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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 29 days

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Amai Mask/F!Darling: Lucky (1/)

If you were anyone else, you'd be wondering how you were fortunate enough to spend most of your life in Amai Mask's penthouse. I mean, he's at the top of every "Top 10" list for Heroes, pop stars, models, and singers. Bad lighting doesn't exist for him. And his body looks like it was carved from marble. He had so many fans that would kill to live with him.

And yet, the "lucky" one was you, and all because you had the gall to criticize him. To refuse him.

You were dragged to a dumb concert by a friend who'd won two tickets, and you had the nerve to open your fat mouth while waiting in the backstage line. That was the crime that warranted you being kidnapped, imprisoned, and hurt in ways you never imagined.

"Look, I have celebrities I crush on that you don't think are attractive, and this guy is yours," you'd said diplomatically. "I just don't get the appeal of a guy who's so dedicated to a facade that he named himself after it."

"Oh, come on," your friend groaned. "His name is about his appearance! Like, he looks so sweet, but it's a mask to hide how badass he is and how violent he gets with monsters."

"Yeah, I'm sure he can punch monsters real good," you replied sarcastically. "Plenty of Heroes punch monsters without turning their job as a civil servant into an entertainment career. Doesn't that make you feel...weird? It's like if a K-Pop idol was also in the milit--"

"Compulsory service is a thing in South Korea," your friend quipped.

You crossed your arms. "Okay, bad example. Imagine if a K-Pop idol was a firefighter, or a cop, or a fed. Which he is, technically."

"Gawd, I'd kill to see him in a uniform," she sighed. "Can you imagine? Holding those cuffs..."

"I'm sure the guy who beats criminal Monsters to death would show restraint and use nonlethal force like handcuffs. Well, if you're a human, he probably would. Though if you're not hot by typical standards I could see him being rough, just because you're not quite as human as the Pretty People."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Getting roughed up by him after he cuffs me? The crime rate would go wayyy up just for people dying to get that chance~"

You rolled your eyes. "Can anyone in this line explain to me how this guy is hot in a way that's totally distinct from every other idol? Apart from the fact that he has a different serial number from the others that came from the same entertainment industry factory?"

"Okay, Daria," your friend said with a smirk. "Just because you're too good to be into idols doesn't mean we aren't."

"I'm fine with idols, just not ones like...him," you retorted. "Either be an entertainer or be an enforcer of the government. I'm not a conspiracy theorist but with his influence, he could get away with all sorts of dirty shit. And he's probably done way worse than the typical police brutality against Monsters." You crinkled your nose at the countless posters, CDs, t-shirts, figures, all bearing his aesthetically perfect and boringly pretty face. "He just seems so hollow, you know? I almost feel bad for him."

Your friend snorted. "You sure sound like it."

"Look, let's say for the sake of argument that he is using a persona all the time. He's an agent of the federal government AND an idol, both being industries that exploit the shit out of everyone inside. And he's so stuck inside that he can never express any genuine emotion that doesn't look good. Imagine not being able to feel or express shit that everyone else on the planet gets to: you can't feel anything without immediately wondering what you look like and adjusting so you don't look ugly while you feel it."

"So you're saying he self-monitors as much as your average woman?"

"In a Naomi Wolf sort of way, yes," you replied with a smirk. "Even if the guy is annoying, I also feel bad for him if that's how he lives. Imagine having such a complex that you think being ugly is the worst thing in the world. I'm not a prize, but your average ugly person probably hates themselves way less than he does when he's alone." You felt a smile creep up on your face. "Wouldn't it be the dumbest and most delicious bit of irony if he hated Monsters so much because they don't hide their ugliness as well as he does? Like a Japanese Gaston."

Your friend pouted. "Aww...you're just making me love him even more. Maybe he just needs someone to see the real him and help him love the real him. Someone who's an armchair psychologist like you!

"And now, the Armchair Psychologist is noting that we've moved to the classic I Can Fix Him route. My non-professional advice is to just ogle him with detachment and not think too much, lest you get too depressed and ruin the relationship between fan and idol-cop on a pedestal. No guy is worth it, especially him." You suddenly hear a chorus of screaming around you that makes you wince. "Goddammit! He isn't worth this tinnitus either!"

