#ignore the thigh it’s reigen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bittybeanie · 6 months ago

Text

oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long.

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out.

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk."

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest. He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks.

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down.

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

#reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #my writing #it's been so long i forget how i tag things lol #hey bestie you're for sure gonna get a notif for this and i apologize in advance lsjkdfk #thank you so so much to everyone that stayed through the hiatus #i have been reading all the kind comments and asks and even though i don't respond they absolutely make my day #i was trying to avoid the internet as much as possible and it kinda... just stayed that way for a long time #if you're worried about this being the “last” aspec reigen pls don't panic #there's a more detailed ramble on ao3 but basically there will be more of these two goofs in love #(and probably a third goof in love)#but i wanna change some stuff and it'll be easier to do that in a new series #since this wasn't really meant to be a series in the first place weirdly #so basically it may be slow going but this isn't the end #i'm dropping this and then going to bed so i'll see y'all in the morning i hope you enjoy!!#i have.... so much to catch up on.....

70 notes · View notes

copyspaghetti · 4 months ago

Text

ReiMobRei Week 2024 Day 2: genderbend

GIRLS TIME OH MY GOD.

[ID1: Mob standing on her knees between Reigen's thighs. Reigen is leaned back with her shirt half-opened and tie undone, and her skirt is riding up. Reigen says "Aren't you easy to entertain?". Mob ignores her and asks "Can you put your fingers inside?" to which Reigen answers "No, we're on the clock Mob, get a grip." Mob answers "OK. Can I call you mom?". Reigen says "NO. Maybe... I don't know? No, definitely no, I'm shishou. Or?" /End ID1]

The next one is tumblr censored but I think I will be able to put the uncensored one up on pixiv? I will make a log for the whole week when it's over

[ID2: Mob is laying ass up with her arms folded under her head. Her shirt is off, her panties are off, and one of her stockings are off. Her face is dark but she's side eyeing Reigen, who is crawling behind her. Reigen is half undressed, only in her underwear and a dress shirt that hangs off her shoulder. The place where her hand goes up to Mob is heavily censored with a red heart. Reigen tells her "Aren't you glad we waited, Mob? Honestly, what kind of girl puts out without even getting wined & dined? Well, dined at least." Mob is glowing with power, and is 63% of the way to an explosion. /End ID2]

Yuri ReiMob makes me a little crazy hahah Reigen is going to yap Mob's ears off regardless of gender ♡

I like the idea that Reigen wears false eyelashes

#mobu saiko 100 #mobreimob #reimobrei #copyspaghetti art #reimob #image described #comship #rule 63

15 notes · View notes

arabaka · 2 years ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ reigen arataka x fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! established relationship. masturbation w/ a sex toy. technically dubcon (you acidentally call reigen in the middle of masturbating and he jerks off to it). WORD COUNT: 1K

Thinking about missing Reigen and the longing being so intense, it’s burning a hole in your core and releasing a rush of molten lava, a culmination of your intense want, straight to the precious spot between your legs and its demand to be satisfied cannot be ignored. Nothing you can’t handle, so off come your clothes and out comes the vibrator– you’re quick, need the release like a quenched thirst.

You meet the urge with a gentle kiss of the wand’s rounded tip to your clit, the vibrator returning the affection in kind with rumbles nudging the nerves of your aching bud. Pretty in pink and white, the toy becomes nestled amongst your folds as you up the pressure, grinding your hips for some self-made friction. You sigh but it isn’t enough.

You need to see him.

Vibrator still pressed so keenly to your sensitive button, you reach for your phone and scramble to get to the folder that has your remedy. A folder dedicated to your one and only, Reigen Arataka. You whine upon opening the folder, basking in the treasure load of previews that spread out on your screen. You have photos, videos, screenshots– everything stored like a lewd scrapbook for your reference, your viewing pleasure. But hey, Reigen has one of you too.

Slick trickles out of you, running down your thigh and breaking in thin streams the more you rut against the vibrator. Your gaze fixated– no, satiated by the video blown up on your screen; it’s a shot of Reigen at the office, lights dimmed except for the lamp on his desk. Its amber glow provides the perfect spotlight for his cock, the sides glistening with driblets of pre-cum and you literally feel your mouth well up with drool at the sight.

The video, shot with his laptop’s webcam, captures it all for you: Reigen’s perfect expression of bliss, lips ghosting your name, the twitch of his cock as he jerks himself off for you, the spasm of his legs as he spills hot seed all over his exposed stomach… It’s just what you need on loop to get you there, make you come undone for the man and he’s not even home.

You come to a point where it’s so much – too much – you throw your head back and press your phone to the bed, back rising in an arch Reigen would praise you for. You run the vibrator through your sticky wet folds, letting the bulb pulse inside your pussy before guiding it back to your throbbing clit. You let it nurse the carnal craving you have brewing in your center, running this last wave of pleasure all on your own. Your other hand continues to slide and move your phone against the bed sheets as your brain fogs up with sex, body simply reacting to the stimulation.

You have no idea that what you’ve just done is: get out of your folder, open the phone app, and dial Reigen.

“Hey, you. What’s up?” He answers after the first ring, expecting your usual reply to follow but you… Don’t say anything. At least, you don’t say anything to him.

You’re whimpering, lip wobbling as you chase the high. He hears that, but what really catches his attention is the vibrating. It’s a dull noise that seems to bob and weave through the receiver and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what you’re up to.

Must’ve accidentally called me, Reigen thinks because you haven’t acknowledged him. Your babbling is part breathing and part moaning, all to the tune of Riegen Arataka. He should hang up. You have a right to your own privacy and this is intruding–

“Hnngh, ‘T-Taka…”

Fucking hell. He’s twitching in his slacks, cock starting to strain against his briefs as he presses his ear closer to the phone, desperate to hear you, all of you. His eyes flit over to the clock on his laptop. His next client isn’t for another few hours…

But he’s not a mad man. He switches the sign out front and locks the door before doing anything because he knows, once he starts he won’t be able to stop. Because it’s you.

He leans back in his chair, eyes closed and both hands busy. He pumps himself to your voice, imagination filling in the gaps as he tries to envision you on the bed you share, lips parted for him and your legs trembling for his touch. The tip of his cock is already so red, the hue blooming in splotches down his shaft, turning glossy after he spits in his palm and starts to touch himself again. He tends to his cock like you do, rolls his wrist just like you, adds pressure with his thumb like you do… He knows it’s pathetic to be so close so soon but the dirty, twisted fact that he’s an unknown participant to your fun is really getting him there.

“Shit, shit, shit,” You start to pant like a bitch in heat, “C-Close, close– hnng, a-ah…” Your voice climbs in pitch and volume, finally starting to drown out the noise from the toy, the toy that he’s so terribly jealous of right now. He wishes it was him between your thighs, nose pressed to your cunt and getting a rush from your scent alone, going to heaven when he tastes you (his favorite flavor) with the flick of his tongue.

You move your hips in tandem with the groove of your vibrator, your swollen clit quivering from the sensation. You’ve already covered the toy in your essence so it slides and glides all over your sopping wet cunt but you stay focused on that needy bud of yours. You know you’re close, your eyes start to roll on the back of your head when all of a sudden you hear–

“Oh fuckkk.”

It’s too late, your orgasm is already crashing over your system when Reigen’s voice pipes up from your phone. Your brain is slush, your thighs becoming drenched in cum as your hips buck into the air and your knees knock together. You come down from your high with blurred vision, muscles still spasming when you pick up your phone and see Reigen’s name on your screen and the duration of the call. You start to stammer but Reigen beats you to it, saying,

“S-Shit, guess you caught me. Sorry, you just– haah, sounded so good. Listen… I have some time before my next client… How about I go home for a bit?”

