Archive of Our Own

Nemuri is five minutes into her usual routine of staring blankly at nothing while waiting in line for the coffee that will boot up her brain when she feels a tug on her sweatpants. She looks down sluggishly and meets big, wide eyes.

It’s a kid — a toddler? She’s not good with ages. Or kids. The little guy has a messy mop of green hair and is wearing a brightly colored All Might shirt with matching All Might sneakers (the tongue of the shoes split and stick out like the number one hero’s trademark hair, holy shit ). His pudgy fingers are both wrapped up in the fabric of her pants.

He blinks innocent green eyes up at her. She blinks back.

God, I’m not awake enough for this.

For a split second, the amount of hero merch makes her think someone has recognized her, despite her being both a pretty new hero and being dressed like a slob. No one’s supposed to look at Nemuri Kayama in her comfy oversized sweater and stained pants and messy ponytail and think “R-Rated Hero Midnight”. Especially not a goddamn baby or whatever.

The little boy reaches both hands toward her. “Up?”

Nemuri, in her panic about interacting with a child (she’s not good with kids, there’s a reason she has an adult-themed hero gimmick), momentarily forgets she’s in a coffee shop with a kid she doesn’t know and obeys.

She awkwardly settles the boy on her hip and stares at him some more, waiting for him to do something else she then has to figure out how to respond to. He just leans his head against her shoulder and stares back.

“Uh, hey, green bean. How ya doin’?” she tries.

The boy flashes her a quick smile, but it doesn’t stick. “‘M tired.”

“Oh. Me too, little guy.”

The kid — Green Bean? — yawns sympathetically. Nemuri grasps for something to say. How do you talk to kids? She’s watched people do it, it can’t be that hard. Bring up something they like and let them have at it and pretend you understand their babble, right? She’s seen Hizashi nodding sagely along to absolutely incoherent rambling and everyone says he’s great with kids! Wait, how does she find out what this kid likes?

Her eyes drop to the eye-straining colors of his shirt. In retrospect, it’s a little obvious. “Um. Cool shirt. You like heroes?”

The boy’s eyes light up and he straightens, his grin splitting his face. Bingo.

“Heroes are the best! And All Might is the bestest! He fights more bad guys than the Top Ten heroes all together! He’s so cool—,” Green Bean launches into what seems like a pre-prepared lecture about the number one hero, bouncing lightly in her arms. Nemuri’s a little surprised that the rapid-fire words are all understandable — and this kid knows his shit, even if it’s all surface-level stuff (he’s still a kid, after all).

“—and he ran after the Red Rugs so fast —,”

“Red Rogues,” Nemuri corrects absently. She’d run into those losers before. The public probably didn’t know there were more than the six All Might took down last week, putting their name in the public eye. The capture had spooked the rest of the group to ground and Shota and her were having a hell of a time trying to help find them.

“Yeah, them! The car was like ‘vrooom!’ but All Might is faster and he got ‘em!” The kid bounces in excitement, plowing through his description of the part of the fight he’d seen on TV. His little hand slaps her arm eagerly — despite already having her full attention — as he stumbles over his words in his eagerness. “And, and, and then— then he said ‘I AM HERE! TO STOP YOU!’ And they didn’t even see him! And he was like, bam! Bam! SMAAAAASH! And, and when the police came and ‘rested the bad guys he lifted the whole car!”

“Wow! That’s, uh. Pretty strong.” Nemuri intones. She sees an abnormal amount of cars being tossed through the air at her job. She’s almost forgotten that isn’t normal.

“Yeah! He’s the strongest!” The kid is practically vibrating in her hold. “All Might could lift TEN cars!”

“I think at that point it becomes less about how heavy the cars are and more about the logistics of how you fit ten cars in your hands. Or stack them,” she hums.

Green Bean looks absolutely thrilled by her input. He launches into listing every feat of lifting-related strength he can recall All Might ever completing, like this might help them calculate the hero’s theoretical car capacity or something. Nemuri’s a bit impressed the baby even knows about some of this shit. The Shigoto Tower collapse happened waaay before he was born.

Nemuri is nodding along and shuffling forward in the line again when it finally hits her that she’s holding and talking to a stranger’s child. She doesn’t even know which stranger. And she’s maybe stealing him away? It’s only like, two feet, but the point is she has removed him from where he was without his guardian knowing. She maybe panics a little bit.

She sweeps the room a bit frantically for wherever the hell this kid came from. Thankfully, she finds a suspect almost immediately and doesn’t need to call her hero agency and report a missing child and bring him into the office and deal with Hizashi’s screaming and Tensei’s teasing and Shota pretending he isn’t sneaking the kid jelly pouches—

Anyway, the child probably belongs to the short (cute) woman in line behind her. They look like two peas from the same pod, with the same shade of hair and mesmerizing green eyes. The woman is lagging behind a step or two, not having noticed the line moving forward — she’s clearly distracted by the intense phone conversation she seems to be having. She’s half-whispering, trying to keep the noise down in the crowded shop, but her frown belies a deep frustration. Nemuri doesn’t think she’d even be capable of that much emotion before coffee.

The woman bites her lip — which isn’t distracting at all — and looks close to tears as she stares unseeingly at the wall of the shop, just like Nemuri had been doing minutes before.

