Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9627500.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Hanazawa_Teruki/Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Character:
      Hanazawa_Teruki, Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Additional Tags:
      Guro, Masturbation, Alternate_Character_Interpretation, Asphyxiation,
      Teru_is_a_4chan_kid
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-08 Words: 2708
****** Intestines Twisting with Tulips ******
by twitchtipthegnawer
Summary
     Teru was mostly a normal boy. Really. He’d had normal girlfriends and
     at the moment was harboring a totally normal crush for a very
     abnormal boy.
     Liking horror movies was normal, too. Plenty of middle-schoolers
     liked cheesy slasher flicks.
     Probably, plenty of middle-schoolers didn’t think of their crush
     being the protagonist of said slasher flick. Probably, they didn’t
     wake up hard in the middle of the night from a dream of their crush
     bleeding and bruised. Probably, Teru wasn’t a mostly normal boy. But
     hey, it wasn’t like he was hurting anyone, was he?
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
After befriending Mob, Teru swore to himself that he would change. He wouldn’t
use his powers indiscriminately anymore, wouldn’t hurt others and laugh about
it. And if that meant giving up a few of his less savory internet haunts, well,
he could live with that.
Except the thing was, no one was really hurt by those stories, were they? Maybe
he could avoid the threads proudly labelled  irl gore,  and simply lurk on the
ones that were made up entirely of fiction. Reading a story didn’t make him a
bully, surely. It was just a way for him to pass the time. Just a hobby.
The first time he read about a boy with silky, black hair getting his guts
spilled, Teru lost his excuse.
He may or may not have rewatched all of the Saw movies that weekend. And each
time he saw someone screaming, in pain, slicing off chunks of their flesh or
woozy from blood loss or crying in desperation to escape a trap, he thought of
Mob.
For someone so strong, Mob could cry so sweetly. Teru wasn’t proud of what he’d
done. Choking Mob like that, sinking so low, it wasn’t the kind of thing Teru
had liked even when he’d been cruel constantly. But the sight of tears and snot
running down Mob’s face -
Teru shivered, watching a woman take a saw to the belly. He thought of Mob
screaming the same way, terrified and suffering but refusing to lash out with
his powers.
Even though he was a teenage boy, he still felt ashamed of the sticky briefs he
had to wash. Not ashamed enough stop, unfortunately.
For the past several months, he hadn’t tried to exercise his more creative
outlets at all. Maybe he’d been afraid of what would happen if he bothered
typing out some of his sicker fantasies. But if he’d already sunk so low, he
didn’t really have much to lose, did he?
Besides, he didn’t have to post it anywhere. He could write about flaying the
skin from Mob’s back, just him and a razor and one square inch at a time, and
no one would know. He could wonder, in detail, the sounds Mob would make. How
long it would take, to get the reserved boy to  wail?
Justifications piled on top of justifications. Teru knew it was all bullshit,
at this point. He knew even as he hoped deep down that it was just a fantasy.
If he saw Mob in pain, it would bother him, wouldn’t it? This was all  fantasy
.
It was such a perfect fantasy, though. And when Teru found someone online
asking about impaling, well - anonymity was a powerful thing.
Biting his bottom lip, Teru typed into the little comment box. It looked too
innocuous for him to spew his imagination all over, except that he knew this
wasn’t the worst thing anyone had ever posted. Far from it, in fact. He wasn’t
even using Mob’s name.
“The boy looks up at you with teary eyes,” he muttered along as he reread his
own writing. “He whispers, ‘please, you don’t have to do this.’ You know it’s
true, but you don’t care. The metal pole in your hand broke off nice and
jagged, but it’s still hard to push through his chest. You try to avoid his
bones, and slip into his organs in stops and starts. He coughs up thick sprays
of blood before he stops breathing.”
And then it turned out that people  liked  his writing. Liked hearing about
Mob’s blood pouring out of his body. Even if they didn’t know it was him.
On the one hand, something about it left him feeling kind of possessive. As if
Mob was only his to hurt. But on the other, if he got requests…
“His arms look frail hanging from the manacles. He’d had a little baby fat and
the beginnings of muscles before, but now he’s all wasted away. You pull out
the bonesaw and he looks up at you with tired, resigned eyes. He knows what’s
coming, and isn’t even bothering to fight it.”
“Hanazawa-kun?”  Read the text on his buzzing phone.  “Are you there?”
Shit . He picked up the phone and typed out a quick,  “I’m here. The answer to
the question is 1960.”  He couldn’t neglect real Mob for the sake of his
fantasies.
Especially when real Mob was hanging out with him nearly every weekend now.
Every weekend he wasn’t busy with work, at least.
They went out for lunch together, and Mob always ordered milk to drink. Teru
couldn’t  not  imagine the taste of his mouth, with consistency like that.
