#mob psycho 100 fanfic

[vasiktomis]

Reverse Psychology (Reigen Arataka x GN!Reader, 18+)

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~2400. Tags/Warnings: No use of Reader pronouns. Negging. Office Sex. Pining. Service Submission. Confessions. Doggy-style. Creampie. (and it isn't a vasiktomis work without) Premature Ejaculation. Consensual Non-Consent. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“I’d had my suspicions, but I didn’t — ah — realise you were this into me.”

He’s such a loser, you think, gasping as he gracelessly gropes and grabs at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He’s such a scumbag. You want to bash his skull in. He’s adorable.

You won’t lie; you know he’s overestimating your infatuation with him. You’re sure he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying — it’d just be mighty convenient for him if you believed it. Even when he’s got you pinned to the wall, body flush against yours, panting into your neck while he tries to recover from getting too lost in feverish kisses, he can’t drop a con when the opportunity presents itself.

Lucky for you, you know him too well to feel hurt over it, let alone fall for it. It’s always been like this between the two of you; Reigen, in all his arrogance, negging the shit out of you for as long as you’ve known him. Baiting you into seeking his approval, his attraction, when all he does behind your back is stare. You’d been wise to it from week one, but you hadn’t realised how bad he had it until you’d paid him to house-sit while you were on vacation with friends last year. When you’d come home to respectfully watered houseplants and a hamper full of underwear that weren’t crusted with cum and shamefully shoved to the bottom of the basket when you’d left it.

You’ve known as long as he has that he’s wanted you, but its just too fun, watching him make a fool of himself while he’s trying to bait you into throwing yourself at him.

It’s the little things that beckon your attention, and he probably hates that. The sincerity and care that creep out of the cracks when his apprentices arrive in a less than stellar mood. The underlying consideration he puts into not giving a shit about you. He’d never buy you dinner, no fucking way, but he sure has a running list of all your favourite foods specifically so he can have you pressure him into sharing a cold mouthful after an unnecessarily long monologue about fending for yourself.

He broke first. You knew he would. Finally, after all this time gloating about girlfriends that don’t exist and shoving unwarranted dating advice at you, he gave in. At the most boring moment too — not even during a fight or while one of you were inconsolably crying. You’d just gotten too close on your way past when you were leaving the agency for the day, and he just broke.

It must be a blow, after all that work he put into the facade. You’d heard the resigned sound in his throat when he’d rounded on you, hands finding your shoulders, kissing you open-mouthed before you’d even had a chance to kiss back. It just wouldn’t be like him to let that image slide.

He’s bolstering his ego with all this dominance, and you’re happy to let him. If you’re honest, you kind of like it; letting him believe he’s fooling you. He’s taking charge, but the power’s all yours. It’s your decision to call him out whenever you like, and if he wants to spend the first shot he’s had at you lying, it feels only reasonable to make him work for it.

You give him nothing. A blank canvas to project onto and a tongue in his mouth in lieu of something he might be able to hold against you later.

It's perfect. He pulls back, delighted.

“God, I knew it. You don’t even try to hide it.” Reigen mutters, frantically tugging at buttons and fabric to shift his attention to your chest. The kisses he smears on your clavicle, your sternum, over the swell of your tits, are hurried and sloppy, already not quite living up to how cool he’s trying to play this. “I bet you’re already ready for it.”

Bad performer’s trick: rush you through to the sex so you never have to find out he’s terrible at foreplay. Or, maybe he’s concerned he can’t hold his nut long enough.

God, he must be terrified beneath that facade.

You just have to fuck him.

You reach down, fumbling with his belt, and he gasps, at least before he squashes the sound into an elated little laugh. “You don’t have to go so fast.”

And there’s the gaslighting.

You don’t slow, but he’s parted from you enough to give you the space to do what you need to do, unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping, all while keeping your eyes on his. You watch his expression cloud with something little less controlled. More sincere. Boyish. Then, you take your hands away, and his throat bobs. Nervous. He’s sweet, under it all. And so, so scared of showing it.

It’s a shame.

Maybe if you do this a few more times you could coax it out of him.

“You’re not gonna make me beg, are you Arataka?” You purr, watching a bead of sweat form and slip on his brow in the time it takes for you to be forward enough to call him by his first name. “After keeping me waiting this long?”

“H-how long?” Reigen chokes, barely audible. Then, he clears his throat. A second try, peppered with a cocky little smile. “How long.” He dips his face back into the crook of your neck, resuming his assault, picking a wise time to hide his face.

Your hand slips down the front of his pants, palming him through the fabric of his underwear, and his whole body jolts. “You tell me.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, anchoring himself to you. He fumbles to reach you the same way, but the position is already awkward standing this close. Momentarily, he’s at your mercy. “I don’t know. A little above average? I’m not the kind of insecure guy who needs to brag about that kind of thing.”

He’s so full of shit.

You guide his cock out of his underwear. Nothing to be very impressed by. Below average, if you’re honest. Not particularly girthy, either, but there’s a pleasant upward bend you’re sure you could have fun with. A slick pearl of pre-cum forms on the slit when your thumb traces up his already tugging foreskin. He was ready to go before you even started touching him.

Who are you to deny yourself the enjoyment of watching him embarrass himself?

You take his hand, and he watches, transfixed as you spit into his palm before turning yourself to face the wall.

“That’s-...really gross. You should probably ask people before you do that sort of thing.” There’s a shudder in his voice as he chides you. A slick sound and a hollow inhale as he works your saliva over his cock. You ignore him. The quaver in his breath gives his excitement away, and you help shove down your pants just enough to grant him access.

Reigen struggles, of course he struggles to line himself up at first. He takes a moment to tilt his hips the right way, to tug at yours. When he sinks into you, it’s all the way, fingers bunching your shirt to push just a little further. Just to make a point of it.

He pauses like that, holding his breath, one hand cupped over his mouth as he cranes over your shoulder. Savouring the feeling as much as you are, you assume — at least before you feel his cock throb inside you, and his whole body goes stiff. A choked gasp almost makes it past Reigen’s palm, diaphragm quaking against your back.

He’s absolutely coming, and if you weren’t too proud you’d admit, the angle of his acceptable cock throbbing against one particular bundle of nerves almost has you dizzy yourself. Utter fluke. It has to be.

Reigen’s body slackens a little. The orgasm passes. In your periphery, just over your shoulder, he looks downright horrified.

“Did you just-“

“What? No.”

The mask is back on in an instant. Reigen’s hand joins the other at your hips. He pulls out halfway. Sinks back in. The slide is thick. Gathering around your entrance, smearing the crux of your thighs. God, even his balls are wet against your ass. Just how much did he nut?

It’s -…kind of hot.

“Are you used to your partners not lasting?” He asks. You look down, tempted to see if he’s managed to make a mess of your underwear, and the bastard’s fingers snap to your jaw, angling your face back up for a kiss. He’s desperate for you not to know. Fine. You’ll play along. “Eyes up.” He breathes against your lips, punctuating with a thrust before he settles into a rhythm in you. It’s adorable, the dominant act. You can’t wait to smush him like a bug. “I asked you a question.”

“Arataka.” You attempt, shocked to find yourself choking on the word as he keeps going, wise enough to know not to stray once he’s found a spot that you respond well to. “Fuck, I-“

“It’s okay, I know.”

Something awful and delicious shakes through you. That shouldn’t have had such an effect on you as it does. What’s this guy’s deal?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a damn clue. But he really goes the extra mile to convince you otherwise.

“You should — touch yourself.” Reigen grunts into your hair. “I don’t plan on finishing until you do.”

You wonder if that’s Reigen-talk for ’oh fuck I’m gonna blow again’. You wonder if you should take your time, just so you can find out.

Oh, but why would you ruin his good time? It doesn’t help that the idea of coming with him in you is a pretty enough thought that you’re doing what he tells you.

With only one free arm to cushion you against the wall while Reigen ruts into you, you manage to find enough space for the other to see to your own needs.

It’s humiliating, the sound that escapes you when your touch compliments his own. He must feel the same way when his breath hitches in-kind, groaning at the feeling of your own pleasure clenching around his cock.

“Keep talking.” You manage, burying your own face into the back of your hand. He’s too close. He’ll hear how much you’re actually enjoying this. He’ll see it on your face. “Keep talking to me, Arataka.”

“Fuck—“

Oh, of course he liked hearing that.

“I — I can’t —“ His words diminish to a whisper you’re not even sure you were supposed to hear. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do  all this to you.”

You can’t, either. And yet, here you are. Raising onto your tippy-toes, rolling your hips back to angle him deeper as if his balls aren’t already swiping you with each thrust. Big mistake, you realise. His cock drags against something that has you shuddering, hurtling toward your own end. There’s no helping it. No helping you. Not when Reigen’s arm coils around your waist, pulling you so close that you can’t chase his movements anymore. The other locks over your chest in a desperate embrace. He’s barely pulling out before he’s ramming back into you now, nearly folded over you at this point. Something drapes against your shoulder, and god help you, you surrender your bracing arm to grab at it, letting your face squish against the wall without anything to cushion it.