“Mr. Hideo, with all due respect, you’ve advertised your kindergarten as being quirk-inclusive, I don’t see—...yes, I know it mostly refers to mutant quirks, but my son—...are you implying that mutant quirks are inherently dangerous? You—...yes, I know they are children, but so is my son!”

The woman’s eyes glint with anger as she listens to whoever is on the other side of her phone call. Her knuckles are white, one hand clenching her cell phone and the other around the arm of a well-worn All Might plush at her side. She’s quiet for a long moment, biting harder on her lip like she’s holding back a rush of angry words.

“Understood, sir. Goodbye,” she finally grunts out, voice plunging into Arctic water. Nemuri almost shivers. She’s faced villains with less steel in their tone than this woman. It’s a little attractive.

The woman jabs the ‘end call’ button angrily and glares at the phone for a second before closing her eyes. She takes a deep breath and smooths all the worry and anger and frustration from her face in seconds, replacing it with a happy, if somewhat tired, smile. The speed of the change is honestly a little frightening.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but you’re going to have to go to work with Mommy again tod—,” The woman freezes, staring at the All Might plush in her hand.

The brief glimpse of rising panic in her eyes as she whips her head around makes Nemuri feel a bit relieved that she’s standing directly in front of her, if just to save the woman from the panic clearly setting in. It’s not even a second of horrible dawning horror before her eyes lock onto Green Bean and her tense posture slumps.

Her expression shifts rapidly from relief to confusion to embarrassment before she lands on a worried frown.

“Izuku! You’re supposed to hold All Might’s hand when we’re out of the house, honey!” she scolds, closing the gap in the line. The boy — Izuku, apparently, Nemuri probably should have asked — takes his All Might plush from her as soon as it’s within range and clutches it to his chest. The woman’s hands flutter nervously around her little boy like she’s making sure he’s all there; shoulders, arms, hair, cheeks.

“My legs hurted,” the boy mumbles, shy under the fretting of his mother. “Sorry, Mommy.”

The woman’s eyes soften. “It’s okay, sweetie, just don’t do it again, okay?”

He nods as his mother grabs him under the arms and hefts him over to her own hip. She gives him a peck on the forehead; with their heads side-to-side, the resemblance is uncanny.

The woman turns her attention to Nemuri and the pro hero is immediately lost in a kaleidoscope of rich color. Her eyes feel magnetic, drawing Nemuri in like a physical force. There are more shades of green than she’s ever seen before, from deep forest to vibrant clover to a hint of wintergreen and mint and green, green, green —

Green is talking. Shit.

“—and I’m so sorry about him, I hope he didn’t bother you! He’s usually so shy around strangers, I don’t know why he wandered away!”

Nemuri shakes herself from her reverie with an easy chuckle. She’s a lot more at ease talking to another adult than a child, even as off-balance as she suddenly feels.

She cocks a hand on her hip, suddenly wishing she wasn’t wearing her usual heading-to-work, changing-into-costume-soon mess of clothes. “Oh, he barely went a few feet, he was fine. And he didn’t bother me at all! We were having a very interesting discussion about All Might.”

Green sighs, an undercurrent of fond exasperation in the sound. “Ah, that’s my Izuku. Number one All Might fan, aren’t you, baby?”

She bounces the boy once on her hip and Nemuri can see the hint of a smile behind his All Might plush, which he seems to be hiding behind now despite having had no trouble asking a stranger to hold him earlier. Kids are weird. Illogical, as Shota would say.

“Next!” someone cries out closer than Nemuri expected — her hero instincts barely keep her from startling like a baby deer. She turns around and realizes the line has reached the counter. Her usual barista is giving her a smug, knowing look. Nemuri resists the urge to stick her tongue out at the girl as she steps up to the counter.

“Hey, Harada. My usual,” Nemuri gestures behind her, “and whatever the lovely lady and kiddo want.”

The woman behind her squeaks. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

Nemuri grins over her shoulder and takes another hit to her composure. How does someone make flustered look good? “Please, let me, it’s no problem.”

“If anything, I should be buying you —”

“Nonsense! I insist, really.”

Green glances at the long line behind her and caves. “A-alright, um, can I get a medium caramel frappe and a, uh. Do you have chocolate milk?”

“We have hot chocolate, will that be okay?”

The woman looks at her son, who nods and repeats, “Hot choc’ate.”

Harada smiles. Nemuri has been coming to this little shop nearly every morning for two years and the only time Harada has ever smiled is while making Nemuri’s day miserable or making someone else’s day miserable. The young woman sustains herself on misfortune, probably. Izuku has her smiling with a normal amount of teeth and zero sadistic delight.

He’d also somehow gotten Nemuri, famously Bad With Children, to interact with him in a hopefully typical and not mentally scarring way. The kid’s a miracle worker. Nemuri would die for him.

(It does help that his mom is hot).

Harada punches something into her computer behind the counter. “So, a hot chocolate for the little man, a medium caramel frappe, and a large iced coffee with two extra shots of espresso. Your total is 1,297 yen.”

Nemuri pays before stepping off to the side to wait for their order, Green immediately thanking her. Izuku mimics his mom and throws in his own adorable thank-you.