He couldn’t not imagine milk bubbling out of Mob’s pearly-pink lips if he held
Mob’s head down and poured the milk into his mouth too fast. It would feel like
drowning, and Mob might not ever like the taste of milk after that. Teru could
feel himself blush as he thought about Mob choking milk back up, his eyes going
bloodshot from tears and lack of air.
Some of his runaway thoughts were more depraved than others. He was finding,
more and more, that he didn’t mind all that much. Because he could have his
sick fantasies, and he could also have this.
“What movie do you want to see?” Mob asked, voice soft and gentle.
Whatever you want,  Teru thought.  Whatever scary movie will send you cuddling
up close to me.
In the end, they ended up seeing a horror movie anyway. And Mob didn’t cry even
once; he barely jumped at the jumpscares. But seeing that gore, sprays of
gratuitous and obviously fake viscera, with Mob sitting right next to him…
Surprisingly, Teru didn’t mind that Mob was hard to scare. It made him feel
like actually scaring him would be even more of an achievement. Like having
made him cry made Teru special.
Sitting in his room alone at night, Teru found it easier to think about. His
covers, the dark, they were a buffer from normal life. So he could remember,
with guilt held temporarily at bay, his fingers tightening around Mob’s throat.
Maybe he would like it with no distractions holding him back. If he had Mob
beneath him, willingly this time. He imagined Mob’s face flushed because of
arousal, and then flushed for a different reason.
“Shigeo,” Teru muffled his own voice into his pillow. He teased himself with
light touches while his mind ran away from him.
A belt would be a better choice than his hands. When he touched Mob he found
himself being gentle more often than not, without even having to think about
it. His hand had tingled for hours after he’d simply cupped Mob’s cheek in his
palm.
So, a belt. He had a hot pink one that was nice and thick, and would make the
color of Mob’s cheeks stand out even more. Teru could practically feel the
leather biting into his palms already.
To start with, he’d go slow. Slowly increase the pressure, slowly let it back
off, slowly lull Mob into a sense of nothing being wrong. Once Mob was relaxed,
he could push it a bit more. He imagined the look of alarm on Mob’s face the
first time he started truly struggling for air and Teru simply didn’t let go.
Then he could release it again, look at Mob as if he was puzzled by the wide,
frightened eyes.  “What are you worried about?”  Teru would ask.  “I wasn’t
going to hurt you.”
He’d believe it, too. Once Mob had decided that someone was a good person, he
seemed stuck in that way of thinking. He wouldn’t suspect Teru of anything so
long as Teru could come up with convincing enough lies. Mob might not even know
what breathplay was.
Lying to him would be so easy. And then Teru could get harsher, test his
limits. He imagined purple and black bruises blooming underneath the belt. He
imagined kissing Mob, making it even harder for him to breathe on the rare
occasions Teru let him.
His face would go pale, hectic spots of color highlighting his cheeks. How long
would it take before his skin tinted purple? Teru wanted to look it up, but his
hands were occupied at the moment. One around his dick, squeezing periodically,
and one around his own throat.
If things started getting truly dangerous, Mob  could  fight back. Teru just
hoped he wouldn’t. He hoped Mob would lose interest in bodybuilding and quit
the club, or at least that Mob wouldn’t realize what was happening until he was
already woozy from oxygen deprivation. Weak, fumbling hands pushing on his
chest would be so cute. So endearing.
“So precious,” Teru moaned into his pillow and came all over his hand. He
thought of the warm skin as Mob’s clammy cheek instead. Mob’s cheek after Teru
forced him unconscious, then let go of the belt and crawled up his body and
jerked off over his slack lips.
A degree of embarrassment most boys could only dream of made its home in Teru’s
belly. When he went to Mob’s house for a study session, it festered there. When
he texted Mob at night, it grew steadily.
When he wrote, it huddled in the corner of the room like a malevolent audience.
“Because of his powers, you suspect that he can be kept alive much longer than
your average prisoner. The only downside is that you cannot leave him
unconscious.
“Then again, it’s fun to see how far you can push him before he starts to black
out. He can handle a surprising amount of pain, and his tolerance is only
increasing the longer you have him. You started out with cigarettes on the
bottoms of his feet; he looked so cute with the red little circles dotting his
fair skin. But he’s stopped flinching at that and only whimpers now, so you
have something new planned.
“The blowtorch takes a while to set up, but you know it’ll be worth it. You
have a few items in front of you: a steel knife, an iron rod, and a cattle
brand you were lucky enough to find for sale online. You’re having a bit of
trouble choosing which to use on him first.
“Eventually, you pick up the glowing-hot rod and bring it over to him. A fine
tremor runs through his body and you can see it perfectly clearly, since you
took away all of his clothes. His delicate ribs shift as his breathing picks
up, from near-sleep slow to faster and faster.
“You tell him you have a surprise for him. You tell him it’s a reward, since he
did so well with the cigarettes, and maybe after this you’ll give him a bath.
The longing in his eyes is so pure and sweet that you know you’ll give him
anything he asks except for his freedom.
