everybody loves somebody sometime
205 posts
Playmiya - My Funny Valentine - Tumblr Blog
the only winner
jjk 271… im so pissed cuh this shit was ASS
jjk 271… im so pissed cuh this shit was ASS
"i hope you know i find you very attractive," atsumu slurs from the bar, head lolling as he spoke.
you sigh and pluck the shot glass from his hand and set it down on the bar. "yes, you've mentioned this several times." you look behind him and scowl. "seriously? you know he has a game tomorrow."
osamu shrugged. either he didn't drink as much as atsumu or he had an extremely high tolerance for hard drinks. "i didn't do nothin'. he was the one who kept playing drinking games."
"then why'd you play with him?!"
"i didn't. he just kept drinkin' by himself."
you sigh and turn back to the blond. "you're lucky you drank so much so fast. it's only eleven. you've got time to sleep this off."
"you're taking me home?" atsumu gasps, leaning so far forward you have to catch him and push him upright. "oh my god! what will the media say when they see us?!"
your face crumples in incredulity bordering on disgust. "uhh, that we're engaged? wait, how much did you drink?"
"we're engaged?!" atsumu says, placing his palms to his cheeks. he pulls away one hand gasps at the ring sitting on his finger before turning to you and holding your face in his hands. "we're engaged. our combined hotness level is through the roof."
"o-kay," you say, having quite enough of this. you push his hands away and tug at his wrist. "get up. we're leaving and getting you sober."
"i'm not drunk!" he says stubbornly, even though he nearly tripped just trying to stand up. once he's upright, though, he looks you up and down and grins so wide you're concerned he might tear his face apart.
"what?"
he giggles. "my fiancée is so hot."
that makes your lips twitch. "whatever. let's go home."
he gasps again. "we live together?!"
suna rintarou x reader drabble
suna has never been this lucky.
what deity has blessed him to have this opportunity? the life he has with you right now, are what he's cherishing. seriously, what did he do to deserve you?
he gets to see that pretty smile of yours everyday, hears your voice that he swears makes him melts, and enjoying every domestic moment together with you, even when one time you accidentally burn a hole in his shirt because the iron was too hot—then later that day he went and bought a steam iron instead.
he smiles when you whine to him how your skincare is running out, and the next day you are shocked to see a whole new set of it on your vanity. you showed him the buldak ramen recipe on your reels, and then when you're unloading the groceries suna had brought home, surprised to see the stuff thats not on your list as you hold two big packet of carbonara ramen in your hand. you told him that you wanted to try the ribbon croissant that's been trending in the city, so he got them for you to try despite having to wait a long queue for it.
its what the least he could do for you. he loves to see you happy. he loves to take cares of you because it makes you happy. and happiness makes you prettier than ever. no wonder you have gotten so prettier everytime he lands his eyes on you, because his love for you is what has been shaping who you are today.
self indulgent law bc i finished 3 commissions in the past 24hrs
LIKE A BOY — CYBERPUNK!SUNA cw: description of murder, violence, alcoholism & drug mentions / takes inspiration from cyberpunk: 2077 and cyberpunk edgerunners
suna stares at the view in front of him. night city is a giant, glimmering monster of neon from his perch on the rooftop of this abandoned skyscraper, one of many that dot his line of sight. flickering holograms advertising everything from subway passes to nightclubs rapidly flash, and the sounds of whirring trains and cars surround him in an endless cacophony. the stench of acid and smoke from the factories mingle to create a toxic blend of air that only a true citizen of the city would be able to withstand.
he hates it. he hates it all so much. if there was a world where the clouds, instead of raining sulphur, rained lighter fuel and he could ignite a matchstick just to throw it off this building, he would set night city on fire in a heartbeat.
he's certain he's losing his mind. he doesn't need to be doped out on glitter or teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis to feel the way he does. every couple of weeks, when the endless slashing and maiming and killing gets a bit much, when he conflates the face of his previous target with the next, his head gets a bit blurry. his hands seem to be perpetually dirty — and scrubbing them to no end, like that germaphobe sakusa — does nothing to clean them. he's overcome with the urge of slitting the throat of anyone within five feet of him, if that'll make him feel better.