“It’s just coffee!” Nemuri laughs, looking down at the pair. They’re both so delightfully small, with matching sets of wide, shining eyes peering up at her.

No longer distracted by heart-stopping eyes or maybe accidentally kidnapping, Nemuri glances over the woman and really drinks her in. She’s wearing a cute, professional cardigan and blouse, paired with a tight skirt that hugs her curves. She’s small and soft and warm; the steel from earlier has faded, and now she practically radiates kindness. She’s looking up at Nemuri like she’s saved her life, not bought a cup of coffee. And god, her eyes.

She decides to go for it, her own slobby outfit be damned.

Nemuri smiles and gestures toward the seating area. “Here, let’s sit down while we wait.”

The coffee shop is relatively crowded, but most of the people are in line and getting something to go, leaving a few empty tables nearby. Nemuri picks one of the tall round ones the size of a platter for absolutely no nefarious reasons.

“You want to sit on a tall chair, buddy?” Nemuri asks Izuku. He eyes the contraption skeptically but nods, holding his arms out. Nemuri takes him and plops him onto a blue upholstered cushion. Hell yeah, little wingman .

“Oh, you can take this one—”

“No, no, sit! I’m fine.” Nemuri pulls the seat out for the woman and gestures her in. She blushes cutely and hops ( hops! ) into the seat, thanking Nemuri profusely. She never seems to run out of appreciative words. Part of Nemuri glows under the praise; part of her wants to shower this woman in kindness until she realizes this treatment is the bare minimum of what she deserves.

Most of her just wants to get to know this woman who’s caught her attention.

Now, it’s been a while since Nemuri has actually flirted with anyone. She’s been busy with hero work — her workload has really increased as her fame has risen — and she doesn’t count the innuendos she throws at news crews or in interviews. She probably hasn’t lost her edge, though. She was a real womanizer her debut year — before marketing got involved in her ‘public image’, ugh.

Never thought ‘flirt with men’ was going to be on the list of challenges that a Pro Hero faces.

She turns her attention back on her new acquaintance and flashes a hopefully-suave smile. Ah, where to start…‘come here often’? No, that’s stupid...what about—

“So, are you new in town? I think I would have noticed someone so pretty wandering around.”

Green’s cheeks turn red instantly — she looks like a Christmas tree, all contrasting colors. Nemuri had almost forgotten how satisfying this game could be.

“Y-yes, actually! Izuku and I just moved a few weeks ago.” She fiddles nervously with her thumbs in her lap, eyes flickering between Nemuri and her son, who has his face pressed against the table and seems to be drifting off. It’s probably pretty early in the morning for the little guy, the sun barely rising. Nemuri feels a pang of sympathy and puts a hand near the kid’s back, making sure he doesn’t fall off the stool if he passes out completely.

Green seems to relax a bit at that. Nemuri wonders if mom instincts hold up against hero-school levels of situational awareness. She wouldn’t bet against it.

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying the city! You’ve already found the best coffee shop around, so you clearly have excellent taste.” Nemuri winks, enjoying the stammering it earns her.

“W-well, a-a friend used to live here, s-she recommended it…I’ve only been a few times so far, but i-it’s right along my walk to my new job.”

“Same! The job thing, I mean.” Nemuri rests her arms on the surface of the table, leaning against it to support her weight and consequently pushing up her, ahem, assets. She made sure she’s tilted away from Izuku’s side of the table beforehand. The baby isn’t the one she’s hoping to give an eyeful. “I come here every morning, though, and I haven’t seen you before today.”

“I-I, um, I, uh—” Green stammers, eyes flickering frantically from Nemuri to everywhere else in the coffee shop. Her cheeks have settled into a deep flush.

Nemuri takes pity on her. “Well, if you’re ever around—”

Nemuri freezes at the harsh grip of a hand on her ass. It’s barely there for a second; she whips her head around to find a man sliding between her and the table behind her with a grunt. When they make eye contact he jerks his chin up and smirks. Nemuri can’t tell if he thinks he’s flirting or just knows he’s getting away with something; she’s learned not to make a scene in crowded places like these. It never ends well for her.

She jerks up and stands straight again, pulling herself tight against the table, away from his touch. She hadn’t realized how her posture had exposed her, completely focused on her own mischievousness. All she can bring herself to feel about the inappropriate groping is dull exhaustion.

Even in my sweatpants, she thinks hollowly.

She coughs to cover the dying pangs of embarrassment she still feels over these sorts of things — she’s been dealing with it since puberty, really, she shouldn’t feel anything by now, but it still clings stubbornly — and focuses back on the gorgeous woman in front of her. She’s not letting this ruin her pleasant chat with—

Nemuri blinks.

Green looks absolutely livid. Those captivating eyes have become a dark storm, laser-focused over Nemuri’s shoulder. She’s stone-still other than a slight twitch in her hand. Her gaze leaves the man only for a second, darting to Nemuri and a sleepy Izuku, then back to the man she has pinned under her gaze like a predator.

She smiles, all that steel back in her eyes. This time it’s razor-sharp.

“Izuku, honey, can you cover your ears for Mommy?” Green says, voice icy and brittle. Izuku makes a sleepy, confused noise, but obeys, pressing his pudgy hands over his ears.