Your friend giddily jumped up and down to get a better look at Amai Mask waving as the line started to move again. "I beg to differ," she sang. "Ooh, he put his hair up in a little man-bun!"

Amai Mask took the mint-infused water bottle that an assistant had given him with a smile; once they'd turned around to scurry to the next task, he dropped it immediately and sipped it. Just two more hours and he could go home and rest for a bit before meeting with his management crew to plan everything for next month: tours, photoshoots, a briefing with the other Top-Ranked Heroes at the Association...

He sighed and dabbed at the bit of sweat forming on his brow with his neck towel. He loved pleasing his fans with an appearance, but even he needed to rest sometimes.

"Five minutes," his manager warned. "You need anything before you head back out there? I can push it back if you want hair and makeup to pop in."

Amai shook his head and set down the water bottle to put his hair up into a loose bun, carefully letting a few pieces fall to frame his cheekbones. "No, just this," he replied, frowning at his manager. "You should know by now that I don't like that level of prep for autograph signings. They want something intimate and personal, something casual." He applied a bit of tinted lip balm to complete the look. "This should be perfect."

"When are you not?" His manager smirked and checked his watch. "See you out there."

Amai heard him walk off and leaned against the barrier separating the queue from the behind-the-scenes area, closing his eyes. For a man as busy as him, these brief little moments during the day were the closest he got to relax when he had a tight schedule. Plus, the chatter of people made for a nice background noise.

"I've streamed his new album, like, a zillion times--"

"Did you see the pics of him from that charity gala? His suit was so--"

"Is it too much if I ask him to sign my dakimakura?"

He covered his mouth to hide how his face crinkled as he snorted. That wasn't even the weirdest thing he'd signed this month from a fan.

"I just don't get the appeal of a guy who's so dedicated to a facade that he named himself after it."

He raised an eyebrow. Someone like that was at one of his events? Normally he heard these things from random drama videos or read them online. The more vitriolic, the funnier it was to see how much they seethed over his success and talent. Hearing it in person wasn't that rare, but it was a small surprise; normally they didn't pay for his concert tickets.

He heard a woman next to them speak up in his defense, obviously a fan. Ah, he understood it now--the first voice was someone dragged here by a friend. He tried to imagine what the two of them looked like: the fan dressed in a concert t-shirt, maybe some merch as accessories, and the cynic in drab shapeless clothing, maybe a shirt depicting a musician they thought was sooo much deeper than his music. A wardrobe that came out of thrift stores and secondhand shops, complete with an imaginary pat on the back for being oh-so ethical in their nonexistent fashion.

The more they talked though, the more he was dragged out of his little 5-minute meditation. The background noise of the others melted away as he found himself focusing on what these two were saying. It was annoying, but nothing he hadn't heard before from his critics.

"He just seems so hollow, you know? I almost feel bad for him."

His eyes shot open. Suddenly he found himself staring at the mirror he'd just used to put his hair up. Every other jab stung, but just barely. Why was he even listening to this nobody? They were pretending to feel bad for him, just as hypocritical as they said he was. He took another sip of water and massaged his temples when he noticed he was narrowing his eyes into near-slits in the mirror. Shit, he didn't want to look wrinkled and stressed during the signing. He had some eye cream in his bag; he just needs to ignore them, dab this on, and relax for the rest of his--

"He's so stuck inside that he can never express any genuine emotion that doesn't look good."

The hand that was reaching for his bag's zipper froze. He bit his tongue and felt a pulsing in his temples. Shit. SHIT. If he felt that, then that meant--

He willed himself to look into the mirror and fought the urge to vomit as he saw a small vein starting to rise next to his left eyebrow. This stupid, ignorant bitch was actually getting to him. Why? Why? He can just ignore them.

"I also feel bad for him if that's how he lives. Imagine having such a complex that you think being ugly is the worst thing in the world. I'm not a prize, but your average ugly person probably hates themselves way less than he does when he's alone."