Your fingers wrap tight around that stupid tie, keeping his chin hooked over your shoulder. A yelp slips out of him. A new pitch. Your core burns from the awkward posture, from exertion, from the delight of having him come so undone by you despite all his efforts.

It’s —

“I’m close.” You pant. “I’m close — I”m so close—“

His grip on you is suffocating. Fingers wrench at your shirt.

Reigen lets out something akin to a sob. “God, please — I’m so fucking crazy about you. Please, come, please, please—“

It hits you without mercy, tearing through you with a helpless whine. Were it not for being sandwiched right now, your trembling legs would give out beneath you. Instead, you’re held in place by Reigen’s desperate little ruts, unwittingly drawing your orgasm out each time his cock hits that spot again, muscles chasing the motions. Constricting around him, spurring him on.

You’re shaking when it passes, paled thoughts only brought back to coherency by the increasing pitch of Reigen’s breaths. Mouthed words evolve into a barely comprehensible muttering of ’oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit—‘ before he’s finally aware he has the green light.

“Where?” He pants, “Where do you want it? Can I finish inside?”

Is this guy for real?

You can’t even form a response. You’re too busy drooling against the wall, face smearing against the wet spot with every thrust.

Reigen seems to take no news as good news. As if he ever had a choice. The pitch in his breath reaches a crescendo, and with your last rational thought, your last ounce of strength, you yank his tie, hard. His posture curls around yours, clinging to you with a delectable sound. His cock throbs again, and your face squishes into the wall even more as Reigen’s own legs tremble, forcing him to brace his weight forward as he empties himself into you.

For a while, he catches his breath, still holding you to him. You feel his lips ghost over the back of your neck like he’s considering a kiss — but suddenly he finds it too bold a move. He shakily steps back, and all of a sudden he’s folded onto his knees with a tired grunt.

Left without your counterweight, you sink to the floor with him, leaving a snail-trail of saliva in your wake as you slide down the wall and settle down. Weakly, you flip onto your ass, still too dazed to bother with the clean-up just yet.

Across from you, Reigen gingerly feels through his jacket pocket. "Great. My pants are ruined. You wanna go halves at the coin laundry?" The sweat stains in his armpits almost reach his waist, and his business shirt is so damp it's near-translucent. He can’t take his eyes off the cum that seeps out of you, onto the floor.

“That was a lot.” He comments, clearing his throat. He finds that cigarette and tucks the box away without offering you one. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that was like, two loads worth.”

You squint at him. “Man, would you shut the fuck up?”

#reigen arataka #mob psycho 100 fanfic #as usual: if you see a typo no you didn't #reigen arataka x reader #vas fics

[lemonerix]

They both stood in the rain, catching their breaths, unbothered that they were getting wetter each passing moment. Serizawa moved beside the con man and crouched down, raising his drenched jacket above the both of them. He pulled up Reigen’s free hand to take the other part of his jacket and looped his arm around to rest his hand against the shorter man’s waist. "Let's share for now." the esper said.

Reigen nodded mutely, staring at the taller man dumbfoundedly. 

illustration for a fic I'm writing :P

#mp100 #serirei #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #mp100 reigen #mp100 serizawa #mp100 fanart #mob psycho 100 fanart #mob psycho 100 fanfic #fanart #hello fellow astronomers

[arabaka]

ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O3. BLOSSOMING.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ sfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. no cw but while this chapter is sfw, the story is generally not. 1.1k word count.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. author's note ⤸ chapter 3! sorry for taking so long, muse was dead but thanks to my beloveds, meg and @bulle-blackhole, i was able to break the curse and finish this! b also gave me the AMAZING idea that you'll see when you see reigen again and that honestly got me through the rest of the chapter lol.

CHAPTER ONE. | CHAPTER TWO. | TABLE OF CONTENTS.

“We should probably set some ground rules, right?” You murmur to his chest after a short while of being in his embrace. 

Admittedly, Reigen hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah… Probably.” Reigen croaks, his cheeks heating up to an obvious red as he hears himself. “Sorry, I’ve just…” 

The man looks away, ashamed, brown eyes looking anywhere but yours as his sheepishness shows in red hues blooming over his cheeks. Though he knows, there is no running from this, not from the very truth of the fact that…

”I’ve never been in a relationship.” His voice drops decibel by decibel with every word but the shame that drips off every word has no one to blame but himself. 

The “going home” club really was a foolish decision. 

You watch Reigen's throat tense with a barbed swallow, your heart beating with sympathy (but not pity) at the sight of it. He’s pensively pushing his fingers and his gaze is to the floor. The only noise bouncing off the walls is the nervous tap, tap, tap of his feet. If his words didn’t say it, his body language certainly does: the man is anxious. Reigen thought for so long that being self-made was enough for him, but as he’s confronted with his first relationship ever, he can’t help but think he’s falling short of what you need. What you deserve.

That’s when your hand comes over his, fingers curling in for a reassuring squeeze. The corners of your lips subtly curl, a tender smile appearing as you tell him, “That’s okay. Every relationship is different anyways… And I think we can both agree our situation is very different.”

We. Our.

Those two little words seem to snap him out of his stupor; after all, Reigen wouldn’t want to miss that smile of yours. 

His hand shifts, his fingers moving to lace with yours. Immediately, he gulps, “S-Sorry, my hands are kinda sweaty.” 

“That's okay. Some sweat never hurt anybody.” You assure him with a light laugh. “How about this…” You whisper as your other hand folds over his knuckles. “Let's revisit this tonight, in the meantime we can think about all of this and… Shower because I know I need one.”

The proposition is a relieving one, Reigen letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you were done speaking. “I think that's a great idea.” He murmurs with a chuckle, eyes cast on your linked hands as he continues, “I really… Don't want to screw this up.” The man admits, unable to shake off the fear that everything will fall apart and it will be all his fault. He can fake it ‘til he makes it with everything else, everyone else in his life, but he would never do that with you.

He doesn't have to.

And when he hears you tell him that he won’t screw it up, that you won’t let him, with the sweetest smile, he believes you.

—

A few hours and many, many, Mobgle searches later, Reigen stands outside of your apartment door. He’s traded his suit for a more casual look, even tried parting his hair a different way… Until he saw his reflection in the nearby window and quickly rectified that mistake.

Just in time too because there you are, opening the door with a bigger smile on your face than the one you had this morning. “Reigen!” You chirp, extra excited to show him the bouquet of flowers you had bought for him earlier that day… Only to see the exact bouquet in his hands as well.

Pink roses line both arrangements but the real stars are the gerberas, their stark white petals standing out among the rosy leaves and bundles of baby’s breath. Both sets of flowers are the same, down to the pink cellophane wrap and white ribbon around the stems. 

Both of you blink in surprise at first, stunned to silence until an escaped snort from Reigen gets you both to start laughing. “What are the odds?” You ask after a giggle, wiping your eye of the single tear that came from the belly laugh. “Let me guess…”

You don’t have to, Reigen jumps on it seamlessly, “‘You can’t go wrong with roses and gerberas!’” 

“And let me guess…” You start again with a toothy grin, “He didn’t charge you for the baby’s breath either?”

“... What?”

–

You sit on the couch– yes, the same couch you two were shamelessly making out on like you were teenagers at the height of puberty less than 24-hours prior. Though this time, there isn’t any tension to cut through. No gulped swallows and nervous stirrings of the gut.

“We should say our first rule out loud at the same time.” You’re overeager, every cell in your body just itching to hammer out these details so you can kiss that stupid face of his again… 

Okay, you really just want to seal the deal so you can officially call Reigen Arataka your boyfriend.

Reigen exclaims with a sweat already running from his brow, “What if yours is way more serious than mine?!” 

“Aw, c’mooooon.” He’s still hesitating so you bring out the big guns… A pout and a stare that would put a kitten to shame.

Reigen’s face could not get redder. He can practically feel his heart ramming against his ribs just looking at you! “... Fine.” He clears his throat, trying to recover from the strike to the heart that was your expression. “You’re not gonna do that every time you need me to agree with you, right?” He asks after a beat, letting out a chuckle that makes the red glow on his cheeks even brighter somehow.

“I make no such promise.” You answer with a nod and a smug smile, your chin wrinkling from the silly expression. “Now, c’mon! One… Two… Three!”

“No PDA at work!” 

“We shouldn’t do anything at work!”

You both let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, good.” Reigen leans back on the couch, eyes closed briefly in contentment. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on this. But it’s not because I don’t want the others to know!” He’s now sat upright, needing you to see the honesty in his eyes because he would never want you to get the impression he wants to hide you for any reason.

Your hand on his knee soothes his worries, a touch he can already see himself craving. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I knew what you meant but Reigen…” You smile at him tenderly, squeezing his leg as you assure him, “You don’t need to watch yourself around me, afraid you’ll make a mistake just because we’re going to be dating now.” Oh, how your cheekbones already tingle from how much the word “date” makes you giddy. 

“Right, right.” Reigen returns your affectionate smile, his hand coming to hold yours. The gesture is still foreign to his bones but god, it feels perfect. “Well, I’m sure we can handle ourselves at work.”