Green reaches a hand forward and yanks. It must be her quirk — she hasn’t touched anything, but the man, who had been seemingly frozen to the spot, suddenly shouts an obscene string of curses and folds in half, his coffee crashing to the ground and spattering the shoes of everyone in a large splash radius. There are several alarmed and indignant shouts as people jump away from the mess instinctively. The man falls to his knees, tears in his eyes and gripping his crotch with both hands.

“What the f-fuck, bitch?! Are you fucking crazy?!” he wheezes, still catching his breath. His voice is high and strained. He looks like he’s trying to glare at Green but landed somewhere closer to ‘constipated’.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we’d established it was okay to grab strangers wherever we pleased?” Green huffs, arms crossed. She’s looking down at the man from her barstool like a queen sentencing a man to death from her throne. Nemuri’s breath catches in her throat.

The man doesn’t like this answer. “What is wrong with you?! Fuck—that’s fucking assault!”

There’s a lot more yelling after that, but Nemuri is focused entirely on just watching this tiny woman rain down vengeance. She’s sure there are stars in her eyes. Her heart skips a few beats. This is probably what love feels like.

She’s yanked forcefully from the clouds by someone nudging her shoulder. She turns and blinks at Harada, who’s holding a mop and a drink carrier and not bothering to hide her smile. Now it’s both sadistic and smug. She’s never seen the girl look so alive.

“Sir, ma’ams, little guy”—Harada nods at Izuku, who still has his hands clapped over his ears and is watching the goings-on with fascinated confusion—“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premise. You’re disturbing the other customers.” She shoves the drink carrier in Nemuri’s hands.

The man staggers up from the floor, face now flushed with anger, and begins yelling at Harada, who stares back at him, face blank aside from a small smile. Nemuri feels a tug at her sweater and turns to find a much more awake Izuku making grabby hands at the smallest cup in the carrier; his hot chocolate, presumably.

Green, who had dismounted her chair at some point, steps forward and sweeps her son up. “Not now, Izuku, let's get outside first. Thank you for being a good boy and covering your ears! That man said some not very good words.”

Nemuri finds herself trailing at the woman’s heels like a starstruck puppy. They stop just outside the doors of the coffee shop, a few steps from the door.

“I’m so sorry about that! I can’t believe that man would do something so—so awful! ” Green pouts, her cheeks puffed and red.

“I get it a lot,” Nemuri says weakly, voice breathy with awe. She tries to subtly clear her throat.

Green’s eyes sharpen. She grabs Nemuri’s elbow with her free hand, squeezing reassuringly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. You understand me? No one should ever treat you like an object.”

Nemuri falls back into the depths of those eyes. It’s ten times more overwhelming with so much passion and intensity focused all on her like this woman could consume her with the power of her attention, like Nemuri could spiral away in that prismatic sea and lose herself completely and feel nothing but secure and warm and protected—

The shrill ring of her hero pager rips Nemuri from her freefall. She scrambles for her pocket with her free hand and pulls the device out. It’s a warning message from Hizashi.

“Oh, shit, I’m late for work,” Nemuri croaks. Green’s eyes widen.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for keeping you! Here, here,” She takes the drink carrier and hands Nemuri her order, shooing her away. Izuku gives her a scrunchy wave, his other hand straining for his hot chocolate. “Go, go! I hope you don’t get in trouble! It was lovely meeting you!”

Nemuri turns and jogs away, smiling and waving over her shoulder. “I hope I see you again!” She’s around the corner before she can get an answer and breaks into a full-on sprint, carefully covering the lid of her coffee. If she gets one more tardy her supervisor is going to skin her alive.

She catches sight of the coffee splatters on her ratty sneakers as they pound against the pavement. When she enters her agency six minutes later, she’s still grinning. She heads straight to the locker room, sipping her drink around her smile.

“Hey, Nemmy!” Hizashi appears out of nowhere and falls into step beside her, already in costume and looking disgustingly awake for the hour. “Rough morning? You haven’t been this late in a while!”

“Yeah, my bus was late, but—oh my god, ‘Zashi, I met the perfect woman at the coffee shop.” Nemuri sighs wistfully, cupping her coffee and staring at nothing.

Hizashi’s squeal echoes down the hallway as he bounces alongside her. “Oh my god, oh my god! Tell me about her!”

“Well, she was there with her son—”

He whistles. “Didn’t think you were a cougar hunter, Nem!”

She punches his shoulder and pushes her way into the locker room. Shota, half-asleep on the bench, stirs and blinks up at them from inside his new yellow sleeping bag (Hizashi bought it for him, of course it was bright yellow). God, that boy needs more sleep , she thinks as he sits up slowly.

Nemuri opens her locker and sets her coffee on the shelf before she starts peeling off her shirt. “ Anyway, her son just walked up to me and asked to be held, and you know how I get around kids, so I just, like, picked him up? And then she was looking for him but I had him so we were talking and I bought her coffee and—” she usually doesn’t tell this stuff to her boys, it’s still embarrassing, but—“Okay, so some guy grabbed my ass, right?”