the price of devotion to inarizaki must be quantified in blood. it's a mandatory tax he needs to pay, a burden passed down from his father from his grandfather. a burden that's becoming increasingly difficult to pay in a city where every next target is more metal, and less human.
suna can only do so much with his hands before he either sees them as weak or splattered with blood from different beings.
peeling off his shirt, caked with blood and damp with sweat, he wonders what he's doing here instead of trudging back home in japantown.
the click-clack of your heels crunching through broken glass and discarded syringes up the stairs reminds him. if suna's a loaded gun waiting to be fired, you're both the trigger and the safety.
he supposes the only reason he's still somewhat who he was and not some mindless lapdog for the gang is thanks to you. the princess of arasaka, set to inherit their pharmaceutical empire, playing anchor for someone who'll always be second-best in inarizaki. he's so beneath you that it's pathetic. he sometimes thinks he has a better chance of building a stairway to the moon than seriously being with you.
and yet, here you were, rushing out of whatever meeting your parents had trapped you in, taking the godforsaken subway that you'd normally never step foot in, climbing up three flights of stairs in heels that would cover a week's worth of bounties, just for him.
your perfume greets him before you do. it's a delicate floral number he knows you only reserve for important days, so he feels just a little guilty, until your cold hands come to settle against warm, bare skin and he can't think at all.
"hi," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your nails — is that a new set? — adorned with pretty flecks of chrome mixed in with pink glitter gently graze against him, and he can't help but melt into your touch.
"hey," he mumbles in response, bringing one large, calloused palm on top of yours. there's a low magnetic hum from where your ring meets his, and they clink in a comfortable sound as you join him in dangling your legs over the edge of the building, content with resting your face in the crook of his neck to watch over his shoulder at the neon cityscape.
"long day?", you whisper, not wanting to disturb him. truthfully, he thinks you could start screaming about a new dress you ordered from paris and he'd still be grateful to just have you there with him.
"mhm." you shift, just a little, so you're now sitting next to him. he does look a little worse for wear than usual, and you can't help but feel the dull bubble of anger that consumes you at just how tired he looks. he rests his head on your shoulder, and the smell of copper and smoke is a heady mixture that envelops you. you don't budge, not one bit, even as he's sweaty and dirty, and every instinct of yours is screaming at you to return to the boardroom you're supposed to be in instead of bailing and spending the night at a polluted building on the outskirts of the city with a man who'd otherwise make light work of killing you and claiming the millions of eddies that are set on your head.
fate is at its best when it works in diametrically opposite ways.
you run a hand soothingly over his arm, concerned every time about the new scar he's picked up just underneath his elbow.
"wanna talk about it?", you hesitantly offer. you know the suit of events like the back of your hands.
"no," he mumbles, and he nuzzles closer into your neck, fanning the juncture near your clavicle with his hot breath.
"not even a little?", you ask again, feeling his eyelashes flutter. how can be so pretty, bathed in the ugly, harsh glow of pink and purple light even while exhausted will always confuse you. suna was so achingly pretty that you were scared. scared of how you'd respond when he'd ask you to stay, just for a little longer, like he always asks you on nights like these, nights that turn to daybreaks being spent in his arms.
he strips away any rationality you hold. he knows that. you don't know for how much longer you can keep giving in, but that was a worry for another day.
"no," he grumbles again, and his grip on your waist tightens. you giggle at his petulance.
"i think it'll make you feel better."
he may be fatigued beyond words, but he can spare you one of his trademarked dramatic sighs, a sign that there's still the suna you know so very well underneath the layers of the complicated, messy, dangerous persona he has to maintain.