“Totally.”

“Totally.”

#reigen #reigen arataka #reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka x reader #reigen x y/n #reigen arataka x y/n #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanfiction #mp100 fanfic #mp100 fanfiction #mp reigen #mob psycho reigen #reigen fanfic #reigen arataka fanfic #reigen fic #reigen arataka fic #mp100 fic #mob psycho 100 fic #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for reigen. ꒱ #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ jackie writes! ꒱

[reitziluz]

After dealing with some youkai, Reigen and Serizawa have ramen and talk about business cards.

1.2K, pre-relationship verging on gen

i continue to have emotions about the business cards

#serizawa katsuya #reigen arataka #serirei #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mp100 fanfic #yea fic talk #i finally cleaned this up and posted it #because of a tag game

[cluttermortis]

hi!! i wrote a scary fic for Halloween. please read the warnings, it is a horror fic after all. i am a bit rusty so im sorry. i hope you like it regardless!

#mortis.doc #my writing tag i guess? idk #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mp100 fanfic #horror

[brown-little-robin]

Mrs. Kageyama Reaches ???%

People have different sides to them. Mrs. Kageyama is fine with that. She knew getting into motherhood that her kids would bring some things to their parents, and other things, they’d want to deal with on their own. That’s fine. That’s what people do!

She, for instance, worries over her kids out loud, in front of them, but only about the little things. Bumps and scrapes. Bent spoons, dropped dishes. Not the big things. She locks the big things away like an adult, only letting them out a little bit at a time so she doesn’t explode. She whispers to her husband in the dark when the kids won’t overhear them: are there any psychics in your family? Do you think your parents would know anything about how to help Shige?

As far as either Kageyama parent can tell, there aren’t any psychics in their extended families at all. Shigeo Kageyama was the first person out of the ordinary in both entire bloodlines, all the way back to the farmers (on Mrs. Kageyama’s side) and fishermen (on Mr. Kageyama’s side) who started keeping records of their family lines. And oh, it worries Mrs. Kageyama that she doesn’t know how to connect with that side of him.

There’s nothing she can do. Shigeo floats in the air as a baby, and Mr. Kageyama pulls him down like a balloon, but he floats right back up again, and there’s nothing Mrs. Kageyama can do but wait until her baby gets hungry and comes down to her again.

As a toddler, Shigeo talks to things Mrs. Kageyama couldn’t see. He repeats swear words she couldn’t hear the spirits teaching him. Actually, in that case, there is something she could do; one conversation later, Shigeo understands some social niceties he didn’t know about before.

But she can’t help with the root problem of the spirits who teach him words that he shouldn’t know. She wishes she was a psychic, too, not because it seems like fun—it certainly doesn’t, not to her—but because at least she would know what her son was dealing with.

But it isn’t that big of a deal, probably. Shige manages fine. He floats potato chips around to make Ritsu laugh and levitates all the small objects around him when he cries. It’s just another side of him. Shigeo is clearly bothered when other kids think he’s weird, but the Kageyamas let him deal with that by himself. All they can do, really, is keep loving him, feeding him, and making sure he gets to bed on time. The rest will sort itself out. Some things just wouldn’t be helped by parents getting involved.

Shigeo gets quieter as he got older. He still smiles and plays, but he doesn’t laugh out loud as much. He got self-conscious, Mrs. Kageyama thinks, because of those other little kids. Part of Mrs. Kageyama wishes she could talk to him about it, but that’s not how these things are done. Even if she tried to coax Shigeo’s hidden hurt feelings out into the open, all the parenting advice says that that would just stop him from developing the strength to deal with it on his own. And besides, real adults don’t make their children deal with their parents’ emotions.

So she hides that side of herself away. She whispers to her dear husband late at night, what if Shigeo is actually being bullied? What’s the point where we should step in?

He doesn’t know. He says, I think the boy is doing fine for now. Let’s let him socialize by himself for a while. She agrees. They let him socialize by himself. Sometimes he comes home from the park muted and weary, but he usually perks up once he’s eaten dinner, and Ritsu never fails to get a smile out of Shige.

Ritsu can connect with that side of Shigeo that Mrs. Kageyama can’t. His delight in his brother’s powers makes Shigeo smile where Mrs. Kageyama’s loving concern would just be smothering. So that’s all right. Different people can help with different needs.

Shige and Ritsu are good kids. They’re good kids, and they love each other, and they love their parents. But there are things they don’t come to their parents for. And that’s natural.

One New Year’s Day, Mrs. Kageyama got a call from a concerned neighbor and rushed to her sons. She found Shigeo standing stunned, blank-eyed, a few feet away from Ritsu, who was bleeding heavily from a head wound. Head wounds bleed a lot, she was informed by the doctors who stitched Ritsu’s precious little head up. That’s normal.

There was more blood on the ground than what could be explained by Ritsu’s head. Since she didn’t have to do anything about it, Mrs. Kageyama allowed herself to forget that fact. And then she forgot it again whenever she thought of it. Forcefully.

Ritsu didn’t explain what happened. He just went along with his mother and the doctors in a stunned, disbelieving kind of silence. He was a model patient, the doctors said.

Alarmingly, Shigeo didn’t explain what happened, either.

Mrs. Kageyama scrubbed the blood off his face in the hospital bathroom, and he didn’t resist at all. His hair didn’t rise up off his forehead in discomfort, and nothing floated, not even the water from the sink.

She squinted at him. Something was strange about him. Looking into his cast-down eyes, she could almost see something behind Shigeo’s blank expression. Something…

Something…

“Shige…?”

Shigeo made dull eye contact, and for a moment she saw with perfect clarity a boy behind his eyes, a boy with white eyes, screaming.

And then she un-saw it. Forcefully.

After all, there was nothing she could do; everyone has different sides to them, and that’s normal. Not everyone can deal with all the sides of everyone else.

After that, something is different in the Kageyama household. It feels almost like the boys had hit puberty early. Mrs. Kageyama heard from other mothers and parenting books about teenagers, how difficult they were, almost like they became different people overnight. It’s like that with Shigeo and Ritsu, only they’re still baby-faced little boys, not teenagers at all.

The tendency Shigeo always had to turn into a muted shadow of himself after a particularly hard day becomes the norm. He’s quiet. Too quiet. He’s calm. Too calm. He doesn’t laugh at all anymore. It becomes hard to remember that Shigeo was ever genuinely, visibly happy. His smiles at dinner are muted, his eyes always tired, even when he’s thanking Ritsu for unbending his spoons.

He doesn’t use his powers anymore. Not on purpose, anyway.

It hurts the side of Mrs. Kageyama that she has hidden away, the side that wants to stare deep into Shigeo’s eyes and talk to him honestly, to show him her overpowering concern for the part of himself that Shigeo doesn’t come to her for help with.

It’s not like he’s a teenage delinquent or anything, though. He’s perfectly polite. In some ways, he’s exactly the same as before. He still returns from school tired and distant but cheers up at the dinner table, even though his expressions are subtler, nowadays.

But unlike before, Ritsu can’t cheer Shigeo up.

It’s similar with Ritsu: it’s impossible to explain to other mothers how he’s changed. He’s still a model child. He’s still cheerful and helpful and nice. He just…

Sometimes Mrs. Kageyama hears him crying at night. Sometimes she catches sight of him staring at objects with such a fierce expression that she knows instantly what he’s trying to do.

The parenting advice doesn’t cover what you do when one of your children hurt the other one but both of them refuse to acknowledge that anything is wrong. The parenting advice says that if your children are angry at each other, you should give them some advice but mostly let them work it out on their own. But what if they don’t work it out? What if they never even try? There’s nothing to say.

Their family name, Kageyama, begins to seem like a cruel joke. Kage, shadow, figure, dark omen; yama, mountain, something huge and powerful. Mr. Kageyama is the one who points that out, late at night, whispering to his wife. He asks, do you think we’re cursed? Our family?

She lies, No, I think we’re fine. This is pretty normal, I think. People have different sides to them.

He thinks that over. I think you’re right. This is just… like puberty.

Now that the boys are middle schoolers, “puberty” becomes an excellent excuse to explain why the boys don’t share their other sides with their parents or each other. Everyone in the household embraces the excuse with relief.

Ritsu gets good grades. Excellent grades. He’s diligent. Too diligent. He’s a perfect son and brother. Too perfect. Everyone accepts it.

It’s been years since the New Years incident, and Ritsu and Mob—Shigeo goes by Mob at school, Mrs. Kageyama learns from his homeroom teacher—still treat each other with polite respect and no genuineness.

And—Mob? Mob? It’s a name of no identity. Mrs. Kageyama finds that nickname more and more saddening as her son’s other side drifts further and further out of reach. She calls him Shige at the dinner table and he smiles. There’s a shadow self behind his eyes, just as there’s a shadow self behind Mrs. Kageyama’s eyes.

But, after all, people have different sides to them, and that’s only natural. It used to be Ritsu who could make Shigeo happy about his powers, who could touch that side of him that Mrs. Kageyama cannot. Now, there’s someone else in her son’s life who does that: one Reigen Arataka. Her son’s after-school part-time employer and master in the psychic arts.