“WHAT?!” Hizashi shrieks, his quirk slipping a bit. Shota’s eyes flash red before he can shout again, and the blonde sends him an apologetic smile. The tired man refocuses on Nemuri, eyes sharp and awake now despite his sleepy hunch.
“Yeah, so this woman, I think she has some sort of telekinesis quirk, she just yanks on his dick in the middle of the shop and this guy drops like a fucking rock.” She leans against her locker and sighs dramatically. “It was beautiful. I think I cried.”

“Oh my god,” Hizashi says, voice reverent. Nemuri can’t help but grin back as she passes the dregs of her coffee to Shota, who sticks one arm out of his sleeping bag and downs it in one go.

“Who are we talking about,” the underground hero grunts.

“Nemmy’s new girlfriend!” Hizashi cackles as he flings an arm around her shoulder.

Nemuri’s cheeks heat up. She ducks under the arm and pushes him away — a mock jab for his forehead has him squeaking and hiding behind Shota.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” she hisses, shrugging on her costume’s trench coat. “But, like. I’d totally be down if she wanted to be. God, it was hot.”

“Did you get her number?” Hizashi grins over Shota’s head, chin in his hair.

Nemuri’s smile drops. “Fuck.”

Hizashi’s smile falters. He waves his hands around wildly, trying to reassure her. “No, no, it’s okay! We can look her up and see if we can find her again. What’s her name?”

Nemuri’s stomach plummets. She stares at her friends, mouth agape as she comprehends the colossal mistake she’s made.

“Oh, FUCK.”

Nemuri rolls her pen back and forth across the table with one finger, her chin in her hand. A heavy sigh escapes her as she deflates across her paperwork. Shota rolls his eyes from his desk across from her.

The door creaks open to reveal Tensei in his hero costume, helmet in one hand and a takeout bag in the other. “Hey, guys, I brought—wow, what’s got you so down, Nem?”

“Take a guess,” Shota scoffs.

Tensei raises an eyebrow. “Again?”

Nemuri plucks her emerald pen from the table and holds it between them. “I can’t find anything even close to the color of her eyes,” she groans.

Tensei snorts at her dramatics and grabs a chair from an empty desk to drag over. He drops the takeout bag between them and begins handing out the contents. “C’mon, it’s been weeks, Nemuri.” He’s smiling, but there’s some worry behind it.

Nemuri groans and takes the cup he hands her, popping the lid off. It’s her favorite kind of noodles, so she refrains from punching him. He gets a pass — this time.

“She was perfect,” Nemuri sighs, stirring her soup dejectedly. It’s still too hot to just drown her sorrows in.

The door slams open, revealing a slightly disheveled Hizashi. “Yo, sorry I’m late! Had an arrest on 5th street, by the bus stop, so I had to sign a bunch of stuff for some listeners. Ooh, Ten, did you get my noodles?!”

He ducks through the doorway, careful not to catch his ridiculous hairdo. Tensei hands him his noodle cup and the voice hero lights up, some of the exhaustion leaving his posture.

“Oh my god, Tensei, I could kiss you!”

Aizawa takes a big slurp of his noodles. There’s no way they’re cool enough to eat now, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him.

Hizashi bounces around to the seat beside the underground hero and plops down. Tensei settles into his own seat, the rest of the food now laid out between the four.

“Okay, so I was thinking,” the engine hero starts as he plucks up a dumpling. “What if I could get you a date? Think that might help?”

Hizashi makes a noise like a strangled bird. “Wait, I thought Nemmy’s been pining after coffee shop girl for like, months?”

“Six weeks,” Nemuri corrects wretchedly. Shota rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but we’ve tried everything to find this mystery girl and haven’t had any luck.” Tensei gives her a sympathetic pat on the arm. “And you only met her for, like, twenty minutes? I think you’re maybe just hung up on the idea of her.”

“But she—”

“—isn’t the only woman in the world willing to stand up to sexual assaulters on your behalf,” Aizawa grunts. Nemuri has to hold back her instinct to make fun of him; he never takes part in these kinds of conversations, but his advice is usually pretty solid, so she’ll let him get away with it for now.

She’s just full of mercy today, isn’t she?

“Ugh, maybe you’re right. She was still hot, though.” Nemuri stuffs some noodles in her mouth and has to immediately drop them back into her cup when they burn her tongue. Shota gives her an exhausted look. Hizashi cackles.

Tensei hands her his ever-present water bottle and she takes a massive gulp, trying to soothe her burnt taste buds. She wants to savor this dish, dammit. Tensei always brings the good shit when it’s his turn to buy lunch. He knows every little hole-in-the-wall in the city and can get it to them while it’s still warm.

“Is that a yes?”

“Hm? To a date?” Nemuri pouts a little. “I dunno, sure. I guess I can’t keep pining forever.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hizashi cries. Nemuri sends him a glare that he hopefully understands as ‘shut your goddamn mouth, you fucking hypocrite’. Shota slurps more too-hot noodles. Idiots.

“Great. So now I just have to find someone willing to date me and not be weird about it.” Nemuri grunts.

“You know me, I wouldn’t have brought this up if I didn’t already have someone in mind!” Tensei grins.

Nemuri gives him a suspicious look. “Since when do you know any women?”

“Hey! I know plenty of women!”

She smirks. “Yeah? Who?”

