The brainless leader of the Arataki Gang handcuffs himself to you in order to piss you off. He has no idea that the restraints cannot be broken nor unlocked without a key, which is lost.
arataki itto x fem!reader
art credits: 腐瓜烂橘 and _siiin
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"What exactly do you see in Ayato?" Itto finally asked the burning question in the back of his mind. He'd been curious about your attraction to his friend ever since he learned about it—even developing an unhealthy obsession with the whole situation.
However, he appeared to be much more focused on the mini-game in front of him, maintaining a firm grip on the spongy hammer and waiting for the mechanical moles to pop out of their respective holes.
You leaned against the unoccupied machine next to his and zoned out, completely ignoring the question and stepping into your own world. Your social battery had long since died and you were ready to call it a day, assuming that the exhibition would close soon anyway.
Apparently not. The night was never truly over, especially when you were attached to the Arataki Itto.
A smaller exhibition with outdoor games and winnable prizes was located just down the grand market, geared more toward the night owls looking for entertainment. Even though the main event had concluded, the party was still alive until midnight.
And what made this year's fair significantly more interesting than the previous one was the freshly acquired high-technological mechanics that had just arrived from Fontaine. You were previously aware of this due to your insight into Inazuma's international trade, but you had no clue what events the imports were for.
Well, now you did.
It was even funnier because when you first saw the new shipment, you and your peers envisioned joyful adolescents having the time of their lives with the new toys. Never in your wildest dreams could you anticipate an ecstatic oni who was far more immersed in the event than anybody else here.
"Check this out, babe. I'm Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes." Itto softly elbowed your arm to attract your attention before whacking away at the mechanics with ferocity. And, ironically, he missed every single mole that sprang out of their hole due to his poor response time—being only a fraction of a second away from striking them.
The blaring defeat soundtrack flooded both of your ears as his score of 075 lit a bright red before refreshing. Knowing he started off with five minutes on the clock and that each successful hit was worth twenty-five points made the situation much more comical.