"work today was.... shit," he exhales, thinking of the hostage situation he'd been forced to mediate. a mother being held at gunpoint by her husband, who'd been driven into a deep state of cyberpsychosis after embedding a militech chip into his brain. a chip that suna, who was originally supposed to recover it quietly from new harbour, had to retrieve by sifting through the splattered brains of mother, daughter and husband. that's what the husband gets for fucking with what isn't his. the mother and daughter, though, were collateral damage that hit a too little close to home for him.
"then i went home and that was shit too," he laughs harshly, finding perverse amusement in the irony of his life. rei was all out of her chuupets, and that led her to hiding out in her room and crying for dear life as his dad chose the literal worst time to come home drunk, bitching and yelling to his mother about yet another day spent in miya senior's shadow and how it was all her fault.
the old-fashioned yet highly modified katana suna uses, engraved with the prophetic words of the gang, we don't need the memories, felt heavy in his hands as he chose to run away from home and bury himself in a pile of bodies. he shouldn't have taken so many commissions on, but he did. all to make him think of anything but the broken bottles and rei's wails as he carried her in his arms to kita's place, where he deposited her for the rest of the day.
"do you think i'm a coward?", he asks you, because you're the only person who knows who he truly is, what he truly is, and still decides, every day, to be with him.
you study his amber eyes, so observant despite what they let on. it's not even a question worth asking.
your lips are on his before he can even anticipate it. it's sweet, and desperate at the same time, like you're kissing frantically him so any doubt can disappear from his brain and he's only thinking of you. you're soft, and he can taste the cherry of your gloss when you part your mouth to let out the quietest noise of contentment that he drinks up when his hand creeps up the short dress that hits just right at your mid thigh.
it takes a phenomenal amount of self-control for you to pull away and not kiss him senseless. he's clearly disappointed, and groans when you rest your forehead against his. how you manage to flip his switches so effortlessly will always bewilder him.
"you're perfect. you've never been a coward, and you never will be," you breathe, and for someone who has to measure their words and consider the weight of all their actions as a part of a grander corporate scheme, you find yourself unrestrainedly honest with suna. it's difficult not to be. you kiss his forehead gently, and suna thinks he's going to explode at just how saccharinely sweet you are to someone like him.
"you're too fuckin' good to me," he sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. "too good for me," he adds as you let out a hum of disapproval, beautiful face scrunching up into an annoyed expression.
"should've never bought you that drink," he chuckles wearily, reminiscing about the day he decided to shoot his shot at his deskmate at the academy when he'd spotted you at manhattan's bar.
"you never should've said yes," he grouses, but he doesn't mean it.
"stupid boy," you chide, flicking the same spot of his forehead where you'd just kissed him. the remnants of your gloss are still there.
"you know you're going to buy me a drink in every universe. and i'm going to keep saying yes."
a/n hello hi sorry if this was a bit ,,, dreary but i promise i'm going to make this fun, i plan on doing a little cyberpunk sunarin miniseries because i'm missing the show so much :( also i know suna's ooc in this but i love making my men a little pathetic <3
LIKE A BOY — CYBERPUNK!SUNA cw: description of murder, violence, alcoholism & drug mentions / takes inspiration from cyberpunk: 2077 and cyberpunk edgerunners
suna stares at the view in front of him. night city is a giant, glimmering monster of neon from his perch on the rooftop of this abandoned skyscraper, one of many that dot his line of sight. flickering holograms advertising everything from subway passes to nightclubs rapidly flash, and the sounds of whirring trains and cars surround him in an endless cacophony. the stench of acid and smoke from the factories mingle to create a toxic blend of air that only a true citizen of the city would be able to withstand.
he hates it. he hates it all so much. if there was a world where the clouds, instead of raining sulphur, rained lighter fuel and he could ignite a matchstick just to throw it off this building, he would set night city on fire in a heartbeat.
he's certain he's losing his mind. he doesn't need to be doped out on glitter or teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis to feel the way he does. every couple of weeks, when the endless slashing and maiming and killing gets a bit much, when he conflates the face of his previous target with the next, his head gets a bit blurry. his hands seem to be perpetually dirty — and scrubbing them to no end, like that germaphobe sakusa — does nothing to clean them. he's overcome with the urge of slitting the throat of anyone within five feet of him, if that'll make him feel better.
