Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10203749.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo/Reigen_Arataka
  Character:
      Reigen_Arataka, Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Additional Tags:
      Mind_Control, Masturbation, Praise_Kink, Dirty_Talk, Jerkoff_Instruction,
      JOI_-_Freeform, Age_Difference, Abuse_of_Authority
  Series:
      Part 1 of Five_Fingers_of_Fury
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-10 Words: 2001
****** Mindfuck ******
by Edgelord_(lostlikeme)
Summary
     A "mindfuck" is an idea or concept that shakes one's previously held
     beliefs or assumptions about the nature of reality. In other words,
     what does Reigen Arataka really know about Mob?
The first time really catches me off guard. It's a little after five o'clock
and I've already washed my hands of all the exorcisms for the day. Just as I'm
bending to tie my shoe a gust of wind topples me over from behind. Something
noiseless and loud swallows the beat of my heart, unthreading the buttons on my
shirt until they roll across the tile. My tie loosens and slides down my chest,
playfully teasing my navel before falling limp. Sunlight filters through the
half drawn blinds and a dog barks outside.
“Mob?”
A good thirty seconds pass in silence while I stare at the crumpled heap of
fabric. It remains unmoving, even when I push it around with the tip of my
shoe. I retrieve the buttons and stuff them into my pocket with a sigh,
chalking the whole thing up to a little leftover voodoo from my last client. (A
six year old with a haunted bicycle, you should have seen this thing.)
Overall, not something I can’t shake off. That is, until it happens again. The
second instance is less obvious but more significantly harrowing. I'm just
finishing up in the bathroom when the roll of toilet paper begins unraveling,
slow at first and then all at once. Before I can spring from the toilet seat it
rises up like a serpent and coils around my ankles, creeping up my bare legs.
What kind of monster attacks a man while he’s on the shitter?
“Release me, demon!”
The paper wilts under the spray of my urine (re: special move) and plops onto
the tile in a mushy yellow mess. At this point, I'm thinking, okay, yeah. Maybe
I'm being haunted. The most likely culprit is obvious...some kind of sexually
transmitted poltergeist (STP). Either that, or a sex demon. My best bet is to
have it exorcised immediately. I'm also kind of fighting the urge to get my
dick looked at (it's haunted, not infected, right?)
The third time, I'm reaching across my desk for my cellphone but I end up glued
to its surface, ass on display for anyone who might walk in. I'm not even that
kind of attention whore, you know? I try unsticking myself but the stapler
takes to the air, unhinged before slamming against the desk in rapid
succession, leaving me stapled to the wood by the sides of my sleeves. I try
kicking out a leg and my pants tear down the back seam.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times,
well...that’s just embarrassing.
The temperature in the air shifts and an icy draft blows through the newly
formed rip. The hair on my neck rises with fresh goosebumps. I haven't felt
this helpless since having my head shoved in a toilet when I was a kid. The
atmosphere ripples, pinning me tightly and ghosting across the shell of my ear.
Touch yourself.
It feels like a suggestion, but it isn't. It's a compulsion, and I can't stop.
I snake a hand between my legs to pull at myself through my clothes, flinging
staples across the room in the process. Everything feels urgent, like if I
don't free my dick soon I'm going to die trying. I gasp when my hand is finally
crammed inside my underwear, the muscles in my thighs jump and something like
an electric current burrows itself under my skin. I haven't felt a desperation
like this since my second year of junior high.
I can feel myself being pulled into the air before it happens. An invisible
force yanks my legs apart, displaying the tent from my erection. Logic dictates
I should be scared but lust is screaming YOLO so loud even my thundering
heartbeat can’t drown it out. Something sunken grabs at the edge of my
subconsciousness, sucking me deeper into the spike of pleasure rising in my
balls.
Mob's even tone slips through the suffocating shroud. “Master?”
My vision returns in a kaleidoscope of color, tongue heavy against my palate.
“Mob,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What a relief to see you here.”
The words hang like cheap streamers, limp and ineffective. It’s not actually a
relief, and he knows it. My hand stills around my dick as the puzzle pieces
fall into place. His suppressed libido must be manifesting as dark magic and
acting on its own! Mob watches for longer than he should, shocked speechless at
the sight of his mentor spread eagle in the open air.
“I’m sorry!”
The energy vanishes in a burst of red smoke and I hit the ground with a thud.
I'm getting too old for this kind of shit. One of these days, my back is going
to give out. I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath before tucking myself
back into my pants. Panic swallows Mob hard, head bowed while mortification
robs him of brevity. I glance around the mess my office has become and back to
Mob and the heavy mood fermenting inside him.
“I think you're taking this too seriously,” I try reassuring him. “Every boy
experiences...certain problems from time to time on his quest for manhood.”
“Really?” Mob's entire face is pink. “Even you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a similar reaction. “Really.” I'm
trying not to think about my own conquests during a time like this. “Even me.”
When I was his age, I could hardly keep my hands to myself. Morning, noon, and
night, I was pretty much ready to blow a load whenever. With powers like his,
he could accidentally crush a building with this much pent up sexual
frustration. Since I’m the one helping Mob develop his powers, it’s only fair
that I take responsibility.