“The one I’m about to set you up with, for starters.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What do you mea—”

“C’mon, let him speak! I wanna hear about how straight-laced Tensei met someone he thinks would get along with Nemuri, of all people.” Hizashi laughs at the withering look Tensei gives him.

The speed hero shakes his head. “Okay, so you know I pick up Tenya from kindergarten—”

Hizashi snorts. “Oh boy, we’re off to a great start!”

Tensei ignores them and continues. “So there’s this new mom there that gets there ten minutes early just like I do, I think she works nearby—”

“Woo! MILF!” Hizashi fist-pumps, voice just on the edge of too loud.

“She’s super nice and open and I figured now that we know Nemuri has a thing for moms—”

She jabs her chopsticks at her friend. “I swear to god, Tensei, if you make one more mommy kink joke I will rip your engines out of your arms.”

Hizashi lets out a scandalized gasp, clutching his chest. “Is the R-Rated Hero kink-shaming?”

Tensei, used to their antics by now, plows on. “I thought I could set you up on a date! She’s new in town but we’ve talked a bit, waiting outside the daycare. She mentioned being ready to get back into the dating scene. Her bag had a bi pride flag on it, so I’m ninety percent sure she’s open to it.” 

Nemuri sighs. This sounds like a terrible idea. “Fine. Tell me more about this lady and maybe — maybe! — I’ll think about it.”

“YES! GO NEMURI!” Hizashi shouts, fist in the air.

Tensei pouts. “Telling you about her defeats the purpose of a blind date!”

“You never said blind—what the fuck, Tensei?” Nemuri gives him a baffled look. “Look, just give me her number, I can text her and set something up.”

Tensei just grins. “Trust me on this one, it’s gonna be great.” She huffs and digs into her noodles. She’ll nag him about the number later.

Hizashi sighs and rests his chin in his hands. “Imagine if the public knew how hard we have to work to get you, the R-Rated Hero, laid. We really are the best of friends.”

Tensei nods gravely, trying to suppress his smile. “We work so hard for you, Nem.”

“I’m going to kill you both slowly and painfully,” she mumbles around a mouthful of food. They just laugh.

God, she has weird friends. She loves them, though.

Milf Hunter Support Group

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: @dommy mommy Guess who’s open to dating women!!!

dommy mommy: you flatter me tensei but i dont think we’d work out

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: God damn it

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: No it's the daycare lady!!

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: I talked to her about setting you two up and she’s super excited!!

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Clear your schedule for friday at 7 because you’ve got a hot date thanks to your best wingman

dommy mommy: wh

dommy mommy: i dont need help getting a date you were just supposed to get her number for me dumbass!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: ITS NOT A BLIND DATE IF YOU SET IT UP NEMMY!!

dommy mommy: its not supposed to be a blind date

dommy mommy: motherfuckers

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Well it is now

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: its gonna be so romantic!!!! Shes gonna walk in and see you for the first time and be BLOWN AWAY!!!

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: We were both early for pick up today and got to talk for a while, I really think you two would get along

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: She doesn’t get a whole lot of time bc of her boy but Tenya wanted a playdate this friday so I’m gonna have the boys all evening and she’s free to be wined and dined

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: And even if it doesn't work out as a date she’s looking for friends too!

dommy mommy: ugh fine i’ll go on the stupid date that you set up FOR me, MOTHER

dommy mommy: which one of you fuckers is taking my shift friday

catboi: i will

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WAIT REALLY?!?!?

dommy mommy: whoa for real??

catboi: dont mention it

catboi: ever

dommy mommy: thanks sho mwah!!! You get first dibs on all the post-date gossip

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: HEY THATS MY THING

dommy mommy: and youre really slacking off

dommy mommy: ten got me a date and sho is taking my shift what have you done zashi

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: UHHH MORAL SUPPORT??? CLEARLY????

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Okay I confirmed the date with her, you better blow her out of the water! She deserves a nice time

dommy mommy: oh that i can do ;)

dommy mommy has changed their name to mommy dommy

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Nem no!! I have to talk to her like every day you can't!!!

mommy dommy: ;)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: MILF TIME HELL YEAH!!!!!!

catboi: zashi

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: He yelling again?

catboi: obviously

mommy dommy: how have you not been fired already

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: ITS PART OF MY CHARM!!!

“There were supposed to be three people here, Eraser,” Nemuri groans, slamming her elbow into a man’s temple. The move gives her just enough time to wrap a hand around his mouth and give him a quick, concentrated dose of her quirk before he can recover. She drops the body like a sack of potatoes onto the cement floor. “And I swear to god, can I not have one day off?”

“Suspect’s quirk is unknown and you’re the agency’s top capture specialist,” Shota grunts, yanking his capture scarf and sending the man wrapped up in it flying. Nemuri rolls her eyes and dodges a fist of stone swinging toward her face.

“I’m just saying, I gave them a week’s notice; they couldn’t make sure they had anyone else on call for capture missions? Really?” Nemuri’s whip catches the stone man she’s dancing around right in the forehead — he doesn’t go down, but he does stumble into the wall and leave a nice dent.