#reigen arataka smut #reigen smut #reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for reigen. ꒱

135 notes · View notes

escapiste123 · 1 year ago

Text

Twt-fic MobRei Ageswap Psychic Markings (kind of)

It’s obvious that Reigen is being bullied at school. Day after day Mob watches from behind his laptop as the boy comes into the office with a bloody nose, a black eye, his uniform missing a few golden buttons. Where are the boy’s parents? Why won’t the school teachers intervene?

Mob always keeps the first aid kit close by, he pulls it out from his desk drawer and goes about fixing Reigen’s injuries of the day. He is silent as he works, focused on his task. It clearly sets Reigen on edge and the boy prattles nervously, inventing ridiculous stories to explain his state. Mob never asks him. He knows, he already knows.

Reigen doesn’t wince when Mob puts antiseptic on his scraped cheek. The skin there is red and ruined, small bits of gravel stuck to it. The bullies flock to him like crows, sensing weakness. They are picking Reigen apart piece by piece, chipping away at all that is good and gold and lovely. How long until there’s nothing left?

The window cracks with a loud noise, making Reigen jump in fright. Mob puts a hand on his thigh – to calm down, to reassure. He doesn’t know if the gesture is aimed at Reigen or himself. Everyone has let this boy down. He only has Mob. And Mob is no good at caring for others.

Mob lets him down too. They are out on a job, a spirit so weak and pathetic that Mob lets his usual vigilance slip. In a blink of an eye Reigen is seized by his ankle, dragged along the floor and thrown at a wall. He slumps there like a rag doll while Mob eviscerates the ghost.

Later in the hospital, watching Reigen chatter happily with a bandage around his head and a cast on his arm, Mob comes to terms with the fact that he has been careless. In his ever present passivity he has almost lost the most precious thing in his life. He has to do better.

Reigen is out of the hospital by nightfall but he is suspiciously absent at the office the next day. He doesn’t show up after school the way he usually does. Mob counts the seconds in his head, waits for a full hour before finally digging his phone out of his pocket. He and Reigen have matching GPS trackers.

He finds Reigen on another side of the city, standing on a low bridge, healthy hand clutching the railing in a white knuckled grip. Mob knows that Reigen knows that he’s there, because the boy tenses even more, shoulders hitching up, hackles rising like a frightened cat. Mob approaches him, ignoring his discomfort.

“How was your day?” he asks awkwardly. It’s probably the kindest thing he’s ever said to Reigen and now is clearly not the right time for it.

Reigen barks out a bitter laugh. “I think you already know,” he says. “Watanabe grabbed my shoulder and ended up in the hospital. His whole hand was burned.”

“It’s for your own safety,” Mob replies. He can see his own aura surrounding Reigen in a protective bubble and it makes something warm stir in his chest.

“Oh yeah? The teacher tried to touch me too and she got hurt as well. What the hell, Mob?”

“Better someone else than you.”

Reigen turns to him, eyes flashing with something like anger, something like fear. He’s never looked at Mob like this.

“So what – nobody can touch me now? I’m supposed to isolate myself? Never come close to another person, be-because–..”

The boy stutters and cuts himself off as Mob reaches out, runs a hand through his golden hair, down the nape of his neck. His other hand cups Reigen’s face, enjoying the fact that his skin is smooth and undamaged under his palm.

“I can touch you,” Mob tells him.

#mobrei #mobrei ageswap #mob psycho 100 #kageyama shigeo #reigen arataka #twt fic #mp100

36 notes · View notes

truly-morgan · 1 year ago

Text

[Mob learns about Reigen's hidden oviposition kink (18+)]

MobRei | Mob Psycho 100 20-05-2023

[#mobrei, oviposition, 2032]

"So this is what Arataka is into?" Mob asked, more wondering to himself than as a question.

And all Reigen could do was stand on the side feeling utterly mortified, trying to ignore the sound from the porno Mob had been watching.

The man had known that Mob would come back to live with him for a while now that his semester was over. He should have known better than leave porn on his laptop when he knew Mob would be arriving soon, even if it was supposed to be later in the day.

He also knew he had given permission to Mob so he could use anything, so it wasn't like the young man had been snooping around. His own laptop had likely no more batteries for now and he needed to check something quickly and Reigen's was simply closer.

And all he could do was wish the floor would open up and eat him as he looked at Mob watching very intently as some blond twink was pushy out some egg after fucking himself on a fantasy dildo.

"This isn't what you think" Reigen tried to mumble, "I just opened it by accident" he added, feeling flustered and embarrassed that Mob had actually seen one of his fantasies.

He had been curious and wanted to try it out, but had always been scared that one of the eggs would stay stuck inside of him.

And Reigen would rather die because of that fake eggs than go to the ER because of it being stuck.

"But there's many other videos in the history" Mob mentioned, "And some are researches you also started" he pointed out.

Reigen groaned in embarrassment, going to close the

laptop so he wouldn't have to hear anymore of the video that had been playing.

"Okay, alright" he replied, "I got curious and looked into it, nothing more really".

But the look Mob gave him told the older man that he wasn't being believed in the slightest at the moment.

Of course, Mob would be able to tell he had been lying to him right now.

So maybe Reigen shouldn't have been as surprised as had been when found some silicon eggs laying on their bed alongside the lube bottle.

"Mob" he had called, to which the young man hugged him from behind.

"Shisho was curious about playing with eggs, so I got you some so we could try" he replied.

Of course, he did.

"Mob I swear it wasn't-"

"Arataka, it's okay" Mob reassured, kissing his neck gently, hands playing with his belt. "You always go along with things I am curious about, I want you to also try new things you are interested in" he said, "Plus I think it could be hot".

Reigen didn't know what to say as he looked at the toys, biting at his lips a little bit. He had really wanted to try this out and Mob sure seemed enthusiastic enough about it. Plus, having his lover with him eased his fear of one staying stuck inside his ass. As mortifying as asking Mob to help him out, he felt like they had lived through more embarrassing than that.

"Well, since you already got everything needed" Reigen started, "We might as well use them" he continued, excitement and curiosity seeping into his voice despite himself.

it wasn't too long that he found himself butt naked with a very enthusiastic Mob sucking him while fingering him. This kid had always like to multi-tasked.

The older man whined when Mob stopped his blowjob, going for kissing his thighs and hips instead, going up until he could properly kiss him.

"Do you think you could take them properly?" he asked, the eggs floating around them to give him a better look.

Mob had clearly been mindful and gotten something that wasn't too big either, or at the very least, similar in girth as himself.

"Yeah," Reigen replied, watching as Mob pulled out slicked fingers to grab one of the eggs.

"Tell me if it hurts in any way".

And with that he started inserting the first eggs, Mob looking with interest as the round thing plopped into him with ease. He then used his fingers to push it farther inside.

He did that with the four other eggs, watching as Reigen's entrance kept twitching, clearly trying to keep them all in, especially the one closest to pop out.

"Look at that, you took them all in like a pro" Mob smiled at him, finger slightly pushing in so he could make them move back and forth a little bit, playing against how Reigen's body was trying to get rid of them.

The older man was surprised at the sensation, feeling them all move independently from each other. It sure felt different than when he would use a regular dildo or when Mob would fuck him. It also went deeper than what Mob usually reached.

This made him wonder if maybe they could use some while Mob was inside of him...

"Look at how aroused this got you" Mob commented, fingers teasing the underside of his erection. "Maybe I should make you keep them inside you in other settings" he pondered, going back to teasing his twitching entrance.

"Maybe I should put them inside of you while we go out" he suggested, "I know shisho likes when I tease him in public, I could use my powers to make sure they don't get out of you until we're back home" he continued, "just imagine, hiding that you are doing something so naughty around plenty of people".