the price of devotion to inarizaki must be quantified in blood. it's a mandatory tax he needs to pay, a burden passed down from his father from his grandfather. a burden that's becoming increasingly difficult to pay in a city where every next target is more metal, and less human.
suna can only do so much with his hands before he either sees them as weak or splattered with blood from different beings.
peeling off his shirt, caked with blood and damp with sweat, he wonders what he's doing here instead of trudging back home in japantown.
the click-clack of your heels crunching through broken glass and discarded syringes up the stairs reminds him. if suna's a loaded gun waiting to be fired, you're both the trigger and the safety.
he supposes the only reason he's still somewhat who he was and not some mindless lapdog for the gang is thanks to you. the princess of arasaka, set to inherit their pharmaceutical empire, playing anchor for someone who'll always be second-best in inarizaki. he's so beneath you that it's pathetic. he sometimes thinks he has a better chance of building a stairway to the moon than seriously being with you.
and yet, here you were, rushing out of whatever meeting your parents had trapped you in, taking the godforsaken subway that you'd normally never step foot in, climbing up three flights of stairs in heels that would cover a week's worth of bounties, just for him.
your perfume greets him before you do. it's a delicate floral number he knows you only reserve for important days, so he feels just a little guilty, until your cold hands come to settle against warm, bare skin and he can't think at all.
"hi," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your nails — is that a new set? — adorned with pretty flecks of chrome mixed in with pink glitter gently graze against him, and he can't help but melt into your touch.
"hey," he mumbles in response, bringing one large, calloused palm on top of yours. there's a low magnetic hum from where your ring meets his, and they clink in a comfortable sound as you join him in dangling your legs over the edge of the building, content with resting your face in the crook of his neck to watch over his shoulder at the neon cityscape.
"long day?", you whisper, not wanting to disturb him. truthfully, he thinks you could start screaming about a new dress you ordered from paris and he'd still be grateful to just have you there with him.
"mhm." you shift, just a little, so you're now sitting next to him. he does look a little worse for wear than usual, and you can't help but feel the dull bubble of anger that consumes you at just how tired he looks. he rests his head on your shoulder, and the smell of copper and smoke is a heady mixture that envelops you. you don't budge, not one bit, even as he's sweaty and dirty, and every instinct of yours is screaming at you to return to the boardroom you're supposed to be in instead of bailing and spending the night at a polluted building on the outskirts of the city with a man who'd otherwise make light work of killing you and claiming the millions of eddies that are set on your head.
fate is at its best when it works in diametrically opposite ways.
you run a hand soothingly over his arm, concerned every time about the new scar he's picked up just underneath his elbow.
"wanna talk about it?", you hesitantly offer. you know the suit of events like the back of your hands.
"no," he mumbles, and he nuzzles closer into your neck, fanning the juncture near your clavicle with his hot breath.
"not even a little?", you ask again, feeling his eyelashes flutter. how someone could be so pretty, bathed in the ugly, harsh glow of pink and purple light even while exhausted will always confuse you. suna was so achingly pretty that you were scared. scared of how you'd respond when he'd ask you to stay, just for a little longer, like he always asks you on nights like these, nights that turn to daybreaks being spent in his arms.
he strips away any rationality you hold. he knows that. you don't know for how much longer you can keep giving in, but that was a worry for another day.
"no," he grumbles again, and his grip on your waist tightens. you giggle at his petulance.
"i think it'll make you feel better."
he may be fatigued beyond words, but he can spare you one of his trademarked dramatic sighs, a sign that there's still the suna you know so very well underneath the layers of the complicated, messy, dangerous persona he has to maintain.
"work today was.... shit," he exhales, thinking of the hostage situation he'd been forced to mediate. a mother being held at gunpoint by her husband, who'd been driven into a deep state of cyberpsychosis after embedding a militech chip into his brain. a chip that suna, who was originally supposed to recover it quietly from new harbour, had to retrieve by sifting through the splattered brains of mother, daughter and husband. that's what the husband gets for fucking with what isn't his. the mother and daughter, though, were collateral damage that hit a too little close to home for him.
