldn't help myself)                                                                            

“I love you, Colton.”

Ah, shit.

Why. Did. He. Have. To. Say. It. Like. That

That was platonic, right?

Didn’t sound platonic. 

Oh, shut up.

“That doesn’t count!”

Colton contradicted, pushing his friend in the opposite direction so he didn’t have to look at him.

Stupid Lucian, with his stupid sliver eyes and stupid smirk and stupid kissable lips and stupid hair and-

“Oh? Why doesn’t it count, exactly?” Lucian asked, who had somehow turned around, grinning at his reaction. 

Who even invented words? They should be banned, especially for Lucian Kamari.

“Because...uh..well, because...you..uh…”

Again, who invented words? Why can’t we just whistle or something?

“Because, me, what?”

God, that smile…

Ugh.

Focus, Colton. 

“Because, Lucky, you didn’t do it properly.”

There. That should do it. 

“Ah, I  see. That makes sense.”

Now everything can go back to normal and he won’t have weird thoughts-

“Then, to prevent further accidents, why don’t you demonstrate for me?”

Fuck.

“Or, I could try again, if you’d like.”

Fuck.

Colton sprang up, stepping on a few flowers accidentally. 

“ No! That’s okay. It’s fine. I can do it.”

No, he couldn’t.

“Great.”

This is the worst experience of his life.

“Amazing.”

Terrible.

“Fantastic.”

He’s going to regret his existence for this moment.

“Terrific.”

It would be great if the ground would swallow him, right now.

“So..are you going to say it or..”

Lucian asked, now standing as well.

He stared intensely at the grass, before mumbling something incoherently.

“What was that?”

Another mumble.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

A slightly louder mumble.

“Huh, must be the wind, do yo-

Colton snapped, frustrated. He pulled Lucian’s collar down till they were at the same height, maybe a bit closer than five inches.