The idea had Reigen leaking. As much as he denied it, he knew that he was into Mob doing these kinds of things to him. But also heading something that had him already so excited was arousing.

Mob kissed over his belly, looking back up at him. "Why don't you show me how you push them out?".

Reigen nodded weakly at this, ready to do it. And this is what he tried doing, the first one coming out with ease. But then he felt a bit more resistance and somehow he just could tell it was Mob's doing, using his power to make it harder. Not enough that it would feel painful to force and make him panic, but enough to have some resistance and have them move back and forth.

this went on until there was only one left behind, although this time it was power stopping him from pushing it out, but rather Mob's fingers.

"Can I put it in?" he asked, looking rather pent up himself after having been left to the side all this time.

Reigen didn't even hesitate when he nodded to his question, wanting to finally come and have Mob inside of him too.

He managed to slide in with ease, pushing back the last eggs as he did so. He then started carefully moving his hips, testing the water at first. When he realised that the egg wouldn't be causing trouble while he moved he started trusting more quickly.

Reigen could feel them both move inside of him, the egg pushed deeper and then coming back a bit before being pushed again.

"Why don't I fertilise this egg for you? Will shisho bear our child?" Mob asked, looking so close to come inside of him and fulfil his suggestion.

Reigen felt like this unlocked another door inside of him, only moaning in response as he starting to cum when Mob hit just the right spot.

Mob wasn't too far behind, with how Reigen clenched around him and the eggs rubbing against the tip of his cock. He pulled out afterwards, watching as Reigen finally pushed the last eggs out of him with his semen, not without some effort put into it now that he had come once.

"This was good" Reigen commented, breathing heavily as he looked down at where Mob had decided to lean on him, hugging him.

"I'm happy shisho like trying it out after all" Mob smiled up at him, kissing his sternum, "We can do this as many times as you want".

Reigen blushed when he felt something pressing against his ass again, half-pushing in.

"Another round?" Mob asked, to which Reigen could only kiss him, trying to push back against the egg. "Fuck yeah".

Original

#my writing #tweet archive #short story #mob psycho 100 #mobrei #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #kinktober summer rerun #kinktober summer rerun 2023 #ovi kink #egg laying #egg kink #nsft #writing challenge #1k - 2k words

11 notes · View notes

grimaussiewitch · 2 years ago

Text

I haven’t been to a con since 2019 so let me be excited and list randoms: things that happened there:

There was a Starbucks right across the convention centre so we became cosplay stereotypes. I couldn’t order a drink because I could barely hear anything but I did grab some fruit in a cup lol

Seeing other cosplayers on the bus just knowing we’re all going to the same place lol

A dude was dressed up as a priest with a cross saying “thicc thighs” and a bible saying “thicc thighs saves lives” #ThiccThighsPriest

Speaking of priests, there was this vtuber walking around with a priests with a sign and pen with the option to marry the vtuber. Two of my friends sign and I declined because both of my hands were death gripping on bags

Also when we left on day 2 there was a weird Christian handing out dumb pamphlets on the bus line. One friend and I ignored him while one friend grabbed it to be nice. She didn’t want it so I ripped it up :)

“Listen it’s okay because Jesus wouldn’t want me to litter the earth so I will put this in the bin” “yes yes, Jesus would want that very much”

On both days not even a minute of entering inside I was asked for a photo. People are quick

I got to have a quick chat with this tiktoker I follow! I recognised his pearl cosplay with the flower crown he had on!

Because I was dressed up as technoblade and my friend was Tommy, I a course had to quote “do you want to be a hero Tommy?” As I proceeded to try to stab him with his own diamond sword

And on the bus three of them were talking about the name William so as one does I quoted “Will.I.Am” because cringe is dead

I found the same artist that I bought a mollymauk keychain and poster from! And a course I bought his new and improved Molly keychain

I told my friends that I wanted to check out this store that had crotchet items and it turns out that the lady crocheted the puppycat my friend had in her bag! She was wearing a Bee cosplay and the lady showed her the puppycat because of that and well, my friend returned in the same cosplay and now with the little dude

I got to vote for the tumblr sexy man between sans and reigen on a little board after purchasing pins saying “sans apologist” and “reigen apologist”

Like the actual twitter post, I voted for sans again

There was a minecraft bee cosplayer in a maid dress

There were a few maid dresses…

So many pride merch!

Too much genshin…

Also a lot of dnd stuff? I love dice but jeez they can be expensive… (I think the highest I saw was like $150?)

I loved meeting all of the other Eret cosplayers, ya’ll rocked

For face reasons I can’t show the photo but one friend dressed as Tommy sat on the ground while we were waiting for the bus. So what do I do? Convince the other friend dressed up as Ranboo to t-pose around him lol

A Callie cosplayer bloody popped off to Chiwawa in just dance like damn, you go queen!

That’s all I can think of at the moment lol.

#grim talks

6 notes · View notes

serenlyss · 5 years ago

Text

For the Sake of a Smile Chapter One

Rating: G Relationships: Teru/Shigeo, Ritsu&Shigeo, Teru&Reigen, Shigeo&Reigen Summary: Hanazawa Teruki is seven years old when his parents leave him to wait on a fallen log in the middle of a lavender field for them to return. He’s seven years old when a boy his age saves him from drowning and reminds him that there’s still light left in the world. Hanazawa Teruki is sixteen years old when he leaves home for the first time in search of a boy whose appearance he can’t quite remember and whose name he never learned, a nine-year-old promise yet to be fulfilled. Now, as he sets his sights on the bustling Seasoning City, he’s determined to do things right this time around. Chapter Summery: "Cooking is at once child’s play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love." - Craig Claiborne The prologue chapter, basically. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter One

Chapter Two (coming soon!)

Hello all! I've had this idea on my mind for a while and now that I'm out of school for the rest of summer I decided I can finally post the first chapter! As the tags state this is an AU taking place in the Kitchen Princess universe, but will not include any characters or settings from Kitchen Princess, so you don't need to know anything about it to read this. Basically it's a cute and very cheesy romance manga I read when like 8 or 9 years ago in middle school that I've gone back to over time.

As far as updates go, I don't plan to follow any specific schedule for this fic. The chapters are going to be relatively short (around 2-3k words for the most part, which is short compared to my 5-6k normal chapter length lol) and will update as I write and edit them.

Anyway, that's enough notes for now! I hope you all enjoy this fic, if you do be sure to leave me your thoughts in a dm or reblog this to let me know you're interested in reading more.

---

“Teruki, sweetheart, wait for us here, alright? We’ll be back soon.”

Mother ruffles his hair, long and blond and curly around his ears. Her touch is static and her words drip with honey as she speaks empty reassurances to him. He’s seven years old, old enough to use the little knives in the kitchen drawer to make himself a sandwich without calling for help, old enough to recognize that something is wrong, very wrong.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “When will you come back?”

“Mommy and Daddy have some work to do,” Mother responds, and neither of his questions are answered. “I know you’ll do just fine, you’re so responsible.”

The praise would normally make him smile, make him puff out his chest with pride, but now it just serves to make his heart fall further into his stomach.

“We need to hurry,” Father reminds Mother, holding his watch out for her to look at. “At this rate, we’ll miss it and have to wait even longer.”

“Miss what?” he asks, desperation seeping into his voice. He can’t wrap his head around what’s happening. Mother looks away, distracted, and her face lights up in melodramatic surprise when she sees how late the hour is.

“Oh, dear, you’re right!” she exclaims, straightening up from where she’s kneeling beside him. “We can’t let that happen, can we?” She doesn’t answer his question, doesn’t elaborate on what they might miss if they don’t hurry. Father doesn’t even spare him a glance as he turns on his heel and begins to walk. Mother follows him, waving and calling her goodbyes over her shoulder.