Shigeo doesn’t show his psychic powers to his parents, not on purpose, anyway, but she’s so, so glad he has somewhere to go to use that part of him. He’s hard to read, but Mrs. Kageyama thinks he gets something really good out of those after-school consultation hours. He often comes home thoughtful, or happier, his shoulders a little lighter, the shadow self behind his eyes not so noticeably unhappy.

She’s happy Reigen Arataka is in her son’s life.

It’s a tremendous relief when Shigeo begins to blossom in middle school. He joins a club. A club! It’s amazing!

Of all things, he chose the Body Improvement Club, which baffles Mrs. Kageyama. Shige has never been… athletic. But she’s not complaining. She’s happy for him. She nearly gasps out loud, one night, when Shigeo tentatively refers to some girl associated with (but not part of?) the Body Improvement Club, Tome Kurata, as his friend.

She nearly gasps out loud, but not quite. She hides her true excitement in that other side of herself. Her shadow self and Shigeo’s shadow self are similar, she thinks—they’re too much for the dinner table. The dinner table is a place of relaxation. Never, never does any Kageyama disturb the sacred peace of the relaxed atmosphere of the dinner table.

Which is why it’s so strange when Ritsu starts acting up and declines to eat dinner with the family.

Something is going on with Ritsu. There’s another side to him, too, but it’s locked away where Mrs. Kageyama can barely even see it. Sometimes, she forgets it’s even there. She’s ashamed of that, but there it is: Shigeo’s troubles are so much more obvious and clear-cut than Ritsu’s that… well… anyway, it becomes obvious that something is going on with Ritsu.

His grins are sharp, his eyes deadly, mannerisms completely changed. It’s as if he doesn’t realize that Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama know him. It’s as if Ritsu doesn’t realize that his parents watch both their sons closely, knowing they’re going through things that they can’t help with because they’re just normal parents and you have to let your children work things out on their own.

Mrs. Kageyama begins to wonder if Ritsu is going to confront Shigeo, finally, with the way Ritsu looks at his brother, eyes venomous. She hopes nothing bad happens. So does her husband.

But then something good happens. Something involving Reigen Arataka and psychic powers, if Mrs. Kageyama had to bet. Shigeo and Ritsu miss dinner. They come home late at night, and in the darkness, straining her ears, tense all over so that she doesn’t make a sound and scare her sons off, she hears Ritsu and Shige stopping in the hall. She hears Ritsu say goodnight, Nii-san, and Shigeo answer, mm. goodnight, Ritsu. And then—amazingly—there’s a cloth-muffled thump that might have been someone clapping someone else on the shoulder, and a quiet, happy huff that can’t have been anyone but Ritsu.

Shige doesn’t touch Ritsu. He never touches Ritsu anymore.

And yet—!

Maybe kids do work things out on their own.

After the boys’ doors close, Mr. Kageyama shifts and hugs Mrs. Kageyama tight in sheer relief. She hugs him back, fiercely, silently, choked up. She’s close to tears.

The next day, Ritsu…. Ritsu has powers. He doesn’t show them off in front of his parents, but Shigeo accidentally bends a spoon at dinner, and while Mrs. Kageyama is scolding him and arguing with Mr. Kageyama in their well-worn, comfortable ritual, Ritsu takes the spoon and just looks at it, and it unbends with a happy little flourish.

Mrs. Kageyama is so happy she could cry, and probably will cry, later, actually, when the boys aren’t around to catch her. At the dinner table, she just lets those feelings slide into her other self and grumbles, “What’s with these kids?” to make them smile.

“Here, Nii-san,” Ritsu says.

“Thanks, Ritsu,” Shigeo says, accepting the spoon. And he smiles.

Shigeo continues to change. He comes out of his shell, little by little. Ritsu gets happier, seeming younger every day. Shigeo’s friends become a bigger part of his life. He starts leaving the house not only for Reigen Arataka but for his friends, not just for the club activities, either, but for karaoke, to go out for ramen, and just to hang out.

More psychic incidents happen. The Kageyama parents can’t help with that, but they can make dinner. They can tease Shige and Ritsu about their powers. They can watch, knowing something is wrong but not pressing Shigeo on it, when he comes home from a job one day with something deep and thoughtful in his eyes. Shigeo starts drinking water instead of milk for a few days. He flinches at the sound of crows and shies away when people move too fast. Mrs. Kageyama is torn in half with the desire to ask him about it, but she doesn’t. Shigeo deals with it on his own.

Shigeo temporarily quits working with Reigen Arataka, and the Kageyamas provide a no-questions-asked, relaxed atmosphere for Shigeo to come home to. It seems to help. They see Shigeo playing video games with Ritsu and they know that Shigeo and Ritsu are going to be fine. They’re taking care of each other, better than their parents can, in some ways. Kids are resilient. Their kids are resilient. They’re so proud of them. They don’t tell them how much they know.

They cheer for Shigeo at the school marathon with all their hearts, even though the sight of him with a skinned knee gives Mrs. Kageyama a jolt of pure terror. Well, he seems to have it under control now. He doesn’t even see them as he keeps running. He’s so big.

When Ritsu opens the door to a red-headed and clearly psychic “friend of his” they’ve never heard of before and looks at them with terror in his eyes, they pretend to believe him when he asks them to leave for a spur-of-the-moment onsen trip.

Maybe it’s selfish. Mrs. Kageyama asks her husband that as they eat dinner that night, pleasantly boiled-feeling from the hot water. “Do you think it’s selfish, leaving them to deal with their psychic problems on their own?”

“Oh, they’ll be okay,” Mr. Kageyama says. “We couldn’t do anything to help them anyway. I mean, look at that!”

He points at the television, where the news is going over the psychic terrorist attack in Seasoning City yet again, with not much more information than last time. There’s live footage of police cars floating in the air.

“After all—”

The TV frizzles and fills with static. Mr. Kageyama laughs a short, helpless little laugh.

“I get it,” Mrs. Kageyama sighs. “I just worry about those boys.”

The honest side of herself writhes in pain at the understatement, but she keeps it down.

“It’s all right as long as they’re together. Shigeo will have it handled,” Mr. Kageyama says. “He’d never let Ritsu get hurt.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. In each other’s eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama see Ritsu bleeding and Shigeo with blood spattered on his face.

“That’s true,” Mrs. Kageyama says, hoping it’s true. “They’re very capable kids now.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama return home, their house has been replaced with an almost identical house. They burst into muffled laughter together in their room, covering their mouths. The pattern of the floorboards in the hall is different. How—how?

They don’t tell Shigeo and Ritsu how much they know.

Everyone has different sides to them. The Kageyama parents are at peace with this. They are at peace with the fact that they are background characters in their sons’ lives. The four Kageyamas show each other a gentle, relaxed side of themselves. It’s a sorely needed safe haven for all of them.

They could keep this up forever. Mrs. and Mr. Kageyama giggle with each other sometimes at night about how Ritsu probably won’t know they knew he was having delusions of grandeur until they’re old and gray, and maybe not even then.

Everything is alright. Still, Mrs. Kageyama sometimes misses Shigeo as a carefree little boy. Still, her shadow self yearns to connect with his.

There’s a specific kind of loneliness she thinks she shares with her older son, something not quite shared by Ritsu or her husband, although they have their own versions. She sees Ritsu use his powers to open drawers and float his school bag over, and she sees Shigeo walk across the room to get his bag, and she thinks: Shige is still stuck in his head. But she doesn’t say anything.

It’s not because of the parenting advice anymore, and it’s not because she’s worried about stunting his personal development. Shigeo is a strong person. He’s been a strong person for a long time. It’s because it’s a habit, and every time Mrs. Kageyama thinks of cornering Shigeo and just… asking him, Shige, can we talk about your powers?, she remembers that she doesn’t have powers, and how can she dare to try to connect with that side of him now, when she hasn’t really tried to do that for Shigeo’s entire life?

It’s guilt. It’s shame. It’s a habit. It’s more comfortable to stagnate.

Kids work things out on their own, right?

Besides, Shigeo isn’t repressing his emotions so much anymore, just his powers. For instance, she heard him calling Mrs. Takane, the mother of one of Mob’s childhood friends. He’s going to talk to his childhood friend again! Mrs. Kageyama is curious what he might talk to Tsubomi-chan about. Is it possible that he might finally be processing the minor bullying that used to bother him so much? But that’s probably just overthinking on her part. Shigeo doesn’t talk about it around his parents, but she’s pretty sure he used to have a crush on Tsubomi-chan, and he might still have a crush on her. Adorable. He’s growing up so fast.

When the earthquakes hit, they hit her right in the guilty conscience.

It’s Shigeo. She knows it’s him. She never really had motherly instincts, but this isn’t a motherly instinct. This is her shadow self recognizing his shadow self, which is so much like hers. The boy with white eyes, screaming. She understands what he’s doing. He’s letting out all of the destructive guilt and shame and fear and rage at himself and everything else that Mrs. Kageyama has been seeing behind his eyes for years and years.