"then i went home and that was shit too," he laughs harshly, finding perverse amusement in the irony of his life. rei was all out of her chuupets, and that led her to hiding out in her room and crying for dear life as his dad chose the literal worst time to come home drunk, bitching and yelling to his mother about yet another day spent in miya senior's shadow and how it was all her fault.
the old-fashioned yet highly modified katana suna uses, engraved with the prophetic words of the gang, we don't need the memories, felt heavy in his hands as he chose to run away from home and bury himself in a pile of bodies. he shouldn't have taken so many commissions on, but he did. all to make him think of anything but the broken bottles and rei's wails as he carried her in his arms to kita's place, where he deposited her for the rest of the day.
"do you think i'm a coward?", he asks you, because you're the only person who knows who he truly is, what he truly is, and still decides, every day, to be with him.
you study his amber eyes, so observant despite what they let on. it's not even a question worth asking.
your lips are on his before he can even anticipate it. it's sweet, and desperate at the same time, like you're kissing frantically him so any doubt can disappear from his brain and he's only thinking of you. you're soft, and he can taste the cherry of your gloss when you part your mouth to let out the quietest noise of contentment that he drinks up when his hand creeps up the short dress that hits just right at your mid thigh.
it takes a phenomenal amount of self-control for you to pull away and not kiss him senseless. he's clearly disappointed, and groans when you rest your forehead against his. how you manage to flip his switches so effortlessly will always bewilder him.
"you're perfect. you've never been a coward, and you never will be," you breathe, and for someone who has to measure their words and consider the weight of all their actions as a part of a grander corporate scheme, you find yourself unrestrainedly honest with suna. it's difficult not to be. you kiss his forehead gently, and suna thinks he's going to explode at just how saccharinely sweet you are to someone like him.
"you're too fuckin' good to me," he sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. "too good for me," he adds as you let out a hum of disapproval, beautiful face scrunching up into an annoyed expression.
"should've never bought you that drink," he chuckles wearily, reminiscing about the day he decided to shoot his shot at his deskmate at the academy when he'd spotted you at manhattan's bar.
"you never should've said yes," he grouses, but he doesn't mean it.
"stupid boy," you chide, flicking the same spot of his forehead where you'd just kissed him. the remnants of your gloss are still there.
"you know you're going to buy me a drink in every universe. and i'm going to keep saying yes."
a/n hello hi sorry if this was a bit ,,, dreary but i promise i'm going to make this fun, i plan on doing a little cyberpunk sunarin miniseries because i'm missing the show so much :( also i know suna's ooc in this but i love making my men a little pathetic <3
I've been thinking about Nanami as Mr.Darcy so I made this. I think I will draw some scenes from the 2005 version.
“Get ready with me to breakup with my fiancé-“
“BUUUUUULLSHIT YOU ARE!”
Immediately, as soon as your first words are uttered over the recording video, Rintaro’s booms down the hallway. You laugh and smack your hand on the counter, trying to keep it as quiet as you can as you hear him continue to yell.
“THE FUCK YOU THINK THIS IS? WE’RE LOCKED IN, WHAT THE FUCK!” Socked feet barrel down the hall and you’re quick to hide the camera behind a bottle of mouthwash. His body quickly comes into the frame, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. “You got something you want to tell me?”
You pull your lips down in thought before shaking your head, “no. I don’t think so. I didn’t even know you were home.”
“Oh!” He says dramatically, clapping his hands together. “So you’re just always talking about dumping me to your little Internet friends?”
“Only in my fantasies,” you hum, tossing your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He pouts, and you giggle and kiss him again, “but if I ever do decide to dump you, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
This, has him blinking unamused at you. Then, his hands leap up to grab your cheeks, and he pulls you in for a loud, wet kiss, his lips pressing kisses over your laughing mouth, teeth, and lips. “Listen to me.”