“Moving as slowly as you can force yourself to, you bring down the end of the
rod onto his quivering thigh. He keens long and high at the feeling, even
though it’s so similar to the feeling of a cigarette. Just a bit bigger, a bit
heavier so it’s sinking into his flesh with a muted  hiss  and oh, you want
more so badly.
“Luckily, he’ll give you more. He’ll give you anything you want. He doesn’t
have a choice. So you press two more inch-wide wounds into his left thigh, then
turn the rod and press the long side over both. His breathing cuts off in a
silent scream, his mouth gaping open and his eyes rolling back for a moment.
He’s never looked cuter.
“When the rod has cooled too much to burn him properly, you set it aside and
get up for the knife. You feel a light tug on your clothes, and turn to see him
staring up at you wide-eyed and pleading. ‘Don’t be like that,’ you chide.
‘Don’t you want to be obedient?’ He doesn’t look away, but the invisible grip
disappears and you can move easily again.
“You pick up the knife next, press just the tip into still-untouched skin. It
blackens and chars quickly, cracking under the tiniest bit of pressure and
allowing blood to seep through the edges. ‘N-no,’ the boy croaks. You look up
in surprise and your grip slips a bit. He hasn’t spoken in days.”
“More force behind his voice this time, he says, ‘No!’ His legs kick weakly,
and this is  rich , he’s doing your job for you. You smirk as he says around
the pain, ‘Stop, this isn’t fair,  stop!’
“There are so many things you could say to that.  What happened to my shy
little pet  or  this isn’t about fairness  or  you could stop me if you really
wanted.
“Instead of saying anything at all, you pick up the knife, move it until it’s
right up by the top of his thigh, and slice into his meat. The deep laceration
cauterizes and doesn’t bleed like it should, which is good because you’re
pretty sure you just sliced through one of his arteries. Oops.
“At least his scream this time isn’t quite so silent. And you haven’t even
started with the brand yet!”
By the time Teru was done writing for the night he felt like the guilt might
rise out of the shadows and swallow him for real.
Still, it wasn’t so bad. He got days full of outings that felt almost like
dates, meeting Mob’s brother properly and getting along surprisingly well with
him - though the boy was perceptive in a way that made him nervous, Teru could
bluff his way through anything. Being Mob’s friend wasn’t just nice, it was
comforting and beyond convenient. It pushed Teru to improve himself, too, if
only to keep up with Mob as best he could.
Of course something like that couldn’t last. Of-fucking-course. Teru was
cursing himself, not fate, but that only made his inner thoughts more bitter.
Turning away from Teru’s computer, Mob stared up at him. His normally
porcelain-pale face was downright white, and Teru couldn’t blame him. The fact
that he still didn’t use Mob’s name didn’t mean anything when every single
loving description was so obviously about Mob.
Neither of them spoke for so long that Teru’s fingers started slipping in the
condensation that had gathered on the glasses in his hands. He had to set them
down, and the closest place to do that was the edge of his desk, which brought
him within a foot of Mob, and - okay, Teru couldn’t hold the silence anymore
either.
“I’m sorry -”
“That forum-”
They both cut off at the same time, Teru’s mouth snapping shut and Mob’s
hanging just the tiniest bit open. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t
know if this was  fixable .
“What was… that forum about, Hanazawa-kun?”
“It was, um,” Teru wrapped one arm around his body and propped his other fist
under his chin, as if he knew what he was talking about. “It was just a place
for horror fans to try out story ideas.”
“Horror? I’ve never seen a horror movie like that.” Mob looked back at the
computer, and Teru felt himself sag as the eye contact broke.
“Well, you don’t like horror very much, right?”
“No, it’s never very scary.” Mob’s face still looked off, the color all weird.
“But this was?” Teru asked. His gut felt full of lead.
Mob hesitated. “It wasn’t like when I’m normally scared, but it definitely made
my belly feel weird.”
What?
Forget lead, Teru’s stomach was full of butterflies, like - like Mob’s might
be?
“Did you want to, maybe, read more?”
Frowning just the slightest bit, Mob said, “I don’t know.”
Alright, Teru could - he could work with that. He could also totally take in
that information without hyperventilating.  Totally.
Holy shit, he hadn’t dared to hope for this, but now that he was thinking about
it he was more full of ideas than ever. Mob willingly tied up in ropes, Mob
helping him research edgeplay, Mob blushing and laying out a tarp so he can -
so  they  could play together.
Quite possibly, Teru was the luckiest boy on the planet.
End Notes
     Holy shit okay so I’ve always liked stories-within-a-story but… the
     tenses in this thing. If you find any tense errors please tell me, I
     will not be in the least surprised. I’m really proud of it anyway,
     though, since this feels like the evolved form of my old BNHA fic
     lol. Hooray for improvement!
     That being said I’m really not sure about the ending… will I edit it
     later? Will I write a second chapter? Who knows, but it is what it is
     for now.
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