It’s Shigeo’s shadow self, and maybe if Mrs. Kageyama had managed to be brave for once in her life and talk to him about powers, secrets, and emotions, this wouldn’t be happening.

She stares at her phone, where a grainy photo of her oldest son blurs in her vision, and she feels the sob rise in her throat and the tear drip onto the phone, obscuring the bouquet in his hand, as if someone else was doing it.

She doesn’t go out to look for him. She doesn’t have powers. She’d get killed.

It’s Reigen Arataka who brings her son home—Reigen Arataka, who she’s only met once or twice before. He’s uncharacteristically disheveled and red-eyed with crying, and his head is bleeding. Shige did that to him—it’s obvious. Shige has clearly also been crying. He looks up at his mother and father, sniffs bravely, and starts crying again.

Mrs. Kageyama kneels and hugs Shige tight. Mr. Kageyama’s arms close around her and Shigeo, encircling them, and she starts crying again.

The government gets involved, in the form of a bored-looking bald man with a strange cigarette who shows up in a helicopter. He jumps down to ground level, interrupting the crying Kageyama family and the awkwardly standing by Reigen Arataka, and says to Shigeo, “Long time no see.”

Mrs. Kageyama does not like the implication that Shigeo has met this man before.

Shigeo pushes his parents’ arms away, gently but firmly, and steps up to meet the man. He says, “I’m sorry. I’d like to help.”

“Sure, sure,” the government man says dismissively. “Might take a while to rebuild the city, but I can pretty much guarantee no one’s going to mess with you. No one died, so…” he gestures lazily with his cigarette. “This kind of thing happens every once in a while with kid espers. Just thought you might like to know.”

The government man doesn’t spare even a glance for Shigeo’s parents. They don’t ask him anything. It’s like introducing themselves might shatter the illusion of good news and make the man shout, “Gotcha! Your son is going to esper jail right now!”

The government man returns to the helicopter and lifts off. And then it’s just Shigeo, standing awkwardly on the street and not quite making eye contact with his parents, and the voice of Reigen Arataka on the phone summoning other psychics, and a man with an umbrella, “Mob”’s coworker, apparently, arriving and nervously spiriting Shigeo away to meet up with some other psychics, including the one who apparently recreated the Kageyama’s house that one time.

So they don’t address the incident immediately. Shigeo comes home that night so exhausted that he falls asleep at the table. Ritsu looks more awake, but also so dreamily happy that his parents just… don’t ask him any questions. They don’t want to disturb that happiness.

The next day, they don’t address it again. Shigeo is a heavy sleeper. He wakes up slowly, brushes his teeth, and sets off for school, which didn’t get destroyed during his shadow self’s meltdown, probably for the same reason that their house went practically untouched, though shaken, among the earthquakes. Shige doesn’t come home until very late again, and when Mrs. Kageyama gives him a bento box to eat before bed, he just says thank you. To her tentative question—were you helping with the city today, Shige?—he gives an exhausted, affirming “mm.”

He’s tired. She lets him wobble off to bed.

It doesn’t actually take very long for the city to be healed. Shige stops being tired all the time right away after his bedtime gets back to normal. He’s livelier than Mrs. Kageyama has seen him in years—smiling, joking with Ritsu, arguing with him sometimes, sulking when he feels like it. He laughs again.

He’s so different. But he’s still Shigeo. And he still has something behind his eyes. At dinner, when their eyes meet, Mrs. Kageyama’s shadow self reaches out to her son’s shadow self, still.

Which is a strange sensation, because Shigeo isn’t repressing his emotions anymore, or his powers, either. But there’s still something there, something or someone existing in reserve behind his eyes. She second-guesses herself about it at first, particularly when Mob laughs or scowls or displays his powers and emotions like he’s never thought twice about it. He seems so… whole. It’s not a child made of shadows anymore. But in other moments—when he’s watching Ritsu or when he doesn’t have much to say, when he hesitates, when he has a forgetful spell—Mrs. Kageyama is sure she sees it. Another presence within her son.

Call it motherly instincts or call it Mrs. Kageyama’s shadow self resonating with her son’s shadow self—either way, she knows. Shigeo Kageyama is still hiding another side within himself, even though that other side is happier now.

So one day, a few months after the incident, once she’s sure Shigeo is really stable like this… Mrs. Kageyama catches Shigeo before school and asks him to come home and have a talk with her after school.

He looks surprised, then nervous, then pleased.

“Yes, mom,” he says. And that’s that.

Talking to a teenager is easier than they said! That’s Mrs. Kageyama’s first, indignant thought. And then right on the heels of that thought comes what am I getting myself into?!

After school, Shigeo comes right home. Mr. Kageyama will stay at work for a while, and Ritsu has student council today; it’s the perfect time. Mrs. Kageyama sits down with her son and finds herself at a loss, not knowing exactly what to say.

Shigeo waits, watching her seriously.

“Shige,” she says, and feels her shadow self rise up in her, telling her to just break down and cry. Her voice wobbles as she tries again. “Shige, I want to tell you something. I think you’re old enough…”

Mortified alarm flashes across Shigeo’s face. Oh no! She waves her hands, trying to erase what he’s thinking.

“About your psychic powers,” she says hastily.

He looks relieved for a split second, and then his eyes widen. His hair rises up off his forehead, and she hears a slosh as something happens to the water in the sink. He’s scared? Of all things, she had not expected Shigeo to be frightened of talking about his powers. She expected him to be irritated and dismissive, like the parenting advice says that teenagers always are. The parenting advice was wrong. Again.

Suddenly reaching her limit, Mrs. Kageyama throws out all the parenting advice she’s ever heard and just… tells the truth.

“Or, ah, not about psychic powers exactly. About… Shige, I think something runs in our family, and it’s not powers, but I think you and I share it.”

Shige’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He waits like his mother is about to reveal the secrets of the universe, and in a way, she supposes, she is.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” she says carefully. “But you have more than one “self”, don’t you?”

He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out.

Nothing at all.

Mrs. Kageyama says, “You split yourself in half, back then… I saw it happen. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how to help, because I… I didn’t know what to do about my shadow self, either.”

“Your shadow self, mom?”

His voice is quiet, so quiet. Mrs. Kageyama nods, feeling her shadow self sob and writhe in her head. It’s an unsightly thing. It’s so possessive, so emotional. She can’t let it do whatever it wants. That would hurt her children, and she loves her children, so, so much. She would never hurt them.

“I kept it quiet because I thought…” she takes a sharp breath. “It’s too much, and I wanted to keep you and Ritsu… comfortable. Parents can’t ask their children to carry their worries.”

“What do you mean?” Shigeo asks. He sounds so young, and so hurt.

“I never asked you what it was like to have powers,” she blurts out, and the wave of guilt that follows is tremendous, but so is the relief. “I’m so sorry. I let you deal with everything on your own. I didn’t realize…”

Shigeo’s lips are trembling. He says, “Mom, you have a shadow self too?”

“You’re just like me,” she says, and how, how did she never know that honesty could feel so right? “I knew you were just like me, and I didn’t tell you. I thought you could deal with it on your own. I’m so sorry, Shige.”

“Mom,” he says, and starts crying.

To hell with parenting advice. To hell with keeping her shadow self from shattering the relaxed facade of the Kageyama household. Shigeo deserves better.

Mrs. Kageyama stumbles out of her kneeling posture and grabs her son and holds him close.

“Shige,” she says into his hair. “Shige. Shige.”

“I thought it was just me,” Shigeo gasps. “I thought it was just me in the dark.”

And, with a start, she realizes why his shadow self is different now. They switched places, didn’t they? The Shigeo she’s talking to right now is the one her shadow self used to stare at longingly across the dinner table.

“So you’re that one,” she says, with all the shaky, weepy tenderness she's been repressing for years. “Hello. I’m so pleased to finally meet you again.”

Shige sobs. Everything in the room is floating. She could cry. She does.

Then Shigeo pushes himself out of the hug and looks at his mother, trembling but clearly happy and calm in a way she’s rarely ever seen him, even when he was young.

“You're wrong,” he says. “I am myself. I accepted both parts.”

“So you’re—” Mrs. Kageyama stops, thinking that over. Does it not matter anymore, to Shigeo? Which “self” is which?

Could it not matter to her, either, someday?

Tentatively, she lets more of herself out.

“I’m so sorry, Shige. I listened to the wrong advice. I should be the one helping you figure this out, not the other way around.”

Shigeo looks her in the eye. He says, “Adults can change too. It’s not too late.”

She looks back, and in his eyes she sees both of him, and she knows that now he sees both of her too. And she is not afraid to show him.

Not anymore.

