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monarchberrysblog · 1 month ago

Text

📄 — xx.emo_boy.exe (early y2k au)

now presenting…

⛓️🩷 kinktober | week three → dry humping and mutual masturbation

🖤 emo boy! miguel o’hara x pastel! reader 🖤

🎮 summary: “it may not look like he gets bitches, but honey, that dick was eleven inches.”

🎮 content warning: peeking under the skirt, voyeurism, public sex, mutual masturbation (kinda), dry humping, and switch behavior in both parties (more submissive behavior from Miguel.)

🎮 word count: +1.5k words (something smol)

🎮 author’s notes: I originally posted this last Wednesday, but I didn’t feel satisfied with the story's ending and layout. Take this as an unofficial sorry. And if the ending feels weird, I apologize in advance as well 😖

📀 not proofread 📀

Dedicated to @opaloharas and @miguelhugger2099, to my cuties. Thank you for the inspo and y'all deserve some mandarinas 🍊

Regulars. The best or the worst damn thing to exist on the planet.

But for Miguel? Seeing you as a regular in Spencers' always caused a flutter in his stomach. You were a pretty little thing that starkly contrasted in the dim store. The white ribbons in your hair and the pink and purple pastels made you glow. But the kicker?

The thigh highs you always wore.

The nylon material screamed to be ripped and accessible from your plush thighs. Every time you bent over to pick out a shirt or weekly browsing of piercings, he could have sworn that he heard the souls of your thigh highs wanting to be free, but they never ripped.

They either were little bows or fishnets. But your favorites? They were black thigh-highs with big satin bows, matching with your shorts or black skirts. The nylon thigh-high made you look soft, so soft to sleep on, to bite, and to squeeze.

But the little mini-skirts only fed his perverted ego—the tiny bit of fabric barely covered your rear, which caused you to flash anyone who happened to be within your radius accidentally. It has happened so often that he practically memorized your underwear drawer and how much you frequent his job just to look for clothes or piercings.

Being the bigger man, he asks you out. (In which you accept happily after he said he would help you take a couple of pictures for your MySpace.)

“Could you move to the right?” He mumbles, trying his best to not eye you with how you leaned on the marble headstone. “Should I arch my back?” You quip. Your fingertips graze the cold stone while you pose.

“Nah.” He dismisses, fighting back a blush on his cheeks and hoping the autumn air did him justice to blow the warmth off his cheeks. The digital camera's flash lit up the radius momentarily before the small digital device beeped an obnoxious tone.

“Damn, out of storage.” He huffs and turns the camera downwards, away from you. “Here, let me delete some old pictures.” You jumped off the marble, patting the cold stone and whispering a thank you.

You place a crystal at the foot of the grave and make your way over to Miguel.

He hands you the digital camera before looking around the flat land that is only filled with marble stone or flowers.

“Are we even supposed to be here?” He bites the question, seeing an old couple leave the graveyard, holding onto each other while shuffling away. “Yeah, graveyards used to be known as hangout spots.” You reply and push down on the tiny buttons on the digital device.

“I don't mean to sound like a pussy or whatever, but this place rubs me the wrong way.”

“Don’t worry. They mean no harm. Just respect them and don't step on their graves. I think we got enough pictures…”

He dismisses your statement with a grunt and haphazardly moves his feets towards you instead. He didn't need a heavy stomach after this.

There was no way that this was the cutesy, pastel girl at his job two days ago looking for cat plushies…

“I know it's early to call it a day, but,” You raise your brow and exhale a shaky sigh. “Wanna hang out a little while longer?” You exhaled a nervous chuckle as you fidget with the hem of your skirt, nearly ripping off the lacy frills.

His heart leaped into the back of his throat—the urge to scream a loud yell that was enough to wake up those asleep in the afterlife. “Yeah, sure. It's no big deal.” He answers with a light dismissal and shrugs.

The dried grass's vibrant orange and red leaves provided a stunning contrast to the color of your hair. The soft earth underneath cushioned you as you lay back, and a giggle escaped your lips. Slowly, he crawled over to you, and with the utmost tenderness, he planted a soft butterfly kiss on your cupid’s bow.

The soft gesture contrasted the careless nature he bumbled about. “This is new.” You quip, reaching up to comb a loose strand of hair away from his face.

As you lean in for the next kiss, the playful smirk on your lips fades away as a surge of sweet warmth envelops you, stealing your focus and drawing you into the moment. Tilting your head slightly, you tenderly press your lips against Miguel, savoring the gentle and innocent connection.

His gentle hands glided along the curves of your body, reveling in the warmth and tenderness as your skin resisted the chill of the cemetery.

