Spiritbox
character: reigen arataka
reader: gender neutral
content warnings: sexual content, at the end
notes: also on ao3. 2k word count. unreliable narrator. companion piece to ghost box; it’s recommended to read that one first but it isn’t necessary
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.
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.
When it was only him and Mob, a quiet day at the office usually saw him sending the kid home early. Now that he had an additional name in the lineup, there was only so many times a week he could send Serizawa to reorganize the massage oils before the man would mutter that there wasn’t much left to do. The fact of the matter was: there hasn’t been much of anything to do for quite the while, and Reigen was starting to get just a tad bit worried about how he was supposed to pay the upcoming bill.
He decides to download a dating app. That seemed new and innovative enough to gain a decent attraction. Plenty of people used those platforms to form various types of relationships, not just of the romantic kind. So he’s heard, that is—it’s not like he’s ever actually used a dating app before.
Successfully, anyway.
Besides the point—Reigen entered his login information and got to work rebuilding his profile; spending a lot of time scrolling through his camera roll to find the most appropriate photos to use and typing up the best imaginable pitch for the office he’s ever come up with. It took an entire afternoon—“Sl-slow day isn’t it, sir?”—but by closing time, he got the account up and running. It was under his name, with his face, but he figured it would do well to get potential customers well acquainted with his physical appearance—so they could associate him with his brand, of course. There was no Spirits and Such without the greatest psychic of the twenty-first century, after all.
He spent the rest of the night and most of the following day swiping right. Statistically speaking, if he set his range at the largest possible amount and liked every account that came his way, he was bound to get at least a couple of matches. And once he did, only a handful of those would actually interact with him, and out of those, only a fraction would come to see him. That had been his previous strategy with the app, anyway. It would have been, if he had ever used it before, of course.
His hand was starting to cramp when Mob asked him—“What game are you playing, Master? You’ve been playing it all day, is it that interesting?”
Suddenly, it felt extraordinary hot in the room. His back was wet, like he ran ten marathons and was about to start another one immediately afterwards. His mind went blank, and he found that he was lost without words. This was a very uncommon occurrence for Reigen—for you see, he was able to talk himself out of just about any situation he found himself in, and was quite known to be capable of talking a mile a minute if he really wanted to—so to be left so utterly tongue-tied without an idea on exactly why he felt such a way burned him up. Badly. Like he needed to throw his phone against the wall, fast, before it was too late.
This was about the same time that Serizawa found his voice. “I probably have the same game…do you want some tips?” And when he started to lean in over his shoulder to see what exactly was on Reigen’s phone, the device did, in fact, find its way across the room; crashing against the wall opposite, ricocheting around, before bouncing to the floor, where it clattered to a stop at the foot of his desk.
Silence filled the space. It felt like a record-breaking summer.
Finally, like a switch had been flipped, he regained some of his bearings. “Oops!” he exclaimed, “I dropped my phone! How clumsy of me!” He laughed, getting up to retrieve the device; and it was an achievement in itself that the two psychics in the room couldn’t have stopped the phone in time—but to have them both so stunned by his behavior that they didn’t pick it up for him was award-worthy, truly. He outdid himself this time.
A quick inspection found nothing amiss, so he snapped it shut, and slipped it into his pocket. He swiped at his bangs—to wipe away the lingering sweat—and smiled. “It’s just some gatcha game I saw an ad for. I was grinding for crystals so I could do some more pulls.” A wink to Serizawa saw the man blushing and turning away, so he didn’t catch the thumbs up he gave him. “You know how it is.”
“I-I do—I do. Good luck, sir.”
“Oh,” was all Mob said, and nothing more; and they left it at that.
---
It took about a week before he got his first match. He was so ingrained in typing up an email one-handed while using his other to simultaneously consistently swipe that he almost missed the notification. He scrambled into the chatroom.
[[ hello!! ]]
He waited.
He waited all day, but got left on read.
---
This happened six more times over the course of the next month before he actually got a reply. It took another two for him to realize that he couldn’t wait for a reply back to start his spiel, he had to lead with it instead. That got some conversations going, but no one actually agreed to come out to see him. He was getting traction, but stumbled halfway out.
This was familiar. Achingly so.
---
The day after he matched with you, he was about to shut the whole venture down and come up with a new one. Maybe focus more on the website, maybe find some bulletin boards and scatter some posters in the local area. He was laying in bed, contemplating some ideas when you messaged him.
(( Hi ))
He stared at the message. He had already sent the pitch beforehand; such a simple response must mean that this was a potential future client, surely. A quick look through your profile was enough to tell him he should take the friendly approach.