He stays sitting on the little fallen log, because that’s where Mother told him to wait. They won’t be long, he tells himself, and then they would all catch their train back home and he’ll pretend the discomfort and apprehension weighing him down were never felt at all. Mother will praise him for being so patient and Father might even smile at him when he sees how obedient he’s been. Those thoughts keep him firmly rooted. He can’t disappoint Mother and Father.

Hours pass. Mother and Father don’t return. The sun starts to go down, and he knows they’ve long missed their train home. He sits and sits and sits until his backside is numb and his stomach starts to growl from not having eaten.

The sun is nearly setting when a stranger finally happens across his path. She’s a few years old than him, maybe twelve, with badly-cut black hair that nearly falls into her eyes and a sharp gaze that seems to know more than she lets on. She introduces herself as Tome and takes him by the hand, and her touch is much softer and more tender than Mother’s had ever been. She leads him to her house, which is filled with kids of many ages whose parents are all dead or forgotten. “I don’t belong here,” he tells them, “my parents told me they’d be right back.”

The sun has long set by the time it sinks into his seven-year-old brain that his parents won’t be coming back for him after all. He lays on his side on an old futon in a bedroom that is too crowded with other children his age and cries into the early hours of the morning.

---

Teru hardly eats or sleep for days after he’s officially accepted into the orphanage Tome lives at. It takes a week of him insisting that his parents will come back and get him, that they must have gotten stranded or held back by something important, before he finally stops trying to defend them. He’s known all along that his parents don’t care for him enough to look for him too hard, but the thought still sickens him enough that his sour stomach won’t take more than the bare minimum. He knows that the sisters who run the orphanage, good women who always treat him with kindness and an infuriating amount of caution, are worried about his health, but he doesn’t care.

He leaves the run-down little house for hours at a time without telling anyone where he’s going. Sometimes the sisters send Tome to find him and bring him back, and sometimes he goes back all on his own, if he’s feeling particularly welcoming.

He doesn’t dislike the orphanage. His caretakers are kind and attentive, and the other children treat him nicely enough. He doesn’t know most of their names, but at least Tome doesn’t treat him like he might shatter if they don’t watch their words around him. Everyone knows he’s been abandoned, and while Tome knows the subject is forbidden, it doesn’t stop her from teasing him and sticking up for him and playing games with him as though she’s his own sister. It doesn’t make him want to stay in the house any more, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

One warm afternoon, Teru leaves the house like he always does, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. His jeans are cheap and the dye is faded, handed down from an older kid who’d grown out of them. They’re not at all like the expensive ones his parents had once bought for him, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care. It’s a particularly bad day, one of the ones that catches him staring at the seams where two walls meet for minutes on end without blinking, the kind where Tome has to ask him three times in half an hour if he’s doing okay, if he needs a nap, if he’s hungry. He’s hardly eaten anything all morning, and his stomach grumbles incessantly, but he ignores the pangs in favor of walking down to the river.

It’s calming here, usually, listening to the rush of water as it rumbles past the rocky, muddy banks. He slips off his shoes and rolls up his pant legs, taking a few steps into the shallows and letting his feet sink into the soft clay of the bank. His hands fall out of his pockets and lay limp at his sides as he just stares down into the water, gaze half lidded and a perpetual frown on his face. He wades in a bit deeper, until he’s up to his knees. The water laps at the edges of his rolled-up pants, dampening their edges with its biting cold. He wonders, briefly, what would happen if he decides to walk out the front door of the orphanage one day and never go back. If he walks far enough, even Tome won’t be able to find him. He has no idea what he would do, though, or where he would go, so instead he just wades deeper into the water, letting the cold sap away the feeling in his legs for just a moment. His feet sink into the clay so far now that it’s hard to keep his footing, the mud slippery between his toes. His pant legs are soaked up to his mid-thigh.

He takes another step, crossing an invisible threshold, and the strong current in the center of the river pulls his legs out from under him. He doesn’t even have time to scream before he’s completely submerged, the icy water soaking through his thin shirt in an instant and sapping the heat away from his skin. He flails, scrambles for purchase, but his child’s legs are too short to find the slippery river’s bottom anymore and he can no longer tell which way is up or which way is down. Water rushes up his nose painfully and steals the breath from his lungs, which leaves his mouth in bubbles that float up uselessly and leave his lungs burning. For a frightful moment, he’s certain that he’ll die here, alone and unloved.

A hand closes around his wrist and pulls, hard. His head breaks the surface and his feet find solid ground again. He’s heaved onto the muddy shore, where he collapses onto his hands and knees and coughs river water into the grass. It dribbles out of his nose, which he sniffs loudly and rubs at with the back of his hand as he replaces the water in his lungs with air.

“Are you okay?” A quavering voice sounds near his ear, and he feels a small hand rest against his back. Teru manages a dumb nod and turns his head to finally get a look at the person who’d just saved his life.

It’s another boy. He can’t be much older than Teru is, and his wide, dark eyes are filled to the brim with worry and concern.

Teru opens his mouth to reply, but finds himself speechless. Tears come to the corners of his eyes and he hugs his knees to his chest, hiding his face as he begins to quietly sob. Part of him is glad to be alive, really glad, but the other, smaller part of him wishes he’d just drowned after all so he won’t have to face the sad reality of what his life has become anymore.

The hand stays on his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Teru doesn’t look up until he feels the boy press something into his hand. When he does lay eyes on it, he sees that it’s a flan, carefully chilled in a pristine glass cup. There’s a tiny dessert spoon stuck into the top of it, one with an intricately engraved handle that depicts an emblem Teru’s never seen before.

“When you eat something good, you smile,” the boy says, and then offers him a small, shy grin as if to illustrate his point. “Go on, try it!”

Teru’s first instinct is to refuse - it’s not his food, after all - but the boy’s smile is incredibly soft and sincere, and his stomach aches from going too long without eating. He takes the spoon between his shaky fingers and lifts it to his lips, taking a bite of the flan. It’s sweet, with a subtle flavor that melts in his mouth and leaves him feeling lighter. It really is delicious.

The boy looks at him expectantly, eager to hear his thoughts. “It’s good,” he murmurs, and the corners of his mouth tug upward into a ghost of a grateful smile.

The boy’s grin broadens at this, relieved, but before he can say anything else, there’s a call from down the riverbank. Teru looks up, and sees another kid in the distance, waving his arms. He doesn’t quite catch the kid’s words in his distraction, but the hand on his back disappears as the boy who’d saved his life stands up abruptly. “Ah, I have to go!” he says, nearly tripping on the rocky riverbank in his haste.

Teru doesn’t even have time to call out to him, to remind him that he’d left behind his snack, to thank him for pulling him out of the river, to do anything. He disappears into the trees surrounding the river bank and leaves Teru, dripping, in the grass. He cradles the cold flan in his hands and stares down at the fancy-looking emblem carved into the spoon’s shining surface, and vows that someday he’ll make the boy the best dessert he’s ever tasted.

---

Years pass in a blur. Teru’s parents never come for him, but eventually Teru stops waiting for them, stops thinking about them much at all. He turns fifteen and discovers that the spoon he now carries with him at all times comes from a prestigious private academy in Seasoning City, the kind with a sprawling campus that accommodates kids from kindergarten to high school.

The image of the boy who’d saved his life all those years ago fades from his memory over the years until he can’t quite remember the color of his eyes or the shape of his hair or exactly how his voice had sounded. He does remember his words though, remembers his concern and his unwithheld kindness. He calls the forgotten spoon his good luck charm as he studies to take the transfer exam that will let him enroll in Salt private academy.