“Would you shut the fuck up!?” a red-haired woman growls, lunging for Nemuri. She’s been giving her a bit of trouble this whole fight. She seems to have some sort of agility quirk; she’s incredibly fast, and her go-to move has been getting several jabs in the hero’s exposed stomach before backing off and letting others step in.

When there were others to step in, of course.

The woman glances around the warehouse and screams in frustration, kicking one of the unconscious bodies near her feet. “IDIOTS!”

Nemuri smirks and contemplates the enraged villain before her. She’s fast, but it seems to have a drawback — she’s heaving with exertion. Perfect. Breathing problems and gas quirks go hand in hand.

Nemuri focuses her quirk on her back, pumping out sleeping gas between her skin and the trench coat she wears — the only clothing she has on, really, and just enough to hide what she’s doing. As the woman lunges, Nemuri spins and flourishes her coat like a matador, leaving a thick cloud of purple mist where she stood moments before. The woman runs right through it, stumbles for several feet, and collapses.

“Nuked the east side of the room,” Nemuri calls out as the mist loses form and begins sinking to her feet, crawling slowly outward. “Careful.”

Shota doesn’t respond, but she trusts he heard her warning. She scans the warehouse for more villains. This was supposed to be quick and easy, a small drug trade they could interrupt and nab their guy, bring him in for questioning, but their info must have been faulty because the place was full. Now the warehouse floor is strewn with unconscious bodies and groaning lackeys and the Red Rouges are going to know for sure the heroes were here.

The three remaining goons are duking it out with Shota across the room. She’s pretty sure one of them is that stone guy, but with his quirk now deactivated. She’s stepping forward to help when the squeak of a rusty hinge grabs her attention.

Nemuri turns and makes brief eye contact with a man in an everyday business suit and askew wireframe glasses — completely out of place amongst the bruisers littering the building. There’s a beat of hesitance before he throws the cracked door open and bolts.

“Got a runner, I’m in pursuit!” Nemuri calls out as she breaks into a sprint.

“Quirk?” Shota’s voice crackles in her com unit as she bursts into an alleyway, head flicking left and right. There!

“Unknown, might be our guy,” she grunts, taking off after the retreating figure, boots crunching on long-broken glass and dirty newspapers. The fleeing man is stumbling and panicked and it’s easy to catch up to him even in the short span of the dirty alley.

“Be careful,” Shota responds.

“When am I not?” Nemuri snarks as she pulls her whip back and sends the leather straight toward the man’s ankles. He crashes face-first into the dirty asphalt, inches from the end of the alley.

“Awful naughty of you, trying to run!” Nemuri sing-songs as she halts above the man, placing one boot firmly on his back. He’s wiggling pathetically like it might help free him somehow.

“Alright, let’s get you ready for the boys in blue, huh? They’ve got a lot of questions for you.” Nemuri pulls the spindly man’s hands behind his back and wraps her whip around his wrists as a temporary makeshift cuff. When she’s done, she moves her foot from his back to his side and rolls him over with a light kick.

The man stares up at her in alarm, glasses now cracked and once-combed hair sticking in all directions. The fear in his brown eyes is a sharp contrast to the angry henchmen-types that fill the warehouse and the ranks of the Red Rouges. This has to be their guy. Figures some skinny pencil-pusher was the reason the police couldn’t identify anyone from Red Rouge crime scenes. Ugh.

“Nighty-night, buddy. See you in interrogation,” Nemuri mutters, reaching out and cupping her hand around his mouth, Somnambulist already spilling from her fingers. The fear in the man’s eyes crystalizes into desperation and he starts thrashing more, but she’s got him pinned.

There’s nothing he can—

Oh, come ON, Nemuri thinks as a wet tongue runs across the palm of her hand. Fucking nasty. Should have tied his mouth, too.

She yanks her hand away and wipes it on her trench coat. Ew. She turns her palm over carefully, looking for signs of quirk use — it’d be just her luck if this guy actually had acid spit or something — but there’s nothing there.

“Ugh, gross,” Nemuri mumbles. “Why do I always find the weird—”

She cuts off, staring down at the man already snoozing on the ground.

He...doesn’t have a face?

No, that’s not right; he has a face, it’s just...in pieces? No, no, it’s all there but it’s — agh! Nemuri rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand and then looks again. Nope, still happening. It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope, except nothing is moving and everything is technically normal, her brain just can’t process it. She can see that he has features, can see a thin nose and a half-open mouth and straight teeth and crooked glasses, but they refuse to combine in her head. She’s... pretty sure it’s the same guy. The glasses are familiar.

Nemuri glances up and into the street. There’s barely anyone out there, given the area of town they’re in and the setting sun, but she manages to spot one man sitting on a stoop close enough to make out his face. It’s a useless collage of features as well, eyes and mouth and nose and brow and wrinkles and nothing piecing together the way it should. She can tell he’s looking her over, though, and a brow raises — she knows what that means. She’s seen enough people give her questioning looks when they see her hero costume of barely more than a string bikini. So sue her for having a skin-based quirk!

Nemuri stares at the man, trying to see if she can brute force her brain into putting together the expression she knows he’s making. He looks away quickly.

“I hate quirks,” Nemuri tells the evening air. It doesn’t have much to say on the subject. She sighs and bends over. With a grunt, Nemuri hauls her captive over her shoulder and makes her way back inside the warehouse.