#SO I WAS THINKING ABOUT WHY EXACTLY THE KAGEYAMA PARENTS ARE SO IRRELEVANT TO THE PLOT #and I came up with this absolute bombshell of a headcanon/AU: Shigeo's mom does the exact same thing he does. she represses her knowledge #Is Mrs. Kageyama slightly psychic in a specific way where she can sense the presence of ???% and/or “Mob” within Shigeo? Maybe!! #That’s up to reader interpretation! #If she is psychic she certainly doesn't know it! #ahaha so!! Thanks for reading!! comments and sharing/reblogs are more than welcome! #the link leads to the ao3 version of this fic which is exactly the same except it's on ao3! #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mp100 fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #mob-blogging #kageyama siblings' parents #kageyama siblings' mother

[ygodmyy20]

Happy Monday!! It's a new Black Sweatshirt chapter!! Been awhile. I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks as always to @sodasexual for the amazing beta reading!

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #fanfic #teruki hanazawa #shigeo kageyama #shou suzuki #reigen arataka #ageswap au #my art #Matraca writes

[m-bbert]

I have been searching for a very specific fic for a very long time and if you help me I would literally owe you my life

yeah so it’s an mp100 fic where mobs school gets temporarily shut down and they all go to Teri’s school (this is pre cannon at this time) and then some sorta cannon stuff happens and mob blows up the school again and teru has his gay awakening

please help me I need it back

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #mp100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 #kageyama shigeo #shigeo kageyama #teruki hanazawa #terumob #mp100 hanazawa

[kitkatdrawwss]

R R R R RRRREIGEN ARATAKAAAAA 🚨🚨🚨

U guys probs don't know that mp100 is my biggest hyperfixation ever its genuinely best anime ever and if u haven't seen it yet all I can say is ur missing out BIG time and u need to watch it rn.

#reigen arataka fanart #reigen arataka #mp100 fanart #mp100 #mp100 reigen #mp100 mob #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mob psycho fanart #tumblr babygirl #ultimate babygirl #twink supreme #i love reigen #i love mp100

[kermit-coded]

Take The Albatross Off Of My Neck (1108 words) by kermit_coded Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Chainsaw Man (Manga), Chainsaw Man (Anime), モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Denji (Chainsaw Man) & Reigen Arataka, Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo & Reigen Arataka, Denji (Chainsaw Man) & Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo Characters: Denji (Chainsaw Man), Reigen Arataka, Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo, Makima (Chainsaw Man) Additional Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Denji Needs a Hug (Chainsaw Man), Denji is a Mess (Chainsaw Man), Hurt Denji (Chainsaw Man), Good Person Reigen Arataka, Autistic Kageyama "Mob" Shigeo, unnecessary lore and world building bc i am autistic, Childhood Trauma, Blood and Injury, POV Reigen Arataka, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Pre-Canon, urban horror, Gothic, Mild Gore, Chainsaw Man-typical Body Horror, Warning: Makima (Chainsaw Man) Series: Part 4 of my crazy-ass crossovers Summary: Instead of Makima, a different sort of liar finds Denji.

#my writing tag #csm #csm fanfic #chainsaw man #chainsaw man fanfic #denji hayakawa #denji #csm denji #chainsaw man denji #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mp100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanfic #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #makima

[crystalv01d]

hello i am asking for mob psycho fanfic recommendations because as of right now i have read a grand total of. uh.

2.

ever.

so!! basically i’d like some fic reccs please :] sdjhfsgs

also i’ll put a list of the fics i already plan on reading under the cut so this post doesn’t get too long!! ^^

(the fics ive already read are : If At First You Don’t Succeed, Find a Loophole and in absentia*, by MalkyTop, Three by Ravenesta, in case you were curious ^^ (11/10 btw would definitely recommend))

(oh and im also keeping up with Backdraft by r0semint but since currently it’s ongoing i dunno whether i should count as read or not sgdjfhdh)

the list of the fics that im already planning to read in no particular order :

• Show Me The World Outside by leothedino

• Hell & You by Torchiclove

• the sun in the summertime by waitineedaname

• Defined by the Absence by wyrvel

• Area Hysteria by c_c_cherry

• tomorrow isn’t always another day by suitablyskippy

and that’s all!! i don’t expect this to really get around much but hopefully i get a few recommendations :]]

#oh and if you recommend something!! Don’t Give Me Something Weird or Gross. you know who you are. #mp100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 #mp100 fanfic #mob psycho au #crystal speaks

[stargazer-dreamer]

Ghostbox

character: reigen arataka

reader: gender neutral

content warnings: none

notes: also on ao3. 2k word count. unreliable narrator

Reigen thinks it’s only appropriate, for a business, to branch out and follow the latest trends—to come up with new ways to put himself, and his name, and his office out there. Yes, he’s stood out on the street and handed out flyers, made a website, shot peace signs at passing cameras, but he still found that business was slow lately, boringly so; only emails and articles to fill the time.

He decides to download a dating app.

You haven't dated since high school—and even then, it was a bit of a fruitless endeavor. At your age, you have a handful of friends you’ve hung on to since your younger years, but you found there was no room to form new friendships; what with work taking up most of your time and energy. And sure, you’ve gone out for drinks with your coworkers and attended several work functions, but it was more out of obligation than any real attempt at looking to grow closer.

There was no room for a romantic angle in any of your current relationships. You didn’t want that. Even in your online communities, there wasn’t really anyone you were interested with in that type of manner, content to stay as just friends, just acquaintances, coworkers and space-sharers.

So you tried the popular dating app. At the least, you’ve exchanged several messages with people, but nothing ever came out of them; there’s been the occasional talks of potentially meeting up here and there, but they would suddenly ghost you when the prospect actually came up, messages left on read and chatboxes dead.

You entertained the idea of finally finding the person you’ve been searching for, swiping left and right during breaks and curled up in bed for weeks, months on end; slowly and slowly coming to terms with the fact that dating apps were just a waste of time, only for the occasional hookup, only for a quick fuck.

And then you matched with him.

“The greatest psychic of the twenty-first century,” as his bio put it, was an account seemingly run by a real person—but it appeared that he was only there to promote his sketchy-sounding business, based on the wording of the rest of his bio; advertising and proposing various menu options.

He probably likes every profile that comes up, you think as you liked his, just to see what would happen; tired, and jaded, and very much wanting to go to bed. This Reigen Arataka, with his goofy selfie for an icon and an album full of poorly-shot photos of what must be his office, and handshakes, and a map leading from the nearest station.

You scanned his bio again. Seances, and purification techniques, and apparently specialty items and charms—but you didn’t want to copy and paste the website typed at the bottom, didn’t want to see what he sold for what price. You only wanted to roll over and charge your phone.

Sure enough, the notification saying the two of you had matched popped up, prompting you to message him.

He beat you to it.

[[ hello!! ]]

[[ it appears we have found each other. ]]

In the chatbox, you simply stared. Letters encased in emojis, smiley faces and waving hands; you weren’t sure what to say. He must have seen that you’ve seen.

[[ i’ll get straight to the chase. i run the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, we offer various psychic related solutions to your spiritual related problems. ]]

[[ are you interested to hear more? ]]

He didn’t give you time to answer, most likely driven by the little “read” message on his end, followed by the checkmark; prompting him, goading him, encouraging him to prattle on.

[[ of course you are!! ]]

[[ perhaps you would like a Graphic Exorcism? or a Sorcery Crush? ]]

[[ here at the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, we offer the lowest rates with the highest results!! ]]

You closed the app.

---

You didn’t know what prompted you to open up the chatbox again the following night, but you supposed you had nothing else better to do.

He had not sent another message. So, you decided to.

(( Hi ))

His reply was not immediate, but it came quicker than expected.

[[ hello!! ]]

[[ how may i help you? ]]

It was followed by an open-mouthed smiley face. Some customer service.

(( You’re a psychic? ))

[[ yes i am!! ]]

You thought of your boss.

(( Do you do curses? ))

[[ i’m afraid i don’t offer curses ]]

[[ i do offer evil repellent charms if that’s something you’re interested in ]]

It isn’t.

(( That sounds interesting. Tell me more? ))

---

[[ how was your day? ]]

(( My back still hurts ))

You were in bed, with a pillow shoved underneath you in a way that strained your neck but supported your back. You were both off work, retired for the day and chatting the night away.

You don’t know how your conversations turned into this—less selling on his end and more genuine intrigue on yours. You started messaging him during your breaks at work, and he wasn’t always able to respond right away—he has his own business to attend to, after all—but he always replied by the end of the day, answering your questions and responding to your rising curiosity.

It was him who offered to exchange numbers, one day, out of the blue. You would have given it to him freely, had you worked up the courage faster. It was also him who had sent the first selfie, him and his goofy face, unprompted, sitting at his desk, blurry, endearing, in the middle of your lunch break. You had sent one back and he appraised your looks.

You entertained the idea.

(( Maybe the office is haunted. Can spirits follow you back home? ))

[[ yes!! ]]

[[ an evil spirit might be following you home and haunting your poor back. ]]

[[ i could help with that. ]]

[[ perhaps you could go for my super special Aroma Runaway Express technique? ]]

It was followed by a winky face—it made it sound suggestive. You didn’t know how to reply, hot suddenly in the face. Perhaps lower, as well.

[[ sorry. ]]

[[ it’s a massage. ]]

[[ it involves scented oils and soothing incense. it’s meant to help people relax.]]