He learns to cook, too, through a combination of lessons from the sisters who take care of him and his own personal experiments. The sisters call him gifted, say his sensitivity to taste and flavor is beyond anyone they’ve ever seen, and Teru lets it go to his head, just a little. Cooking makes him feel confident, like he has a place in the world at last. He makes treats for the younger members of the orphanage, kids who have grown to become somewhat of a nontraditional family to him, while Tome steals spoonfuls of batter from his bowls when she thinks he isn’t watching. It’s gratifying, the way the younger kids light up when he announces he’s decided to spontaneously bake cookies, and whenever they do the words of the child who had saved him nine years ago flash in his mind: When you eat something good, you smile.

It takes a few months for Teru’s acceptance letter to arrive in the mail, but when it does he has to stop himself from crying out in excitement. He spends the next few weeks preparing for the move, packing everything he owns into a single suitcase and carry-on. Salt graciously pays for his plane ticket and transportation as part of his scholarship, and assigns him to the “special class”. Teru’s not quite sure what that entails, but he isn’t about to argue when he’s finally getting the chance to follow through on his vow.

Tome makes him promise to keep in touch three times over, and she double-checks that her phone number is in his contact list before she lets him leave for the airport. Teru just rolls his eyes at her and reassures her that just because he’s moving doesn’t mean he’s going to forget about her, and finally gets her to stop hounding him by promising to call at least once a week. He pretends not to notice the way she holds back her tears as he climbs into the taxi and leaves behind his childhood home, giving one last wave goodbye as the taxi pulls away from the curb and the long drive begins.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #terumob #hanazawa teruki #kageyama shigeo #kurata tome #kitchen princess au #fluff and angst #mostly fluff #eventual romance #child abandonment #implied child neglect #food as a metaphor for love #serendipitousfics

10 notes · View notes

avecorviidae · 6 years ago

Text

Fic: pretty little head

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: E Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 2780

Ao3 Link

Ritsu isn’t entirely sure how he’s ended up in this situation.

Well, no, that’s a lie, he knows exactly how he’s ended up in this situation: through a combination of his own stubborn pride, and the fact that he keeps forgetting Shou has no concept of personal space.

To be fair, he had exhausted just about every other source of help he could think of. His parents had never taken English beyond a basic level, and Mob had just recommended him to Reigen, which, well, no. Besides, based on past experiences, he would’ve just pulled up Google Translate anyways. Hanazawa had offered to tutor Ritsu himself, and he might’ve taken him up on it, but it was pronunciation that he needed help with, and Hanazawa Teruki’s spoken English was nigh indecipherable.

Somehow, Youtube and the rest of the internet had proven fruitless, and more often than not, overly distracting. So, the only one left to ask was Shou, who was fluent in English and almost painfully eager to help.

(In retrospect, he could’ve asked one of his actual teachers for help, but hey, he still had his pride.) His parents were working late, and Mob was still out on work with Reigen, so they’d ended up sitting in the living room, books lying open around them like the aftermath of a library in a typhoon. Somehow, somehow, they’ve moved from sitting next to each other on the couch, to lying on the floor, to Ritsu being half in Shou’s lap, back pressed to his chest and sitting in the crook of his crossed legs. Shou has his chin hooked over his shoulder, and he’s reading the book open on Ritsu’s lap with a voice so casual, Ritsu could’ve fooled himself into thinking they were just sitting across from each other at a table.

“I reached for the handle,” Shou read smoothly, tracing the sentence on the page with a finger. Ritsu reread it a few times, trying to commit the way Shou’s tongue had rolled over the words to memory. “Right… ‘I… rea… ched fo-r…’ uh,” “For the handle,” Shou says, stressing the vowels, and Ritsu can actually feel his shoulder vibrating with Shou’s voice, which is, well. “For the handle,” Ritsu repeats, slowly, but with less hesitation. He can’t see Shou’s face from this angle, but he can hear him beaming when he says, “Yeah! Good job!” Ritsu sighs, shoulders sagging with relief. It had been the tail end of a grueling paragraph that had made him want to brutally murder either Shou or the author of the book. Possibly both. The way they’re slung awkwardly over Shou’s feet, his thighs are starting to feel numb, so he shifts around in Shou’s lap until the pins and needles are starting to fade, and settles back against Shou’s chest again, asking, “So, what now?” with a yawn. “Um,” comes Shou’s strangled response, more of an undignified squeak than anything. He feels oddly stiff. “Maybe… go back to the first chapter and… see if you’re any better with it? Yeah.” His voice is wavering in pitches, like he’s trying desperately hard to keep it sounding normal.

Ritsu almost moves to turn, ask what’s up with him, but then he pauses and feels something that he’s pretty sure wasn’t there before.

Oh.

Oh. His first instinct is to jump up and get as far away as possible, but he makes himself sit still, flipping slowly back to the front of the book as he considers his options. The way he sees things, there are three of them.

One, he could go with his brain’s first response and freak out, probably embarrassing Shou, and more than likely fracturing their tentative friendship.

Two, he could just keep reading, pretend not to notice, and wait for it to go away. There was no real point in drawing attention to something that was a normal response to stimulus, especially from a hormonal teenager.

Or three, he could… he could… well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered it before.

Option three had as much potential as option one to fuck things up, if he miscalculated. After all, they were high-schoolers. It wasn’t as if he didn’t just get hard for no reason, regardless of the presence of someone he was attracted to. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Though, thinking back to the way Shou acted around him, the giggling, the looks, and, actually, was Shou as touchy with anyone else as he was with Ritsu?

He flips the rest of the way back to chapter one, abruptly grateful for the placement of the book.

If he’s going to try this, it has to be now. He moves experimentally, under the guise of adjusting to be comfortable again. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, he can definitely feel Shou’s dick through his pants, and he rubs against it, just a little, settling so that it’s more or less pressed up against his ass. A low, choked keening sound escapes Shou’s mouth, and it goes straight to Ritsu’s groin in a way that he didn’t anticipate, had never really felt before even on the rare few occasions he’d seen porn online, a surge of pure heat.

“Y’know,” Shou says, “I think we’ve done enough for just now. Let’s take, uh, a break.” Ritsu feigns ignorance, finding something satisfying about being in control of the situation right now. “Oh? But I thought you said my vowels needed more work?” Shou makes a noise that can only be described as a whine. “I need the bathroom.” Shou went to the bathroom less than ten minutes ago. Ritsu doesn’t move when Shou tries to shift out from underneath him. “Suzuki.” Shou is almost certainly strong enough to push Ritsu off of him, even not taking psychic powers into account, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking much at the moment, trying to move himself instead of Ritsu and only managing to make his problem worse in the process. “Suzuki.” Ritsu tries to get his attention again. When that fails, he clamps one hand on his knee, and as an afterthought, he tosses the book out of his lap somewhere across the room. “Shou.” Shou freezes at the sound of his name. Actually turning around without standing up is kind of awkward, but Ritsu manages to move himself so that he’s more or less straddling Shou’s legs, steadying himself with a hand on Shou’s shoulder, and wow, Shou’s face is only a couple of shades pinker than his hair, the darker freckles standing out like constellations on his cheeks. He’s staring up at Ritsu with wide eyes, mouth hanging just slightly open, and his bottom lip looks red and sore, like he’s been biting on it. The last of Ritsu’s hesitation crumbles. He leans forward until his forehead is pressed against Shou’s. “Shou,” he repeats, just to feel and see the breath go out of him at the word, “tell me to stop, and we never have to speak about this again.” “Please,” Shou hisses, and grabs the front of Ritsu’s shirt to pull their lips together. Ritsu’s entire world is heat. He’s kissed girls before, sure, light pecks for fun behind the gym or outside the school gates, but he hadn’t known it could be like this, hungry and desperate and Shou is everywhere, legs hooking around Ritsu’s waist and fingers digging into his hips, with his teeth occasionally grazing Ritsu’s lips in a way that makes him stifle a moan in the back of his throat. It’s probably not supposed to be this sloppy or wet, and Ritsu’s nose is going to hurt if they keep it up like this, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Trying to keep his balance, and the upper hand, Ritsu threads a hand through Shou’s hair and tugs. He’s rewarded for his efforts by Shou whimpering, actually whimpering, and then Shou rocks forward so that Ritsu is suddenly on his back, on the floor, with Shou above him. The rhythm changes, and now Shou is pressing shorter, harder kisses to his lips, barely giving him any room to reciprocate.

