Cause Why Are ALL THE FEMALE MHA HEROS FINE AS SHIT? - Blog Posts

TOBEGIGGLEDAT GOING CRAZY WITH IT 🙏

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MDNI

✦pairing: Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke) x afab!reader

✦word count: 2.3k

✦warnings: angst, mutual pining, kissing, massages, mutual fingering, begging

Original Post ✦ Midnight Ending

Why is it only now that your thoughts of Emi have become more reoccurring and invading?

Ever since that night, most of your time is spent looking over past photos you have with her, but your heart now flutters erratically as if you weren’t the one to take them. You stalk her socials through the lense of a first-time spectator, looking over her pictures in awe at the face you're still pleased to see almost daily.

What if her jests from yesterday were nothing more than just that, jests?

It’d be her cruelest joke yet, to plant fresh seeds of romance into your chest that continue to blossom and root deeper from the nutrients of her enchanting smiles and the water of her riveting words.

The night before Valentine’s Day seems to be eternal as you occupy your imagination by putting a face to the letters you’ve accumulated, you allow yourself to be enamored by vivid but immaterial depictions of Emi drafting the very messages you long to receive.

Maybe you’ll write her a letter yourself to send to her tomorrow morning.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

My one and only Emi,

It is through this letter that I make a confession, a conclusion that took me many years to reach, but am delighted to make nonetheless.

I love you, and in many ways more than a friend should. I love so dearly I even ache without you in my dreams.

Do you feel the same as I?

Yearning for you every moment,

Your Dearest Companion

The email evaporates into cyberspace with a click of your fingers, but your doubts still persist long past the moment it’s sent.

Emi hasn’t messaged a word since yesterday. Your limbs are numb and prickling with each anxiety-ridden exhale that escapes you yet you must continue teaching as if that isn't so.

To maintain an impeccable composure for the rest of the school day despite this will be a testament to your resolve, and potentially a glimpse into the future of your friendship with Emi.

After all, if your feelings aren’t reciprocated, you’ll have to hone this mask to utmost perfection so that things will remain the same.

Class ends with an eerie hum of the school’s bell, and when your room has emptied, all your emotions are left unrestrained.

A day’s worth of nausea and bile finally bubbles up to the surface to manifest itself on your tongue in thick strings of drool, your throat gulps heavily to sink the chunky liquid back into your stomach until you gather yourself enough to leave your classroom.

Don’t let it slip.

You try to piece together your wavering façade on the train ride home, morphing and pulling your skin with your fingertips until your fallen brows settle back into place and your lips are no longer twitching and downturned.

Don’t let it slip.

Your awkward fumbling past your apartment lobby increases in pace, you avoid direct stares with the friendly elderly couple that accompanies in the elevator, even as they chatter to you gleefully and incessantly.

Don’t let it slip.

Your keys are jammed into your door with a jerk of your arms against it.

The familiar scent and scenery of your home trigger the stinging drops in your eyes to stream down your cheeks in hot streaks. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you before you find purchase on the nearest chair in your living room to let the sobs take hold of you completely.

You’ve ruined everything.

Your body jolts with each cough and splutter you muffle into your crimson, overworked palms, now slick with viscous snot and drool—you dejectedly eye the expensive assortment of cookies you bought yesterday to satisfy Emi’s sweet tooth.

A distant knock at your door briefly pulls you out of your melancholic haze, yet your whimpering form remains unmoving as you don’t want anyone to see you in such a decrepit state.

You let the persistent banging fade into the background until your phone buzzes to life for the first time it has all day.

Emi: Aren’t you going to open the door for your secret admirer?

You hastily dash for the kitchen sink to run cold water over your caked features and ineptly pat them dry, once finished, you twist at the door knob to meet Emi standing proudly with an elated look, a leather handbag hooked on her shoulder.

“Emi, I—”, you sputter before you're swiftly interrupted.

“Have you been crying? Your eyes are all puffy.” Emi's smile diminishes to a crooked frown, her slightly calloused palms extend to cup your cheeks so that her thumb can stroke it gently.

“I haven't heard from you all day”, your rigid neck thaws into her touch as relief settles through your muscles. “I thought I might've upset you with the email I sent.”

“No-No, never. I'm sorry, I just wanted to surprise you”, her soft voice floats through the air like cotton; it nests itself in your ear canal, tickling your senses and burrowing its dizzying wisps in the folds of your brain. “I love you, and I meant every word in those letters I wrote—”

Your damp lips crash against her plump ones to capture the rest of her confession between your teeth, imprinting her words into your mouth then swallowing them whole. Her hands are tender as they still envelope the sides of your head and attempt to bridge a nonexistent gap—pressing you closer and closer until your atoms seemingly align.

When did Emi first know she was in love with you?

You wish to ask her so that you could revisit your past conversations while over analyzing each word until it seems as though you were a fool for never noticing.

But you also wish to treasure her sentences more intimately—to dedicate a region of your brain to the ridiculous rambles she'd spew just to get a laugh out of you, and another folder of your memory to the moments your eyes couldn't part away from hers.

Lost in the throes of her passion, it takes a while for your mind to catch up to the scenery change as you're draped across your mattress, your choked pants filling the air from the bruising attacks her mouth makes against your collar.

The dull flickers of pain from her teeth turn sharp, her pointed canines searing your flesh and leaving vermilion indents but not pressing harsh enough to pierce the skin. Your pelvis bucks into her hips from the sudden pleasant zaps across your sternum, but when her tongue lathes over the tender spots afterward your writhe in her hold.

Each time her tongue pulls away between slurps she seems reluctant, as if breathing were trivial compared to relishing the divine taste of your skin. You readily comply with her cravings, presenting your delicate neck to ravenous jaws while providing her all the more surface to revere.