His hand hovers the swell of your breasts, itching to ravish your warmth and softness. “You can touch me.” You look up at him through your faux lashes. His fingers were taut like a cadaver. He wanted to touch and ravish you like a seafood boil on a summer day. The goose pimples on his skin trembled and seeped into his core like poison coursing through his veins. “Right.” He exhaled and moved his cramped fingers to squeeze your breast gently.

Warm and soft. He did another squeeze as if he was confirming what he felt was genuine and it wasn't one of his perverted dreams from the night before.

“Your face… are you okay?” Your question plagues the silence. “Yeah, of course. You’re just… soft.”

“Can I take this off?” His eyes gesture at the pastel-pink sweater—his fingers toy with the zipper pull.

You nod adamantly as you squirm closer to him and pull yourself closer. His fingers tremble, but he manages to pull the zipper down. The sight of your simple tank top and hardened nipples peeking through the cotton top.

“Are you sure?” He swallows, ready to back down from the close proximity. “Yeah, go ahead.” You whisper and gently guide his hands back to your figure.

His crimson pools leaked into your honey ones, the contrasting colors mellowing out to one another into one. His mouth latches onto your clothed nipple, gently licking and sucking. His sharpened canine grazed the sensitive skin, earning a shudder from you.

He pulled away, leaving a wet patch against the cotton tank top. The dark color of your areola peeked through, pleading for more attention.

A soft growl escaped before he gently pins you down on the soft patch of grass. Your hand wanders down, snaking into his dark denim. The clothes bulge against your fingertips ignites a fire deep in your core.

A soft groan escapes him. You had him wrapped around your pretty little fingers. Quite literally. He jerks his hips towards your palm, seeking friction to relieve the aching, numbing pain in his lower stomach. “Wait, hold on…” You squirm about and pull your hand away.

Your hands move quickly, removing his chunky belts and disregarding the faux leather. You yank down his jeans to free him from the restraints of his jeans. He softly groans when your fingers gently probe at his tip. The taut, moist skin seeks attention, twitching for contact. Then, your warming palm firmly grasped him and gently began to move up and down his length. It felt as if his body took a screenshot. The sensation ached slowly as his body trembled for a release.

His pleads were soft, afraid of his voice being heard from unseen presence at the flat lands around them. He adjusts himself, and moves his hand down south. The wet slit against his fingertips enables him to gently rub the pads of his fingers at the thin, wet slit on the cloth. His fingers gently pull at the gusset, and finally, his fingers probe at your clit, rubbing the nerves in tight, slow circles. The slow build up caused you to squirm about, ready to coat his fingers.

Soft pants filled the cemetery while your fingers produced more squelching noises from each other’s bodies. “Give me a moment…” You pant, letting go of him and moving your clothed cunt toward the tightening friction of his jeans.

The moist, soft sensation against the bulge softened into him. He melted and adjusted the two of you, gently settling you down onto his hardening arousal. He gently moves his hips, seeking relieving friction to his aching cock. If he could, he could almost imagine the sticky coating of your juices seeping out of your panties and coating his cock. The imagery plagued his mind like a vice as he continued with the gentle motions against your clothed pussy.

The temptation to just slide in…

The sticky fluid snaps him back to reality, effectively staining your already-soaked lacy panties and his boxers. His eyes dart away quickly, and he sits back, getting off of you. The milky fluid contrasted the dark panties, evidence that he left his heavy load on you.

He pulls you close, his exhale trembling into an uneasy vibrato. When he feels your skin tight and cold to the touch, the warmth of his palms rubs against it, creating more goosebumps in their wake.

tag list:

@hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

Note

This is for your y2k!

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.

Read Part Two - Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Toji x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip

Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal.

Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.

You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself.

Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different.

Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”

He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically.

Okay, maybe he’s not different.

~~~

Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.

“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”

He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same.

As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.

At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”

“Eat it.”

He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig.

After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together.

“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you.

The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking.

You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”

“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”

You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”

“Toji. Call me Toji.”

~~~

Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat.

Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind.

The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.

“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.”

Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”

He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”

“What?!”

Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”

You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really.

But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special.

Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life.

Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him.

It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water.

“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”

He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”

~~~

The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates.

“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars.

You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”

Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.

Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time.

Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”

Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”

He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”

Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”

You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”

“That’s what I like about you, though.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.

“Seriously? Why?”

“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”

He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”

You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger.

~~~

Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving.

When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle.

When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?”

“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”

He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”

He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”

“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.

You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”

“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.

You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.”

Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap.

Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.”

There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.

“But I thought you liked – ”

“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken.

It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear.

He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.

~~~

Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.

Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.

Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family.

He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.

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