From this angle, Ritsu can actually see the outline of Shou’s dick, and, oh, he has an idea. “Suzuki,” he breathes between kisses, “d’you, do you remember, a few years back? The, the culture festival.” Shou laughs into his mouth, pausing to reply, “I remember your dress.” Ritsu rolls his eyes, giving Shou’s hair another tug. “Well, yeah, but I mean what you said. About if- if me being a maid meant that I had to serve you.”

Shou laughs breathlessly, says, “Well, how could I forget, you punched me,” but his pupils are blown and he’s staring at Ritsu like he’s just offered him the entire world, so Ritsu thinks he’s sold. He presses a hand to Shou’s shoulder and pushes him over so that Shou’s on his back, and Ritsu is straddling his hips again. Shou lets out a shaky breath, and Ritsu lets himself kiss him again once, and asks, “Can I… Can I try something?”

Shou’s nod is immediate and enthusiastic, and his eyes somehow get wider than they already were, so Ritsu takes that as his cue to start shuffling down Shou’s body, pausing to press his lips to his neck on the way.

Shou’s legs fall open easily, and Ritsu settles between them, looking back up at Shou. “Okay?” he asks, just to be sure, because frankly, he’s not sure. Shou is propped up on one elbow, staring at him with his other hand not-quite covering his slack-jawed mouth. His face is still burning and his hair is mussed from Ritsu’s hand, his lips are slick and kiss-bruised, and holy shit, Ritsu wants him. Shou seems beyond words, because he just nods again, making a kind of squeaking sound somewhere in his throat. Ritsu hooks his fingers in the waistband of Shou’s sweatpants and pulls, Shou lifting his hips off of the ground to help him. He stares for a moment at Shou’s erection, straining against the material of his boxers, and tries to reorient himself. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, because at this point he really, really, does. But, well, he only knows the theory of the thing, and he’s pretty sure that online porn isn’t entirely reliable, as far as the practice goes. Still, he prides himself on being a quick learner.

When he pulls Shou’s dick out of his boxers, keeping a hand loosely around the base, Shou sighs softly, head falling back to the ground. Ritsu feels fingers threading through his hair, not pulling like Ritsu had, just holding.

Experimentally, he licks a stripe from the base to the head, and watches as Shou throws his other arm over his face, the hand in Ritsu’s hair gripping convulsively. It doesn’t taste… bad, per-se? Kind of weird, though. Nothing he can’t handle.

He takes the tip into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment. Strange as Shou can be, he doesn’t think anyone would particularly like their dick being scraped, so he does his best to wrap his lips around his teeth. He licks around the head, feeling for the slit and pressing into it with the tip of his tongue cautiously.

Shou lets out a stifled moan, and when Ritsu looks up, he sees that he’s biting the back of his hand. Ritsu is somehow always surprised, when he remembers that he likes the sound of Shou’s voice, the melodic flow of it, but that moan almost knocks the breath out of him. He really wants to hear it again.

He pulls off with a small pop.

“Nobody’s home, Suzuki,” he says, trying not to let how wrecked he’s feeling show in his voice, “you can be as loud as you like.”

Shou’s arm falls back to the floor, and he pants, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Not if you manage to kill me first, Ritsu thinks, going back to work. This time he doesn’t hesitate before taking Shou into his mouth, and he slides down slowly, figuring out the right times to breathe through his nose as he goes. Figures, that Shou wouldn’t be able to shut up during something like this. Now that he’s got permission, he’s all noise, low, keening sounds and shaky breaths, and there are nails digging into Ritsu’s scalp in a way that makes him think that if it weren’t so embarrassing, he could come without being touched at all. Shou’s hips are making stuttering jumps, like he’s trying to thrust up into Ritsu’s mouth but can’t concentrate enough to establish a rhythm, but Ritsu moves a hand to his hip to hold him still to the ground, leaving the other as support on the ground. He’s painfully hard, and he reaches to undo his zipper before the friction makes him come in his pants, but he finds that he can’t keep his balance if he’s not propping himself up. Based on his lack of experience, he’s not sure that he could call Shou small, but they’re teenagers, and he’s not that... surely, there’s no way he’s big enough that Ritsu couldn’t…? Only one way to find out. He takes a deep breath through his nose before bobbing his head, taking more and more of Shou into his mouth. When his nose brushes the curls of copper hair at the base of his dick, the head is not quite brushing the back of Ritsu’s throat, vaguely tickling but not enough to set off his gag reflex. “Fuck, oh my god, Ritsu.” Ritsu isn’t entirely sure that Shou is breathing. From here, Ritsu’s sense of direction is more fuzzy, but he gets the general idea, and somehow, he doesn’t think Shou is going to criticize his technique. It’s surprisingly easy to get into a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down, occasionally going all the way down and sucking. Shou is letting out breathy moans to the rhythm of Ritsu’s movement, and he’s straining against the hand Ritsu is using to hold down his hips. There’s the sound of moving paper, like rapid flipping through pages, and when Ritsu glances around, sure enough most of the books they’d been studying from are either flipping from front to back, or floating a couple of feet in the air, surrounded by the orange-pinkish haze of Shou’s aura. If he breaks anything, Ritsu is making him clean it up.

“Ritsu, I-” The hand fisted in his hair tightens, and he finds himself being tugged off of Shou’s dick, in time for Shou to gasp, “I’m gonna, gonna-” Shou comes in a few hot spurts, managing to paint Ritsu’s cheeks and nose in white stripes. He is, perhaps, less bothered by this than he should be. Any annoyance he might’ve had is overwhelmed by the look on Shou’s face when he sits up and stares at Ritsu, face still bright red and looking absolutely wrecked. “Sorry, I, uh,” he stutters, before blurting, “you look really good like this.” Wow.

The combination of that, and the novelty of seeing Shou’s blustered confidence fall apart so utterly serves to remind Ritsu that his own dick is aching, and he sits back to let Shou compose himself, shoving a hand into his underwear and planning to make quick work of his own problem. “Oh, wait!” Shou says, scooching back over so he’s kneeling by Ritsu. “I wanted to… can I?” He’s already reaching a hand for Ritsu’s dick, so he shrugs and nods. When Shou wraps a loose fist around him and start stroking, the feeling is so overwhelming that he drops his head forward onto Shou’s shoulder, hissing, “Fuck.” He’s a teenager, so it’s a familiar technique, designed to get the job done quickly, but it feels so different with someone else’s hand, the unfamiliar feeling of Shou’s skin, the small callouses on the pads of a couple of his fingers. It’s been pent up long enough now that it only takes a few strokes before Ritsu is spilling over Shou’s hand, moaning quietly into the crook of his neck.

They stay, sitting for a moment, even as the come on his face and in his pants is becoming uncomfortably cold and sticky. “That was…” Shou begins, then trails off. “Wow.” Yeah, ‘wow’ is one way of putting it.

He murmurs into Shou’s shoulder, “Next time, we should do it somewhere that you can see me the entire time.” It has absolutely nothing to do with him wanting to be able to see Shou the entire time. Nope, not at all.

“Ritsu, oh my god.”