“Rinnie!”
“No. Shush. Listen to me.” He pulls back and rests his head against yours, hands still squishing your cheeks. “I have shit out an engagement ring for you. I have your name tattooed on me. I got clawed to death by your rat fuck cat, and I have a shirt with your face on it that I wear when I go out. We’ve shared a toothbrush, you pinch my nipple when I’m showering, you text me and ask me if I’ve pooped, and I know damn well you take ugly pictures of me when I’m sleeping.”
“Your point?”
His nostrils flare, “you so much as THINK this relationship is ending, I’m going to tattle on you.”
“Oh, please-“
“To Komori.”
This, has you paling, and you nod softly and gently grab his shoulders, “no, okay, you’re right, you’re right baby, I’m sorry.” He nods as you press a kiss to his lips, “but in all seriousness-“
“Oh, I’m serious, too.”
You snicker, “in my seriousness, I’m never going to leave you.” You flash your engagement ring to the camera and purse your lips out, and he smiles down at you. “who else is going to poop out a ring, then lie to the salesman about why we’re returning it, and get me a new one, hmm?”
“Thankfully, I’m the only one who will.” He kisses your forehead, then looks at you with sad eyes. “We’re locked in?”
“Yeah baby,” you giggle, kissing his nose. “We’re locked in.”
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥: 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
A Suguru geto x reader fake marriage au!
Where Geto commits marriage fraud to avoid deportation (and has to convince everyone that his love is real). or Geto falls in love with something other than his job.
Part I. The Office
Part II. Egoist
Part III. Benign
Part IV. Hell (an alaskan bar)
Part V. Revelation / Evil, vile, horrible
Part VI. Mercy!
Part VII. Gone, gone, gone!
series playlist | ao3
this series is complete!
thank u for the tag lina ♡
wips are:
gen z luv (pro vb player sunarin/idol reader) — smau, very funny and light cutesy demure
a devil's touch in the midwest (toji & megumi char study) — father son relationship study, angsty and a lil heavy, in which megumi runs away from home to find toji
[name] [last name's] diary (ushijima wakatoshi/reader, bridget jones au) — smau, [name] and ushijima are in their late 20s, both feeling the pressure to bring someone home by their parents until they bump into each other at a christmas party. chaos ensues.
easy like sunday morning (oliver aiku/reader) — mutual pining roommates au unspoken confessions
please please please (pro vb player miya atsumu/singer reader) — oneshot smau
tagging some ppl i want to interact w (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ and anyone else: @evergone @meirathinks
wip tag game !
rules — list the names/titles of docs in your WIP folder + open your inbox to asks about them
thank you @wokelander for the tag <3 i always get distracted so some of these are partially written while others are just ideas! i'm sure i have more, but i can't find them right now lol
break up 'cause i'm bored | denji x best friend reader (cheating)
can't hold it | yuta x reader (piss)
stumbling in the dark | megumi x reader (step/incest)
lend a hand | satoru x reader
a perfect fit for me | yuji x reader
dumb mutt | naoya x puppy reader
keep them happy | nobara x reader x yuji (established nobara x reader)
like it better | leon kennedy x reader (age gap)
tagging: @papersirens @kentophilia @madaqueue @rosesaints @chositooo and anyone else who wants to! no pressure ofc <3
Always Gatekeep, they didn’t search for it like you did, they dont love it as much as you do.
chapter twelve: tha greatest moron of our life and times previous ⎯ masterlist ⎯ next
You're buzzing with excitement as you're sitting patiently at the dilapidated internet cafe, waiting for Spider-Man. To think that you were, quite literally, a walk away from the person that could get you your big break into the world of journalism had you ready to gnaw the table in anticipation. (You, for obvious health and safety reasons, don't, because you don't want to die a young death caused by a splinter infection.)
Instead, you patiently wait, finding it hard to focus on finding the arsonist as much as deciding how to play it with Spider-Man. As much as you wanted to devote your day to unmasking the hero by finding a list of suspects, you begrudgingly remembered your calling to the citizens of Tokyo as well, and hurried to this rendezvous spot in a backalley on Aoyama-dori.
