This piece was 34,102 words and cost about $340.00. Here’s an excerpt to get a feel of my writing!
Y/N (male reader) x Uta from Tokyo Ghoul
It wasn't as if you were searching for him, but by chance you meandered by a mask shop in a derelict alleyway, the sky clouded with smog and the air muggy, your hair sticking to your sweaty face. It was nearly dusk.
"Shit," you mutter, looking warily around. The day slipped dangerously by, a day spent smelling the sea, the gasoline, the cooking food from nearby restaurants. You had promised your roommate to not be out too late, but now you find yourself lost in the dark city probably riddled with thieves and criminals who prey exclusively at night.
You gaze up at the store, fingering your empty back pocket. You, as the most intelligent person on Earth, had left your phone back at the dorm. And it's not as if you know Japan like the back of your hand, either. Now you are completely and totally lost.
"Just great," you grumble, taking a breath and pushing the store door open.
There's a gust of air conditioning, blowing your hair back and making your face cool dramatically, a bell ringing somewhere in the depths of the store. Cautiously you step inside, looking around for a clerk or employee or even a customer who could give you directions, but finding none. The store smells of leather and something coppery, the floor spotted with mannequins whose faces are concealed with horrific masks. There's a work table cluttered with tools for metalworking and a single stool beside it, the cushion creased from being so frequently used.
"A visitor?" The fluid voice sends shivers down your spine and you turn, eyes appraising the young man standing behind you. He's pale, willowy, but well built, one side of his head shaved and the remaining black hair tied back, the whites of his eyes inky black, irises crimson. Black symbols decorate his throat like a necklace, multiple piercing glittering from his lips, ears, and eyebrows. He's not smiling but not frowning either, but from the sound of his voice he sounds pleased.
"What brings you here? I wouldn't want to cover up that handsome face of yours, unless you'd like that. I could find something fitting for you." His Japanese is casual, so informal that you almost struggle understanding it, but you manage to keep up, surprising yourself.
"I'm fine," you say, sharper than you intended. This brings a slight smile to his expression, an almost mocking look. "I've just lost my way."
"Ah, I see." He says. "Where do you need to be?"
You tell him the college and he gives you strangely detailed instructions before pushing you gently towards the door.
“I'm Uta, by the way," he murmurs in your ear, his voice husky and rough. "I'll begin your mask, perhaps you should drop by again sometime?"
You can't stop thinking about him. It seems to have been fate (no matter how cheesy that has to be) that you had found your way into that shop. You were always more into the darker, more wild guys, but this guy takes the cake completely. He's exotic, talented, and stunningly attractive.
It was about a week later that you found the paper in your coat pocket.
Your classes had done their job distracting you, and Uta didn't cross your mind much until you happened to put your hand into your pocket and discovered a folded piece of paper, creased and worn. Inside of it the characters for "Uta" stood out in black ink and, below it, a phone number.
You nearly fainted with joy. He gave you his number! Of course, there was the chance that he gave it to you by accident, or merely for business terms, but then of course, he wouldn't have done it so sneakily. The tradition in Japan was to offer business cards formally, bending over with the weight of honor on your shoulders and offer the card out. No, this was definitely for something else.
On Saturday you finally mustered up the courage, sitting tucked into your bed with the covers drawn up to your chin. Your roommate had left for errands and wouldn't be back for a few hours, giving you enough time to go through with your scheme. You were going to call this man and see if you could visit him again.
There are many things that can go wrong, but you were never one to think about consequences ahead of time. The fact was, your attraction was being reciprocated. It's a dream come true; something out of fairy tales.
When you dialed the number he picked up on the second ring, that cool voice sending prickles down your spine.
"I was hoping you'd call," he mutters in your ear. "It took longer than expected."
"Good things come to those who wait," You reply snidely and he laughs.
"I've never been in the favor of waiting," he purrs. "If I just take what I want, I won't have to wait."
"That's true," you concede.
"See the logic?" You can hear the smile in his voice. "So, is there any specific reason why you called?"
"You gave me a number, so of course I called it. The question is, why did you give it to me?"
"That's easy," he says flippantly. "Your mask is complete."
"Yes. I tailored it just for you too. I'm sure you'll find it up your satisfaction."
"You have an accent," he says abruptly, cutting you off. "And you're not Japanese, where are you from?"
Okay, turn it to me. You frown at the wall as you consider your answer. "No, I came here to study in Japan."
"You should be more careful," he says, slowly. "It's a dangerous town here."
"Japan's one of the safest countries in the world!"
"Not all the time." He replies, then pauses. "When you come to my shop, be careful."
"Who said I was going to your shop?"
"I know you will." He chuckles lowly. "There's no really no doubt in my mind that you'll stay away."
And as it turns out, he was right on the money.
"Here it is!" He says when you walk in. "Your perfect mask!"
The mask was, indeed, perfect. It depicts a fox out of dark material, gold veins inscribed into it to make interesting design that outline the eyes and mouth. You take it and hold it tenderly, uncertain.
"Masks are the fashion as of now. Go with the flow."
"I'm not exactly rich?" You purse your lips. "This looks expensive..."
"Oh, it is!" He says cheerfully. "But I'm giving it to you for free."
"It's a 'welcome to Japan' gift. Free of charge!"
"Are you sure?" You say, nervously. "It seems-"
"If you insist," he interrupts, "You can pay me back."
There's a pause and then you jerk, looking up at him in surprise. "What?!"
"You heard me," he says, "Kiss me."
That's something you would be willing to do any day to gorgeous guy like him, but the suddenness of it is shocking. Those dark eyes peer through you, making you feel open wide under his gaze, naked and vulnerable. It's not like you promised yourself to anybody, it's not as if you're married, and you badly want to...so...
When you shrug in assent he smiles; a cruel twist of his pretty lips, and he takes you by the tongue, pulling you in and under his spell.
Slow down, no, go faster, your thoughts are twisted and confusing. His lips, how soft and wicked they are, are pressed against yours, and his fingers slip to your hips and rest there, swirling circles at the skin revealed there. It's not as if it's the first time you've kissed, it's not as if you haven't kissed boys as well as girls before, but never has felt quite so...toxic. His tongue slips between your lips, coaxes a muffled groan from you, and when he pulls away, a string of saliva between your lips and his, you feel feverish and dizzy.
"You even taste good," he smiles, raising a thumb and wiping at the wetness of your lips before bringing it to his mouth, licking it off without taking his eyes off of you. You unconsciously tremble and his smile is so cruelly beautiful, cold and sharp like a blade, cutting through you. Everything about him is dirty, everything screams sexy and smooth and calculated and god, you badly want so much more.
"I did put a lot of work into this," he says, gesturing to the mask. "Maybe another kiss to cover tax?"