[[ there’s himalayan rock salt involved as well. ]]

[[ it expels evil spirits, of course. ]]

[[ that’s what it’s actually meant for. ]]

[[ relaxation is just an added bonus. ]]

Oh. You took a moment to reply, retyping and editing your message. You wondered if he was watching—the floating dots appearing and disappearing at infrequent intervals; your indecisiveness closing in on you.

Finally.

(( I would like that ))

---

Of course you believed in spirits—the gods dwell in the mountains, the rivers, the trees. You used to pray to Tenjin every year during your school breaks. You would be a fool not to believe. If only Ebisu would bless you…

Of course you believed in spirits. That’s what you told yourself as you stared up at the sign of the Spirits and Such Consultation Office. It was located on a building like many others—housing various other businesses and small establishments.

It wasn’t like any other building. This building held Reigen.

Taking the stairs, you realized you didn’t know if you should knock or simply just walk on in. You decided to knock.

The man who opened the door was not Reigen. This man was too big, too small, much too awkward in his stance to be the man behind the messages. In your confusion, you searched for straw drenched in honey, but found only black, curling at the edges and chocolate where the light hit it.

You tried to catch his eyes, dark and fleeting, before he gestured into the room with a stiff hand, arm weak.

“Come, uh, come in!”

Some couches awaited you, a table nestled between, and a television further ahead. You turned the corner.

There he was. Laptop closed and his hands intertwined together on his desk. At the sight of you, his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, like he forgot something, and he almost tripped getting up from his seat. But then he was there suddenly in front of you and he was the same as in the poster on the wall behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that his blazer was too big. Then was his tie, like the last dregs of sunset encased in silver. Your eyes went lower, to his narrow waist. You supposed you were staring.

“Hello!” He looked like it was scalding inside the walls. Maybe it was. “Would you like to sit down? Have some tea? Or—perhaps you would like to get started? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He swallowed, audible, a finger underneath the collar of his tie. Maybe he was the man at the door, after all. “The—massage.”

You nodded. “The Aroma Runaway Express.”

The actual man at the door—the one with the curling hair and the broad shoulders—spoke up from his place near the door. “So! You’re the appointment we’ve been waiting for! Don’t worry! Master Reigen—I’ll get the room ready!”

And with that, he shuffled around you and Reigen, and the couch, and the desk, into a separate door, closing it behind him, and leaving you alone with the greatest psychic of the twenty-first century.

“Well,” Reigen muttered under his breath to himself—but it was so quiet, so suddenly, that you couldn’t help but overhear him. “At least he’s finally taking initiative.” Then he clapped his hands together, once, and gestured rather weirdly to the couches beside you. “I guess we’ll have time for some tea, after all. Please,” his voice dipped, lower, pleasant, smiles and closed eyes. “Have a seat.”

---

His office was bigger than your entire apartment. You wondered how much it costs—you could set up your entire life in a room this big. It wasn’t large by any means, but it was spacious. Bigger than your place with it’s tiny kitchenette settled in the entrance, and it’s single room, and cramped loft.

You wished you were in your loft, curled inside your blanket, phone on the lowest brightness setting, messaging the man seated in front of you, instead of sitting there in front of him.

What am I doing here? Why did I come?

You’ve never met up with someone you only knew online before. You sipped your tea and thought—it’s hot in here. This was Reigen’s office. During his business hours. You were here for a massage. Because of the spirit, you remembered. The spirit that’s haunting me.

Reigen agreed to give you his super special technique, Aroma Runaway Express, and it involves Himalayan rock salt, and incense, and scented oils. Serizawa was preparing the room. He’s taking an awfully long time.

Reigen, for his part, seemed to have cooled off. He adjusted his tie—like the furthest reaches of the sky at sundown—and crossed a leg over his knee. He hadn’t touched his tea, telling you about his uneventful day, what he did to pass the time, what he had for lunch. There hadn’t been any clients.

“Besides you, of course,” he ended it with a swipe at his bangs, strawberry blond, molten. His suit was like rocks, climbing towards the sun.

This was a business transaction. He’ll rub you down, and you’ll go home, and that’ll be that.

What am I doing here? Why did I come?

Serizawa emerged from the side room. “Everything’s ready.”

Reigen was on his feet, fluid, rising like the tide. “Alright!” He clapped again, once, twice, and moved his hands at the front of him. He turned towards his assistant. “You can go home now, Serizawa. I’ll be closing up after this.”

The man looked relieved. “Oh! Thank you, sir! If you’re sure…” but he scurried off, quickly gathering his things and stopping at the front door. He lingered. “Oh!” he looked at you. “Thank you for coming in today! If you’ll excuse me…” And then he was gone.

You sat in silence. A millennium passed.

Slowly, silently, Reigen made his way to the front door. You heard the lock click. You saw him turn the closed sign. He stood there for a moment, hand on the plastic sign, pressed against the door, and saw his shoulders move underneath the large jacket. A millennium more passed. Then he made his way back over to you at an amble pace, aqueous, hands in his pockets, step after languid step, right in front of you.

He had a narrow waist. You moved your eyes up, higher, hot suddenly in the face. Perhaps lower, as well. Maybe you were the rocks.

He extended a hand. “Come on,” the window at his back drew shadows across his face, dark and unknown, like the deepest depths of the sea. “I’ll make you feel good.”

You took his hand and drowned.

#reigen arataka #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mp100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanfic #reigen arataka x reader #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka imagine #reigen arataka imagines #mob psycho 100 imagine #mob psycho 100 imagines #mob psycho 100 x reader #mob psycho 100 x you #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #misapprehension #personal favorites

[lemonerix]

wrote a fanfic. the image is for context.

#mp100 #serirei #mp100 serizawa #mp100 reigen #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #mp100 fanart #mp100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanart #mob psycho 100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 #fanart #fanfic #hello fellow astronomers

[arabaka]

ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O2. LIKE A MOVIE.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. boss-employee relationship. no actual sex during the chapter's events, but recollections of the night before are included and are nsfw in nature.biting. reader described as wearing makeup (not specified). light mentions of nausea. she/her pronouns used. reader is referred to as a woman. 2.1k word count.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. author's note ⤸ CHAPTER ONE. chapter two at last!

ᰔ ̗̀➛ MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

Okay, so you had sex with your boss.

This is a fact you cannot run away from, no matter how many times you splash water on your face. You still try until your cheeks tingle with a wet sting but it works against you when you so easily envision everything that happened the night before.

He’d started it with teasing trails of kisses, clumsily suckling your breasts in his mouth on the way down. When he got to your thighs, he’d changed tactics yet again. He licked and bit, though never past the point of discomfort, and even admired his work with a feathery groan in awe, “Wow…”

His hands… You’re remembering how they groped and grabbed with the skill of a novice but… It wasn’t exactly bad. No, you liked how he was a little rough but his fingers were not. His fingers were smooth and moving like a wave, your breasts squeezed between them with your nipples hardening almost immediately. You enjoyed the way his thumb would occasionally miss your clit, grazing over just enough to make it throb and ache. He would undoubtedly get better with the right partner.

You hope that partner is you.

Your feelings congest in a lump that wedges itself in your throat. Reigen Arataka… Just how long have you been harboring your feelings for the man? You can count the months on one hand. You can’t count the reasons though; that would be impossible.

You don’t want this to be a fling. Just the thought of you two only being each other’s unspoken one night stand makes your chest feel wound up, your heart beating so hard the pulses are like earthquakes against your eardrums. Doesn’t he deserve better than that?

Don’t you?

You hang your head and hold in a groan. Stewing in this dilemma, you come to the conclusion that things can only go one of two ways.

Possibility number one: the two of you conquer Mount Awkward, discover your feelings have been mutual all along, and something beautiful comes out of it! Everyone wins!

Possibility number two: your hopes are dead on arrival.

This isn’t helping the queasy feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

The door knob to your bathroom wobbles, your hand incapable of getting a grip because… You can’t either. But you can’t hide in the bathroom forever. You’re scared to swallow because you’re afraid it will just come back up. You close your eyes, draw in a breath and open the door with a creak announcing your presence.

When you’d left the bed (freak out well contained, if you do say so yourself) he was still sound asleep with one hand lax on his stomach while the other was outstretched and just barely touching the headboard. You hope that’s what you come back to.

But because this is real life and not a movie, he’s wide awake. Awake and sat on his side of the bed, nursing a hangover headache with a rubbing palm heel over his temple but alert.  

There’s been a lot running through Reigen’s mind since your absence stirred him from his sleep. 

He hadn’t even realized he was searching for you, the salacious fact of the matter still a short ways away from any sort of conscious thought; it was just a feeling that something, somebody, should be there and when his hand abruptly fell flat on the mattress, it woke him up.

What helped him sober up is the scent from your bedsheets, namely your pillow. It’s the same aroma he’s always found himself indulging in a little too long some mornings, sometimes by drawing close to you with the excuse of checking up on your work and sometimes by simply trying to figure out its notes to its fragrance… So he could buy you a bottle for your birthday.