#/#//#///#////#/////#robin fic #mp100 fic

2 notes · View notes

affekte-blog1 · 8 years ago

Text

Reverie - Chapter 1

Reigen Arataka is dying.

“I'm dying,” he mutters for good measure, cheek plastered against the cool surface of his desk. There's no one in the office to reply. The small fan angled towards him whirs valiantly in its efforts to keep him cool.

With a groan, he unsticks himself from his desk—unfortunately literal phrasing, there—and collapses against the back of his chair. He tilts his head back to stare up at the air conditioning unit.

His hand curls and uncurls on his leg. He smooths his hand against the worn fabric and his pointer finger taps out an uneven rhythm on his thigh.

He’d started off his business with a surety unmatched, certain that he would make it big. Maybe he isn’t actually all that capable on the whole psychic-spiritual front, but he’d been sure that he could at least make a living off of this. He was sure that, with his quick wit, confident mien, and power of persuasion, he’d be able to keep fairly well off.

He squints at what he thinks might be a spider crawling through the vent.

I should probably kill it, is the first thing he thinks, followed up by a reasoning well it’s not like it’s really doing anything. His thoughts are angled towards both the spider and the unit.

He doesn’t bother trying to turn on the air conditioner. No amount of angled hits or amateur tinkering will get it to work, he knows, and he doesn’t have the funds to afford its repair. He rolls his shoulders, breathing through the achy stiffness, and closes his eyes.

It’s a slow day, he thinks to himself.

The days are always slow. He’d only quit the corporation a few months ago and started Spirits and Such Consultation in half that time, so it’s only expected that the potential customers would be scarce. Still, the days are long and he rarely gets curious visitors coming to check out an unfamiliar business, let alone actual customers.

Active attempts to gain said customers hadn’t fared too well, either. Most had ignored him. Some had pointed and laughed. One particularly aggressive guy tried to rough him up, but he’d managed to get out of that situation fully intact with only a slightly sore hand.

You’d think those people had never seen a sales pitch in their lives.

As it is, he’s just barely scraping by on his savings he’d accrued during his time with the corporation. Savings that will inevitably dry out at some point, and if he’s doing the calculations correctly he needs to get a customer within a few—

He breathes, the air catching lightly in his throat, and absentmindedly fiddles with the box in his other hand. Open, close, open, close—the sliding paperboard gives a familiar, therapeutic feeling. Something to do.

Reigen stands, his chair bumping lightly against the wall. He tosses the box onto his desk with a flick of the wrist and strolls over to the center of the room, eyes narrowed. His gaze passes over the clock on the far wall.

He clears his throat. Adjusts his lapels, straightens his tie.

A few strides leaves him standing before his larger bookcase, filled with a few books he has thumbed through a couple times and many that merely sounded intelligent.

He skims the shelf at eye-level, moves down to the next without really taking in the print on the spines. He reaches for a white hardcover and opens to the overview page. Turns the page. Turns a few more pages.

He catches the word “ostentatious” and is reminded of a gaudy display he had seen a couple of days ago on the way to the office. An advertisement for some new pop group, if he recalls correctly.

He skips several pages ahead and stares at black and white. The clock tells him fifteen minutes have passed.

He puts the book back on the shelf.

He moves again, more automatic impulse than a conscious decision, and finds himself squatted in front of the healthy rubber tree (plant?) beside the bookshelf. He pinches a leaf between two fingers and releases it, watching as it sways back into place.

It had become a permanent fixture to his office a couple weeks after he had finalized everything and become the official owner of the office. He’d wanted a little something to spruce up the place, and figured a rubberized plant would be good enough. Turned out it was the name of an actual, alive, photosynthesizing plant, not just a rubber look-alike.

But, well. He ended up keeping it anyway, since it turned out it was very low-maintenance and purified the air. Or something.

He glances to his side across the room to the other plant sitting in the corner. The “money” tree. That one he’d gotten because of the odd space he couldn’t get rid of no matter how he organized the more manageable furniture. His choice of greenery that time had been because he figured a little hope for some stable income wouldn’t be anything bad.

He angles the pot a little more to the left before straightening, and walks back to his desk, sitting heavily in his swivel chair. His eyes glance over his desk. He clears his throat into a fist.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t checked his email in, a couple hours? Maybe three? That sounds about right. He wonders if there may be some messages from customers unable to make it to his office, and pulls his laptop towards him. A few clicks later reveals an inbox of one unread message.

Sender : Mom

Subject : To Arataka

I’m worried about you, are you sure that you’ll be able to make a living with your job? If you send a formal apology to the corporation I’m sure ...

He closes the window. After a moment of quiet, he pulls up another and types in the web address of Spirits and Such.

A simple background with centered block letting of various sizes and styles greets him, the page having been put together with his sparse knowledge on web design. “You are the 0000008th visitor!” reads in bold print at the bottom. The last time he checked, it had said 7th.

His gaze finally settles on the small ashtray sitting to the side. Three half smoked cigarettes sit in a small ash pile, one still upright from when he smothered it.

The clock says that it’s 5 o’clock.

He swivels around to open the window, and looks up at the dusk sky painted in fading orange and purple hues. He opens the paperboard box with one hand as he digs out the lighter in his jacket pocket with the other.

A deep breath, and he lets the burning nicotine swirl low in his lungs.

There are few things Reigen takes pride in, and while they would be considered “small” accomplishments to the majority they are useful abilities that make his life all the richer.

For instance, he prides himself in his wit and silver tongue, a combination that not many have, or that most don’t wield as well as him. It’s what got him his small but workable office at a reasonable price. He also prides himself in his understanding the layout of Seasoning City like the back of his hand, which allows him to avoid the seedier parts and lose any of the untoward folks he’s seen lurking about.

Point: He has two main things that he takes pride in, one of which is knowing the layout of the town better than most.

There’s a florist’s shop on the corner that he doesn’t recall being there.

Reigen pauses where he has stepped onto the crosswalk and backtracks, stopping when he reaches the front of the small shop. “FLOWERS” is read in a faded yellow print above the entryway, bordered with black.

He lets his gaze drop to the front. The window display holds a variety of arrangements, from colorful bouquets in vases to potted assortments of leafy plants and blooming flowers. Small ornaments and colored rocks are dispersed in a way to fill the gaps between arrangements.

It’s something. Quaint would be a word to describe it, he supposes, maybe even chic. In a sort-of rustic, aged way. Actually, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t know what people consider chic these days, so he probably isn’t the best judge of that.

He still doesn’t recall it being here.

Huh.

A part of him wants to say that he knows this shop wasn’t here before, that he’s not being paranoid or trying to salvage some backwards sense of hurt pride. But it’s also something a little too petty even for him to worry over.

So with a dismissing shrug and only the smallest of frowns, he turns away to continue home.

“Hey!”

The smallest hitch in his steps is the only outward reaction he gives. He continues, because he doesn’t know a lot of people personally and even if it’s someone he knows he doesn’t really feel like engaging in pleasantries.

He barely makes it four steps away when he feels something tap his arm. He glances over with a raised eyebrow.

A man with short, dark hair and a striped apron with flower accents smile at him. “Why don’t you come in to look around? You seem a bit lost, are you looking for something special for a loved one?”

Reigen lifts a hand in refusal and turns. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well, you don’t have to go to a florist’s to buy something for someone else!” The man rushes forward, not obstructing enough to block the path but enough to be annoying. He gestures a bit more pointedly to the shop. “How about something for yourself? Something to cheer you up? Something to pass the time?”

Reigen pretends he hadn’t actually thought about it and tries to walk past the man. He follows the motion, making it so that Reigen can’t get by without shouldering past him. Geez, sales people these days … “I already have some plants.”

“What kind?”