Her suckles and nibbles along your skin drift downward as she strips you bare, followed by her doing the same for herself with her goddess-like form presented to your overly-enthralled eyes.

“Let me take care of you”, she says quietly as she pulls away to fish around for something in the bag she brought. A small, clear bottle and a metallic red box rest firmly against her palms, she places them on the bed beside you before gently guiding you to lay on your stomach.

She mounts your lower half, shifting her weight slightly against you as she lathers her hands with the substance in the bottle, permeating the room with a rich aroma of jasmine, chamomile and other exotic scents you can’t quite place.

Her oily hands scoop along your shoulders, pressing deeply into the taut skin then swirling and flexing against it until your muscles become more supple under her touch. She repeats these motions along your back and the sides of your waist by sinking her lithe fingers into your flesh and scooping and prying at the restlessness that’s seemingly settled beneath your skin in the form of sediment—calcified worry that’s seeped into your veins to stay.

A cataclysmic burst of lust gathers at the apex of your thighs despite the innocence of the act, you’re overcome with a libidinous desire to feel more of her, to feel more of her touch in the throbbing areas that have formed across your body.

She guides you onto your back so that she could begin repeating her ministrations to your chest, her lower thigh resting close to your core but not touching it. For a moment, she peels away to fiddle with the red box from earlier, but when she returns she softly presses something against your lips.

Her eyes are lidded, lips parted in a gentle awe as she watches you take the piece into your mouth, swirling the rich chocolate flavor around your tongue until the remaining creaminess glides down your throat smoothly.

As her hands travel downward to caress your thighs, she parts them before eyeing the thin string of arousal that’s webbed over your lips and grins at it salaciously. She avoids touching your folds and instead fondles the meat around it, making slow rotations as you twitch and coil beneath her.

Another piece of chocolate is placed on your lips, but Emi captures your mouth before the sweet can dissolve, slipping her tongue between your teeth to gather some of the taste for herself then leaving you panting with drool covered lips while her leg steadily starts to rub against you.

The sensation of her nude thighs grinding into your sex makes dribbles of slick seep from your arousal, lubricating your desperate movements as you chase the euphoric tingles surging through your clit.

Dew drops of sweat coat your face in a thin luster while the combined heat from your bodies create a thick atmosphere around you, one which steadily grows into a fog from the friction of your continued frenzied glides. Your high never quite approaches as it swiftly tapers off at the cusp of your peak from lack of pinpoint strikes onto your pulsating nub.

Your understimulated sex aches for more of her fleeting but precise contact, as pure, undiluted desire swells in your neglected walls until suspended on the verge of erupting as a collapsing pressure takes its place. You need more.

“Emi, please”, you beg, futilely meeting her unfulfilling collisions with your sex in hopes your orgasm would return.

The pleasurable breaching of her agile fingers at your entrance dismantles your chance for any more intelligible pleas with your thighs snapping around her palm as your body unconsciously curls to the side. She follows your curvature, planking beside you so that you could see the delighted smirk that adorns her mouth while her hands are unremittingly sliding within you.

Her other hand guides your thumb between her legs, you place it against her peeking clit before smoothing deep circles on it so that it matches the pace she's set in your opening.

“Mhmm, like that”, she says it breathily and it sends another sublime rush of heat to your stirring gut. “I wanna see your pretty faces as I cum too.”

A harmonious symphony of sighs fill the air as you move in tandem with one another, but as Emi brushes over certain ridges your focus on her clit falters with your eyes batting before fluttering back from her calculated strokes in your hole. Her fervent kisses she stamps into your cheeks are the only way you're kept grounded, temporarily brought back to shore before once again swept away by tumultuous waves of arousal.

Your fingers tangle themselves at the roots of her soft, sea-green strands, tugging slightly to mesh your lips against hers, absorbing her wanton sounds and shivering as the vibrations flare into your bones. A balmy pool of spit gathers where your eagerly sloppy mouths meet then oozes from the sides to coat your chin in clear, sticky sap.

“Feel so good around my fingers, it’s like your swallowing me—fuck”, Emi unevenly pants before dropping her head onto your shoulder, her glassy eyes mimicking your dreamy, lidded gaze as that all too familiar coiling begins to unravel.

A series of scattered thoughts pop into your lust-drunk befuddled brain only swiftly fizzle away with each of her ministrations, bubbling through your synapses until releasing through the air of your moans to leave you stale and breathless.

“Wanna cum with you”, she finally voices your desire but you can only murmur her name in disjointed fragments.

Your thumb is slippery and overworked—the soppy pad of your finger dull and reddened—yet the clenching of Emi’s warm thighs spur you on with the pace of your unsteady, but enthusiastic rotations quickening until you’re both whining and humping for climax.

“L-Love you, Emi”, you choke, your walls clamping wildly around the digits inside you as your orgasm breaches and gashes your overwhelmed walls for release. Strained gasps escape from Emi’s overly-parted lips while she’s also hastily strung above the peak of climax only to be dropped at the bewitching sight of your blissed-out features—her lips encapture yours the moment it torments her limbs so that she’d give you a shaky, but searing kiss.

You stare dazedly into your lover’s eyes, insides still twitching and raw from pleasure, but mesmerized by the swirling jade pools of her irises.

“Write an article about me?” Emi proposes in jest while beaming from ear to ear.

“Maybe”, you reply just as teasingly. “You did give me great material to work with.”

A tickle of laughter emits from Emi’s glossy lips as she shuffles closer until both of your noses touch. “I love you.”

You give her a gentle peck then smile cheesily. “I love you too, and I’ll forever be grateful for all the letters you’ve sent me.”

Her eyes crinkle tightly at the corners, dripping tiny droplets as her mouth curls up slightly. “Had you not sent me your own letter, I would've gone back to pretending my feelings never existed.”

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