Your birthday…

His stomach unknowingly mimics yours, bile already a threat from the depths of his throat, when last night comes like a tsunami over his aching head. We really… We really did. He thinks just as his cheeks flare up a red that would make any rose jealous. 

Shit. He realizes just how sweaty he is, the sticky chill of his clothes clinging to his body… He can’t smell the perspiration and he hopes you don’t either.

Never drinking alcohol ever again. He swears, just as he hears the door knob turn. 

“Hey…” 

His ears burn just like his face, the red streak spreading even worse when he’s picked up his head at the sound of your voice. Sleep still clings to your voice and even now, he can’t help but think about how cute you sound. How he’d love to hear it again. 

But do you? 

He remembers, through the fog of oral sex (which is not helping his composure, or lack thereof), that you came onto him. Not that he’s blaming you, he’s feeling absolutely rotten for taking advantage of you. It was your birthday and you were drunk, as was he but he should have done better. Been better. The bitter seed of hate starts to sprout from his stomach, easily capable of growing to thorny vines that will most certainly do him in from the inside out.

“H-Hey.” He answers you after a pause that felt like an eternity for the both of you. He didn’t mean for you to wait, just… You get it; he sees it written all over your face… Along with your makeup smeared just under your lower lashes.

You’re like him, still wearing your outfit from last night even with your thigh highs still on, albeit rolled down a little but that didn’t save you from getting those treadmarks from your socks’ stitching. But his eyes start to drift elsewhere, noting your slumped shirt collar that’s exposing the faintest of teeth parts and a soft splash of hue that can only be a bruise. No, a hickie. There’s similar ones all over your legs, going beyond that and disappearing under the bottom hem of your skirt.

His nerve knot themselves together in his throat, nice and tight, seeing you in such a state of disarray. But dammit, how do you still look good?

“I’m really sorry for last night.” The words somehow manage through the tangled cluster of regret and anxiety, Reigen’s fingers splayed against each other as he croaks, “I shouldn’t…” There’s no pretty way to say it, “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.” I can’t lose her… Or go through a lawsuit.

“N-No, I mean…” You yourself are now struggling to speak, though your throat feels like it’s caving in and tightening, both from the realization and desperate need to keep Reigen in your life because of the way he sounds… You wonder if he can get past the solemn magnitude of his perspective. 

But no – “This isn’t a black-and-white situation, Reigen… You know that, right?” You broach the topic tenderly, “We were both drunk, well… Tipsy.” Those two outcomes from earlier are still both in play and the longer that lasts, the more you’re going to feel like you’re walking on pins and needles.

“You’re right about that but my head is killing me… I don’t drink that often.” Reigen admits, ignorant to the very fact that the only bartender he sees has stopped putting alcohol in his lemon sours long ago. That’s why it hit him especially hard last night. “I just wanted to have a good time with you.” He almost sounds remorseful, as though he’s already resigned to a fate where you two… You two…

“Wasn’t it a good time?” Your voice is meek and… Unlike you. You, too, have a degree of sadness in your voice. 

But of course, and like the rom-coms you’ve seen, you two are both preemptively grieving for the same hope.

His breath catches in his lungs, what he is able to breathe drying up the already sore tunnel of his throat. What were you saying? He needs to know more. “Please. I need you to be honest with me.”

You’ve never heard Reigen with such a burden so grave. It almost freezes you where you stand, an equal distance from your bathroom and where Reigen continues to sit on your bed. You simply nod, needing the second to collect yourself enough to be able to answer him when it really counts.

“Do you have feelings for me?” His heartbeat is loud, it’s a painful combination with the thudding headache wracking his skull. Not to mention the sickness in his stomach that would rival a massive infection. “Because…” No, he can’t let you start without telling you, as clear and audible as he can, “I have feelings for you. I’ve had feelings for you.”

A gasp rushes out of you like a flood. Your heart… It’s starting to ache with how much your blood is rushing through your body. You want to ask for how long. But you don’t want to spend another second in the torture of waiting. “I feel the same way. I’ve felt this way for a while, Reigen.”

Now comes the exchange of stares wide with disbelief. How did either of you never see that? Never know that. You’re both looping this in your head and the only thing Reigen can will his body to do is pat the spot on the bed next to him. 

You take the offer almost instantly, quickly too as you need, absolutely need……. to hug him. And as much as it stirs the nausea in his stomach, he says nothing and hugs you back, his hands sweeping up your shoulder blades while your arms wrap him over his neck. “I didn’t know.”

“Then I must have done a pretty good job at hiding it.” Reigen murmurs back, nose in your hair and taking in your scent… So close and for the first time… Well, first time he can recall. He prays this isn’t a dream. It can’t be, not when he’s finally, finally getting to hold you. “But I wouldn’t have been able to tell from you either.” 

Reigen swallows something he’s ashamed to say would’ve been more bile than truth. He pulls away from the hug, your arms snaking off of him but he holds his hands to your shoulders, just as snug. “I’m serious about you. I’ve never felt this way about a person before.” He gulps, never having the opportunity to say this to anyone before you. He looks at you without straying, biting his lip at every pause. “I don’t have a lot of experience.” His natural instinct is to lie, elevate what little he feels he can from himself but he shakes his head immediately. He can’t do that to you. Won’t ever do that to you.

“No, that’s not true. I have zero experience in this area… Last night was my first time. I’ve never…” Now that he’s being honest, it’s like his body knows he’s getting the opportunity to let the floodgates flow and tell you everything. “I never pursued anything like that. At least… Never got far. And the first day we met? When you came in for the interview? I couldn’t believe that the only woman I wanted to pursue was right in front of me and how could I pursue you if I gave you the job?”

You’re taken aback, shoulders twitching the slightest bit in Reigen’s hold but you remain locked in and of your own volition. You… Your face is hot now, so much in fact that it makes even your skin clammy. 

“But… I needed the help… And you needed the job. I couldn’t be selfish. I doubt you would have taken any offer of a date if I had picked anyone else.” That last sentence is marked with a light chuckle, Reigen’s mouth parched so the laugh is dry too. “And… I didn’t know you well, but I hope I’m not the only one that felt we connected. You don’t have to tell me if it di-”

“It did.” You say, quick and soft but confident. “I was attracted to you before you even opened your mouth. You didn’t even lose points when you did speak.” How could you resist cracking a joke of your own? He got to, after all. This makes you smile even more. 

“O-Oh.” He wasn’t expecting that, surprise showing up in blooming reds all over his face. “Well then…” Reigen doesn’t even bother hiding his face from you, his blustering expression, because by the look on your face, you’re charmed. Absolutely bewitched. “Things happen the way they do, I suppose.” 

His hands rub light circles over your shoulders before walking down your arms until he can have your fingers in his. He massages your hands, rubbing sweet strokes with his thumb. “Please. I need you in my life.”

“I need you in mine.” You breathe with what little you can. “Reigen…”

“Be mine.”  You don’t give him a second to wait. “Yes.”

#reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen x y/n #reigen smut #reigen arataka smut #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka x y/n #reigen arataka #reigen #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #mp reigen #reigen fanfic #reigen arataka fanfic #mp100 fanfic #mob psycho 100 fanfic #.˚₊ ੈ 🥡 ˎˊ˗ ꒰ reigen takeover! ꒱ #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ marie writes! ꒱ #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for reigen. ꒱

[reitziluz]

Chapter 4 - Dating and Such

dazzling autumn colors. a cold shoulder. vending machine coffee. offer a finger, lose an arm.

chapter word count: 6,2K

a/n: well, despite all the obstacles, i'm back at it again! this one is a mountain of fluff, and i had lots of fun writing it! come get your fun tree facts!

(a hanahaki serirei longfic (reboot) - aimed to update monthly, but things got a bit crazy)

#serirei #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mob psycho 100 fanfic #hanahaki au #days spent dreaming shit-all #yea fic talk #cannot overstate how happy i am to be back posting #it's not very likely that i'll be able to fall right back into monthly schedule #but i will not have another six month break either #like what the fuck it felt so bad not being able to write #but well. sometimes there's just Circumstances #i had fun writing this! and feel p confident even tho i didn't have a test reader this time around #i'm also excited to get to the next chapter!! #hell yes hell yes hell yes

[antimonyclouds]

your life is a story (make it a good one), chapter 1: the way of things fandom: mob psycho 100 fic summary:

The first thing Serizawa sees is that the esper is a child. His black hair is wiry, partially spiked up, like static electricity from a balloon is being actively held to it. The patches that aren’t wired up are hanging limp, glossy with grease. There is dust ran through it, and what looks like crumbling pebbles of stone, as if the boy had been smashed through a wall. There are bandages wrapped around his head, so that his bangs, matted to his forehead by sweat, half-covers them. And his eyes - his eyes are glassy. Empty. Downcast. The second thing Serizawa sees is that there is blood splattered across his t-shirt. (Or; in which Mob becomes a member of Claw, and Serizawa finds himself doubting Suzuki's vision for the first time since he was rescued.)

what if.. what if i wrote an mp100 fic.. haha.. could you guys imagine..

#mob psycho 100 #fanfiction #mob psycho 100 fanfic #my writing