He takes a small but conspicuous step back to regain some personal space. The florist’s smile twitches at that, which is at least a little satisfying. “I have a rubber plant,” Reigen says slowly. “And a money tree.”

The acquisition of both plants he has had been more or less accidental, and frankly, he isn’t interested in buying another.

The florist shakes his head. “Those are hardly plants that give any sense of satisfaction. They’re just like decoration—“

That’s exactly what they’re for, Reigen thinks.

“—why don’t you just come in and look around? Maybe you’ll find something that catches your eye. There’s a lot more in the store than what you can see from out here.”

Reigen places a hand in his pocket, leaning his weight over his left foot. Even though his own business hasn’t been doing well, he isn’t new to the whole pressuring-sales thing. “Look, I’m not interested in buying anything. You’ll have better luck with the next potential customer.”

The florist’s expression relaxes into something surprisingly more natural. “It’s been a slow day. Not a low of people came in and you seemed like you were curious, at least.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to buy anything.”

… Or maybe he’s just bored.

“The shop is family-owned. I’ll give you, say, a fifteen-percent discount if you find something?”

To be fair, Reigen is a little bored too. He side-eyes the florist for a moment before nodding—no, it isn’t just because of the discount—and they walk into the shop, a small bell signaling their entrance.

At the very least, the man hadn’t lied about the outside looking deceptively small. Shelves line the walls with tables, stands, and double-sided shelves filling the open spaces in between. Various plants and ornaments and decorations give the shop a lively atmosphere despite the absence of more people. He ends up wandering over to one of the freestanding tables when he sees a small, familiar plant sitting on the edge.

Mom had a few of these, he muses, lifting it to eye level and turning it side to side in his hand. He flips over the little tag attached to one of the stalks with his other. Right, that’s what it was called. “Lucky bamboo.”

Two stalks tied together with gold twist ties, each with two shoots sprouting, sit in a clear jar filled with an assortment of rocks. The arrangement gives a simple but pleasant image.

Lucky bamboo is a pretty popular, not to mention low-maintenance houseplant to have, if he recalls correctly. And his desk does look a little empty when it isn’t cluttered with files or trash he can’t keep up with. He thinks it’d look nice on the corner of his desk.

He checks the price sticker on the bottom and immediately puts it back down.

It’s not … too expensive, he guesses, since he’s never really been in the market for houseplants and the two times he was they were pretty pricey. But that’s enough money for three small meals and—just, no. Maybe when he actually gets a customer.

… Or maybe he can negotiate.

“Wow,” he begins, turning around with the approximation of a smile on his face. “This is a little pricey, don’t you think? Even with a fifteen percent—“

He blinks when he sees no one else in the shop, and glances around. Where’d he go?

“Hey!” he shouts. There’s no reply.

Reigen goes to the counter and peers over, around to the open door that appears to be the entrance to a closet. The florist isn’t in there, either.

… Weird, he thinks, rocking back on his heels. Well, if there’s no one here, I’ll just—

“Are you looking for something cheaper?”

The voice comes from directly behind him and Reigen spins around to conceal the instinctive jolt. “Don’t,” he pauses his habitual hand movements to point, “don’t do that. What you just did. And, the—how did you know, how did you even …?”

The florist gives a bemused smile, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“… Never mind,” Reigen decides, carding a hand through his hair. “What did you …”

He trails off when a clump of dead leaves is shoved in front of him.

“If you’re looking for something cheaper, you should buy this plant! Because it isn’t in the best condition, it’s really cheap.” The florist jostles the literal clump of dead leaves a bit, revealing a price tag. “See? Pocket change.”

Reigen eyes the maybe-not-dead plant. Its leaves are a sickly greenish-brown color where they aren’t clearly dry and brittle, and it’s a tangled mess. “… What is this?”

“It’s an ivy! It’s a hardy plant and it’s really easy to care for. It grows fast but the upkeep isn’t all that much; depending on whether or not you want to let it grow or have it keep its current size, maybe trim it back every few weeks or so.”

Reigen shakes his head. “No, what’s it called?”

“… Ivy?”

“Specific name.”

The florist frowns. “If you mean the scientific name, I’m not sure.” Reigen figures he must have made a face, because he rushes to say, “I know it looks pretty bad but it just needs to be cleaned up a bit and it’ll look fine!”

“Why didn’t you clean it up, then?” Reigen asks, and he lightly flicks a decaying leaf with his finger. “It’s a mess. Not exactly the most enticing product as it is.”

“Well, there’s a small legend that goes along with this plant.” The florist inches closer, free hand help up as though in anticipation of telling a secret. Reigen steps back, again. “A young boy apparently disappeared a handful of years ago, and in the same park he disappeared grew this plant—covering the entire area with its rampant leaves! It took a whole day for everyone to clear it out, and since then it’s been here.”

He leans back with a short laugh. “The reason why it looks like this is … I’m pretty sure the plant really is haunted, because everyday when I come back to the shop it’s like this. Even after I prune it.”

Reigen leans heavily on one foot and stares blankly at the supposedly haunted clump. Even if the story were true why would the florist take the plant to his shop? The park is public property, so it’d make more sense for them to burn the source plant or … he doesn’t know, but really. The florist? And he’s trying to sell it?

“So,” he begins emphatically, “according to your story, trimming the leaves back won’t work. I’ll have to trim it back every day.”

Reigen ignores the now-slightly-flustered florist in favor of plucking the plant out of his hands, moving some of the decaying leaves away. There, he thinks. Some healthy green.

He doesn’t buy the spiel, couldn’t be farther from believing it, but the plant is cheap. Reigen thinks back to quiet days with white walls and … maybe another plant will warm the atmosphere a bit. Something green and sort-of living on his desk.

Sort-of, both because it’s a plant and it looks like a horror show.

He places the plant on the counter before turning to the florist with a barely there smile and too-wide eyes. “Congrats! Your sales pitch was abysmal, but I’ve decided to take this and see what I can do with it. Call it a personal project.”

The florist gives a pinched look, but nods, walking around the counter. “... Okay. I’ll just ring you up, then—“

“Oh no, I’m not paying for this,” Reigen says, inspecting the plant. He turns to the shocked florist with an even brighter smile. “I’m going to get this for free, as a bonus for buying whatever supplies I need to properly care for it. After all, you are trying to sell me a cursed object that needs to be purified, meaning it’s a defective product.”

He splays a hand to his chest and gestures outwardly with the other in a dramatic flourish. “You wouldn’t make me pay for a defective product, would you?”

He leaves the shop with his plant held to his side, the bag of supplies dangling off of his arm as he scrutinizes his receipt. Gardening gloves, a small spade and watering can set, potting soil, and a pruner.

The price isn't as cheap as he'd like, but he supposes he shouldn't push his luck.

He still feels a bit lighter than he had earlier.

Reigen had been on his way home when he made that unexpected detour, but he is more interested in situating the plant in his office, so that’s where he heads.

Half an hour later has him seated on the floor, pruner and dead leaves collected to the side as he inspects his work.

It looks … sorta nice? The leaves have a nice yellow edging to the green, and even though there are still a few sickly-looking leaves the ivy does look significantly healthier than before.

He might have messed up while trimming though, because now its shape resembles a dome. Or the top of a round mushroom. It’s not like he really has a sense for pruning, since the only two plants he has don’t require anything other than pulling off dead leaves. He was going for a neat, bonsai-look, but he realized a bit late in the process that it doesn’t really work with this variety of plant.

Reigen spends a few more moments musing along this line of thought before he shrugs, sweeping the dead leaves into the paper bag he’d brought out. It’ll grow out and look better, probably.

The gold edging the leaves almost seems to glow in the dusk light.

#Reverie #MP100

29 notes · View notes