[[ hello!! ]]
[[ how may i help you? ]]
The friendly approach included lots of emojis. According to research, frequent amount of emoji use made people appear more sociable and less intimidating. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it, less he appeared corporate instead.
The symbol indicating you had seen his messages popped up, and he gripped his phone a bit tighter.
(( You’re a psychic? ))
[[ yes i am!! ]]
There was a pause. He felt himself gulping, despite himself.
(( Do you do curses? ))
In the privacy of his own bedroom, he allowed his tongue to click. If this was where your mind went after seeing the word psychic, he better let you down as quickly as possible, as easily as possible.
[[ i’m afraid i don’t offer curses ]]
[[ i do offer evil repellent charms if that’s something you’re interested in ]]
Hopefully, that would satisfy you enough. It usually worked as an alternate option for clients; it had to be presented before they got too worked up, though. People who craved curses tend to latch on to ideas quickly and refuse to let go, kicking and screaming.
(( That sounds interesting. Tell me more? ))
Bingo.
---
Over the course of the following week, you were the only one he had matched with. That was a negative. A positive, however, was that your curiosity seemed to grow the more you spoke to each other—and he found himself messaging you throughout the day. You would ask him about his business. What sort of methods he used and what kind of spirits he’s faced. If he was successful, what he would do in hypothetical situations. Easy to answer questions, and even easier to embellish answers.
It was on the seventh day that Mob spoke up. “Master, have you been messaging clients?”
Once more, the office turned into a sauna. From his desk, he stared blankly at his student.
“Because if you are, I don’t think it’s working.” The kid always had such a way with words, truly. “We haven’t had many jobs lately.” It was the truth. Spoken clearly, if not confidently.
He wondered why Mob assumed he was messaging a client specifically, and not someone else. Not a personal matter or another acquaintance of his, family or friend. But when he thought about it, and he looked into his student’s eyes, partially obscured by his cropped hair, Reigen didn’t like the conclusion he got to. Not at all.
“Ah, well,” his hands flew around him, pointing and gesturing to nothing in particular but his vague point. And what was his point? Why was he so flustered? “I set up a messaging line on the website, is all. So I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately. That must be why we haven’t had many walk-ins this week—my online advice is just that good! I impress even myself sometimes, really.”
He was glad Serizawa had class today. He was sure the man would have checked the so-called messaging line on the spot. Mob, for his part, just took his word on it.
“Oh,” he said, and nothing more; and they left it at that.
---
The dating app strategy worked. He hit a breakthrough, and over half of the customers coming in over the following month were those he had matched with—and a good chunk of the other half had been word of mouth from that demographic. Business was flourishing. The safe never looked so good. Clients and curiosities flooded in; his schedule was booked for the first time in ages. He had several interviews with news sites and even a small television segment. The dating app strategy truly was innovative, and he started running across other small businesses during his swiping sessions—he was a trendsetter.
Reigen Arataka, the headlines said in big, bold letters. Greatest Psychic of the Twenty-First Century.
Of course, with the raise in popularity, the truth eventually came out to the rest of the office. Mob labeled him a genius. Serizawa was happy for him. He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed to begin with.
He delegated all the duties of the app to himself. It would be much easier if he had help—but he didn’t want them to see your messages. His face still burned at the thought of it, so he split up the rest of the workload evenly, to keep up with the demand.
One day, in the office, between appointments, in the lull of papers shuffling and a lunch-run, Reigen held up his phone in front of him. The shutter noise was turned all the way down, so Serizawa didn’t hear the photo of himself he took. He was feeling pretty good. Better than he had in weeks.
He sent it to you.
Your curiosity seemed to have peaked a while back, but you had never once come in. You had admitted that the conversations you shared were pleasant and, on a day very much like this one, Reigen was careless, and gave you his number. He enjoyed talking to you, too. He found himself checking his phone more often, these days. And when you sent a photo of yourself back, he felt his heart skip a beat.
Oh.
He couldn’t leave it at that; and he cleared his schedule.
---
The day you finally came to visit him was the day he finally got to touch you. Your moans underneath him was all he could ever ask for, and the fact that this was his workspace didn’t matter much to him at all. Not when your lips parted like that, and your back arched for him. Not with the scent of you, and him, and the oils and incense around you, so much that it made it hard to think. Intoxicating, driving him further and further off the edge, higher, rapidly—
He buried himself deep, and you gasped, writhing across the massage table, panting and blurry-eyed. In the moments following, his mind cleared enough for him to realize a thorough room cleaning was in order. And with that thought came another: it didn’t matter what happened—if you would have him, he’d be happy to clean up later.