I rub my arms to generate warmth, talking to break up the tension. “Now, what
about with girls?” I take a deep breath at the sight of Mob's blank expression.
“By yourself then?”
Mob shakes his head, slow and unblinking. The desk drawer opens with a slam and
a ream of paper slides off. I rest my fingers on my temples, trying to keep a
straight face with my cock swelling in my pants. Even if he’s no good with
girls, doesn’t he know about mobile porn? When this is all said and done with,
I’ll definitely have to shoot Mob a couple quality links.
“You need to find an outlet for your pent up emotions, okay?” Mob nods, but
doesn't speak. “At your age, shouldn't you at least be masturbating? No matter
what anyone else tells you, masturbation is a perfectly healthy habit.”
“Everytime I try...” Mob wrings out his hands and pencils sail above my head
like deadly arrows and become imbedded in the wall. “I break something.”
A dangerous aura crackles around us and the chair splinters as Mob approaches.
His fists are wrapped tight, trembling in front of his thighs. Even from here I
can tell how tightly he’s wound. I turn to him and mime an obscene gesture with
a grin.
“But you know how, right?” There’s really no polite way to talk about spanking
the monkey. “Because as your mentor, I can offer a special service. A kid your
age needs to be able to jerk off without worrying about blowing up his whole
house. I can fix that. With me to supervise, you can unwind without worry.”
Shut the fuck up. Am I saying what I think I’m saying? “Since you’re such a
good kid, I won’t even charge you.”
The lightbulb above us flickers and then combusts in a blinding flash, cloaking
the room in darkness. It’s hard to make out Mob’s face like this, and until my
eyes adjust all I can see is the blurry curve of his cheek and two shiny white
sclera tracking me. His teeth appear in a crescent moon when he speaks.
He scuffs his shoe against the floor, voice barely a whisper. “I can't do it
with you watching.”
Somehow this feels less real than the toilet paper demon. I crack my neck and
straighten my posture, sweat beading on my forehead. I turn half away to offer
the illusion of privacy. It’s bad enough he has to figure this out with an old
man like me breathing down his neck.
“I'm not gonna look, I'm just going to direct if things start to get
troublesome.”
In the quiet evening I can hear every metal clink as Mob pulls down his fly. He
shifts in my peripheral vision, shoulders hunched, expression hidden behind the
bangs of his hair. There aren’t any actual insects but the whole space sounds
like it’s scurrying; alive. Even from this angle I can tell Mob’s doing it all
wrong. His elbows lock up as he strokes himself, robotic and forced.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying not to spook him further. “Ease up a little.” If
we’re gonna do this, we’re going to do it right. “Remember, a watched pot never
boils.”
The movement creates rhythm between his clothes and skin, a steady shuffle. I
catch a glimpse of Mob's face in the window reflection, brow sweaty and
unfocused. The glass cracks as his chest heaves, shattering when he opens his
mouth in a silent groan. I flinch at the scratches on my knuckles when I push
the desk back onto the ground.
“Let's keep that where it belongs,” I remind him.
A shadow six times his size sprouts limbs and climbs the wall behind his head
until it reaches the ceiling. It spreads and swallows everything up like
spilled ink. The voice from earlier is burrowing into my brain, urging me to
touch, but I would rather bust in my own pants than lose it over a kid. As long
as we never touch, I’m not doing anything wrong, right? The demand laps at my
consciousness as Mob accelerates the pace, breathless and greedy.
“Remember, you can let go without going all out. Twist it a little. Find out
what feels good but don’t rush.” I can’t stop picturing it in my head, the way
his cock must be pulsing as he glides over it again and again. “Fuck your fist,
that’s it.” I’m trying not to lose my cool but my endurance is starting to
slip. I feel like I’m suffocating under my shirt collar. “When you cum, don’t
break everything, okay?”
I can hear how slick Mob is in the palm of his own hand, faster with each
iteration. He’s always been a fast learner, but this is something else. Give
him ten years and he'll be eating guys like me for dinner. His hips stutter to
a halt and he twitches reflexively, knees locked together. The waves of power
flatten me against the wall, cock pulsing behind the elastic band of my
underwear.
The monster on the ceiling opens it’s mouth in a silent scream before being
sucked back into Mob’s skull. His body crumples and then ascends with a
whimper, the sockets of his eyes hollow and blown out. I’m half waiting for his
head to twist around and puke pea soup when he drops like a dead weight and
falls into my arms. I lower him to the ground, supporting the brunt of his body
with an arm under his waist.
He sways for a moment before his equilibrium readjusts. “Is that the first time
you've...” I force my gaze away from the spunk drying on his uniform and help
him to his feet in a hurry so he doesn’t notice my raging boner. “Don't answer
that.”
Mob winces when I clap a hand on his back. “Good job.” I swallow, foot
impatient against the floor. I adjust the crotch of my pants, trying to look
casual. “But you'll need more practice if you want to pursue girls safely.”
“Thank you.” I toss Mob a box of tissues and he smiles, small and smug. “I'll
do my best.”
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