He had to clench his fists to keep from punching through the barrier and crushing their skull to shut them up. Someone like this had NO right to feel pity for HIM. No shit, they weren't a prize. Being ugly on the outside and inside, and that smugness, that audacity to pretend they feel bad for him--HIM, their better in every possible way?

"Wouldn't it be the dumbest and most delicious bit of irony if he hated Monsters so much because they don't hide their ugliness as well as he does?"

His hands tightened to the point that he felt like his bones were about to pop through his skin. The pulsing in his temples was unbearable, but he couldn't bear to look in the mirror to see how bad the vein had gotten. He had to get away from them. He had to shut them out, to be better and ignore them. He took another swig of his drink and headed back to where he'd left the signing table, massaging his temples with a bit of medicated cold-pressed cream. Soon he felt the pulsing subside, and after a few minutes of breathing, he was back to normal.

He came out again and felt a wave of comfort as he heard his fans screaming for him. This was his comfort zone, exactly where he was supposed to be. He was in his element. That little worm was in his world, and while he had to fight the urge to scan the crowd for them, he suppressed a chuckle at the thought of them feeling so out of place and uncomfortable among the throngs of screeching fans surrounding them.

"Thank you for waiting," he said with a warm smile. "Sorry for the long break, but I can't wait to meet the rest of you all!"

Another round of screams rang out as he settled into his chair and chatted mindless pleasantries and feigned intimacy with the fans at the front of the line, signing things so quickly and expertly as if his hand had a mind of its own. As the line progressed, he tried to listen for the voices of that particular duo to see if his image of that nobody were accurate.

When he spied a woman in a t-shirt from last year's concert standing next to a more subdued one in a flavorless top and jacket, he knew he'd found them. Once they finally reached the front of the line, he made sure to give the fan a sweet smile and take their hand as they handed him a film poster with shaking fingers. "Thank you so much for coming," he said kindly. "Ooh, this poster takes me back. I had a lot of fun filming this one. What's your name?"

"You touched my wrist," the fan whispered. She shook her head. "I mean, uh, that's not my name. Not Wrist. It's, um...oh God, uh--"

"Shizuka," the Cynic interjected. "Her name is Shizuka."

The fan nodded eagerly. "Yep! That's it."

Amai Mask smiled and signed the poster. "So, did you enjoy the concert, Shizuka?"

"Ohmygod-you-said-my-name--I, um, yes! I went to one last year but this set had all my favorite songs, and it was just so...Wow! You're a natural onstage, like...a real showman, you know?"

"People say that a lot," he replied with a hint of feigned humility. "I'm just grateful that what I'm good at coincides with my job. I love performing for everyone, especially fans like you that tell me how you enjoyed it."

The Cynic struggled to roll her eyes as her friend fawned over him. He turned his gaze to them and smiled, holding his pen up. "Did you have something for me too, Miss...?"

"____. And no thanks," she replied awkwardly. "I just came with her since she won an extra ticket. But like she said, you're a uh...real showman." She tried to sound somewhat enthused, but she wasn't as good an actor as he was. "You must have down a couple litres of water in between songs with everything you do up there. I was exhausted just watching you do your thing up there!"

More false concern and acting like she's so cool and detached. He let out a small chuckle. "I like to think I get energy from my fans, but the water and electrolyte drinks in between sets help too." His golden eyes shone strangely for a moment. "I do feel bad that you came all this way and waited in line just to walk away with nothing special, though."

He stood up and to the delighted and surprised screams of the crowd (and Shizuka), he took out his phone and handed it to his assistant before putting an arm over each of the duo while he posed in the middle with a dazzling smile. The assistant snapped several pictures and immediately chose the best looking ones to post to Amai Mask's promotional account for his concert tour. "Once you see this online, could you comment on the post and let me know you saw it? That way I'll know your usernames!"

Shizuka nodded furiously, trying not to cry too hard from joy as she felt Amai Mask's hand on her shoulder and imagined how perfect they would look in a picture together side-by-side. ____ felt Amai Mask tilt his head and whisper something into her ear that made her blood run cold.

"Thanks for coming, Armchair Psychologist."

#.opm #yandere opm #.amai mask #yandere amai mask #fem darling #.myshit

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