"Calm down, you can do this," you exhale, trying to channel your inner broody, DGAF attitude that you'd usually need to tap into when being Vigilante. You re-calibrate your attention onto the Jurassic PC in front of you, scanning the shopowners forum of the complex that had recently been shut down.
One recent headline catches your eye, and you sigh upon clicking it since the computer nearly has an aneurysm accessing the site.
HATTORI K-MART DECLARES BANKRUPTCY, TO BE SHUT DOWN BY END OF MONTH. BIDS FOR EMPTY LOT TO BEGIN.
The name is familiar to you. You refer to the map on your lap, where you'd encircled the few buildings that had been completely scorched to rubble. The mart was one of them. Your brain latches onto these words, and you feel the familiar tug of intuitiveness that you get when you're onto a legit lead for an article. There was something here that you were missing.
Scrolling down to the comments, you're met with a flurry of replies of interest by businessmen, but one specifically catches your eye.
korigashi76: about time... enough payment defaults have been made. yet another sunk venture wwwwwww +56 -3 "Yet another sunk venture?", you read aloud, and squint your eyes. Hattori K-Mart's tax returns should be publicly available, along with the details of the person who ran it.
You're waiting for the computer to recover from the shock that comes from opening two tabs at once when the doorbell jingles open to reveal Spider-Man walking in, hands tucked into a brown jacket.
"Sorry. Had an urgent, er, thing," he says, dragging a wheelie chair towards you and sliding across the floor. You recover from the slight fright you felt, freezing up when you saw him, to clear your throat and wave him off.
"You're good. Hey, do me a favour and look up the shops that were completely burnt down by the arsonist. I think I have a lead," you say, your voice a little thick.
"Oh, thank God," Spider-Man groans, relief flooding his voice. "I was gettin' a bit sick of this case."
You're jittery now at the proximity by which he's near you, booting up the PC next to yours. That damn mask was practically begging to be pulled off, enticing you with the prospects of the life you've always dreamt of. You swallow the lump in your throat, choosing to focus on the glowing screen in front of you.
Thankfully, the tax returns load in front of you in a neat PDF before you can fantasise about yanking the mask off, and you squint in suspicion at the name that greets you at the top.
HATTORI K-MART CO. BOOTH #34, MINATO SHOPPING COMPLEX REGISTRATION NUMBER: 6548812A PROPRIETOR: ISHIDA, YUSUKE
That name... you'd seen it somewhere before. To be specific, you remember the face associated with it. A middle-aged man with a head full of jet-black hair, distraught. A not-so-quick Google search leads you to an interview taken minutes after the Shinjuku fire. Speeding through irrelevant clips and commentary, you finally come across the man.
"....And now, we're talking to one of the victims of this fire, whose shop, JV Sports Co., was just burnt down. Sir, sir, what do you have to say?", the reporter frantically asks in front of the cordoned-off building, smoke rising in streaks in the background as Yusuke Ishida's face takes up most of the screen.
Eyes red from smoke exposure, face sooty and hassled, tears well up in his eyes as he struggles to speak without his voice cracking.
"My shop...my precious shop, it's gone. It was a labour of love for me, and now it's been reduced to ashes," he laments, bravely sniffling as he's handed a tissue under the camera to wipe his eyes. "It was a haven for sports fans and the sole sustainer of my family. Now what should I do? Some hooligan's taken away my entire life from me! I beg the police, please find them and bring them to justice," he whines, finishing his statement and pushing the camera away from him to break down into wracking sobs.
This was convincing. Spider-Man, who'd been peering over your shoulders, whistles lowly. "That's a good actor right there. But a bad liar," he says, blowing a raspberry.
"He says that shop was his 'sole sustainer', but according to the business association records in Ginza, he's also the owner of a failed conveyor belt restaurant that was just hit with an eviction notice a month ago," Spider-Man explains, and your interests are piqued.
"How interesting. Here, even in the Minato complex, he's listed as the proprietor of the K-Mart that was just burnt to the ground."
"Convenient. Because that restaurant's in the dust now, too," Spider-Man counters, and for a second, the cogs turn in your head simultaneously.
"I think we've got our perp, Spidey," you say, with a small smile underneath your mask.
"That's what I was thinking too. But the motives don't add up," he contemplates, stretching back on the chair and tucking his arms underneath his head.
You hum.
Multiple sunken ventures, all now destroyed, connected to one man. He needs money, clearly. But what would burning down those plots get him? Revenge? Vindiction? What path would clearly lead him to money?
Spider-Man shoots up as if struck by heat lightning. "I've got it," he declares, proudly. "He's doing it to cash an insurance claim," he explains, and you gape, instantly feeling as though the puzzle pieces have fallen in place. An unexpected stroke of genius.
"Shit, that's it," you breathe lowly, pushing the chair back. "We gotta catch him before he can cash out," you agree, fumbling to switch the computer off.
Spider-Man is already one step ahead of you, shrugging his jacket on. You catch the peek of a keychain with the motif of a golden fox before he's shoving gloved hands into his pocket.
He looks back, and you can tell he's grinning under his mask. You, for the first time, feel a pang of guilt course through you.
"What're we waitin' around for then, partner?"
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boomerang － jake sim!
SYNOPSIS: you and jake sim have always been academic rivals. it was always you against him for top of the class, and jake is sure that you two were made to hate each other. a couple years later when you debut and become an idol, you find yourself talking to him again - but it’s in a group chat with other aussie idols, and perhaps you realise that he isn’t that insufferable. PAIRING: idol! jake x idol! fem! reader GENRE: smau, crack, enemies to lovers, slowburn kinda, idol au WARNINGS: swearing, ignore timestamps, some alr debuted idols r in a group i created laughs, photos of ive’s yujin will be used as y/n only to visualise the outfit / concept FEATURING: enhypen, lily of nmixx, felix and bang chan from skz, rosé from blackpink, yoon jia, kim doah and kamimoto kotone from gp999 STATUS: COMPLETE AUTHOR’S NOTE: helloooo here is the jake smau as promised!! my first smau for hyung line woooooooo LETS GAUR !! this is going to b a long one (40 chapters most likely!!) permanent taglist will already b tagged and thank u to sophie @chicksung for coming up w the title ^_^
EQUATION FOR DISASTER, THE SEQUEL TO BOOMERANG IS OUT NOW!
PROFILES: ONE / TWO
ONE － jake?? fanta spiller jake?? TWO － 5th grade science fair THREE － thank you wikihow FOUR － passive aggressive communication FIVE － hangout gone wrong SIX － oscar winning performance SEVEN － praying on my downfall EIGHT － its going down NINE － this is not slay TEN － forget but not forgive ELEVEN － jay my bff TWELVE － eye twitches THIRTEEN － star crossed haters FOURTEEN － silly little people in my phone FIFTEEN － mr bang pd-nim why SIXTEEN － try not to argue challenge SEVENTEEN － 247 what EIGHTEEN － pure luck NINETEEN － shocking development TWENTY － ur not as bad as i thought TWENTY ONE － selca…? TWENTY TWO － think twice? i dont even think once TWENTY THREE － disbandment era TWENTY FOUR － hatred with a capital h TWENTY FIVE － math olympiad TWENTY SIX － hide from the cameras TWENTY SEVEN － rumour rumour rumour TWENTY EIGHT － oh shit TWENTY NINE － buzzfeed quiz THIRTY － giant question mark THIRTY ONE － sunoo best wingman THIRTY TWO － romance what?? no way THIRTY THREE － you remembered THIRTY FOUR － call that chemistry THIRTY FIVE － in a bro way THIRTY SIX － inkigayo sandwich THIRTY SEVEN － high five THIRTY EIGHT － u + me = ??? THIRTY NINE － disbeliebe FORTY － reunion SPECIAL CHAPTER － manager gc shenanigans