Inside, she’s greeted by the sight of someone in Eraserhead’s costume quickly and methodically zip tying the wrists and ankles of a dozen people sprawled across the floor. She approaches the nearest one and nudges them onto their back. Given the feminine body and the red jacket, she’s sure that it’s the woman she’d just taken down, but the face means nothing to her.

“Freaky,” she mutters, poking the woman’s cheek with the toe of her boot.

“Problem?” The person in Eraserhead’s clothes grunts. Nemuri stares at him, too.

It...looks like her friend? Maybe? It’s definitely his hero costume. At least his voice, low and bored, sounds the same, as grumpy as ever.

“Shota?” she asks, just in case.

Probably-Shota immediately stiffens, hands hovering over his capture weapon and eyes narrowing. Eyes that aren’t connected to any other part of his face. Eyes that don’t seem to have a color. Well, they have a color, she just can’t—ugh! This sucks.

She knows what narrowed eyes mean, even if it’s not registering in her brain, and combined with the way her friend’s gaze is darting around the room but always keeping her in his eyesight screams of being on edge.

“Well, I’m pretty sure we got the guy responsible for witnesses failing to identify a single Red Rouge member,” Nemuri jokes before Shota kills her for being an imposter or something. She drops the man on the floor with a huff.

His eyes narrow further. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just—okay, you know how your brain is always seeing faces in stuff like buildings and cars?” He nods tentatively. “It’s like the opposite of that. I just...can’t see faces?”

Shota’s eyebrows raise. It takes Nemuri a second to comprehend what that means. God, this is trippy.

Shota nods slowly. “...I’ve called in the arrests. There should be medical aid coming soon.” He kneels down and examines the unconscious businessman at their feet. “What was the activation?”

“He licked my hand, so probably saliva. That or he’s just a freak,” she huffs. “If it keeps its quirked properties after separating from him, it’d be easy for the Rogues to coat some gloves or get a mist and make sure everyone at a crime scene got dosed so they can’t be identified.”

Shota grunts. Even on a normal day, it’s only thanks to years of friendship that Nemuri can discern his subtle emotional tells. She feels like she’s missing half of them now, but she’d put money on him not being pleased, at least. She suddenly understands why so many people have trouble reading him; his voice alone gives away absolutely nothing.

“There should be a quirk specialist at the hospital that can look you over,” he says as he begins zip tying the man.

“Eh, it’s not a big deal. We know it wears off; no one from previous scenes said anything about it.”

“And that’s a problem, Nemuri,” Shota insists, hoisting himself back up and looking her in the eye. She can see eyes, eyelids, crinkles of skin, but no matter how hard she squints they don’t fit together like she knows they should. “They were probably using some sort of refinement of his quirk to not leave obvious tracks, but you’ve been hit by the source. We don’t know anything about its effects.”

He sounds...concerned, right? She’s pretty confident that’s concern. Damn his monotone. “Aw, thanks for caring, but I’m not gonna keel over and die because I can’t see faces, Sho!”

It’s unsettling to be so unsure of how he’s responding, so she falls back on a decade of friendship and just punches his shoulder. Shota’s brows scrunch downward - angry? Confused? She can’t tell. “Don’t you have a date tonight?”

Nemuri jolts. “Oh, shit! Fuck, thanks for reminding me; I’m taking the agency car! Get a ride home with the officers or something!” She makes a beeline for the door behind them.

“That’s not what I—Nemuri, you were hit by a quirk! ” her friend’s voice growls after her. He can’t leave the people they’ve caught unattended, though, and she’s already out the door.

“Thanks so much, Sho! You’re a real one! I’ll tell you about the date later!” she calls.

“Nemuri, I swear to god—”

The door cuts off his words. Nemuri is already half-jogging around the building, trying to find the street they’d parked the car on. Fuck, between travel time and traffic she has maybe fifteen minutes to get ready…

“Sorry, sorry, coming through!” Nemuri pushes through the busy evening crowd on the sidewalk outside her favorite restaurant, hopping on one foot as she tries to put on her other heel. Five minutes late, but that’s not too bad, right? She staggers up to the door and takes a brief second to pause and collect herself. 

Black heels, check. Her nice black dress — the sheath one with the slit that really shows off her thighs and the tastefully low shoulder cut — check. Clutch with money to pay for everything (she’s no slouch and hero pay is great) — check. Makeup — done in the car mirror in the parking garage, but technically check. It was a little odd to do when it felt like her own face was disconnected and floaty, but you can’t fuck up a nice smokey eye too badly. Probably. She hadn’t had time to do much with her hair, which is finally long enough to style again after she cut it in her third year at UA, but after a quick brush it feels perfectly fine so she just leaves it down like she only does in her hero costume. She usually keeps it in a ponytail while in civilian clothes, but she can make an exception for a date.

Nemuri takes a deep breath, shakes the nerves out of her arms, and saunters through the fancy doors.

She’d had Tensei set up a reservation at the Kazahana as soon as he confirmed the date, and she’s fully aware that her status as a rising Pro Hero is the only reason she was able to get something within a week’s notice at such a high-end establishment. Well, that and she’s on friendly terms with the staff by now. She loves this place and tries to come often, but it’s usually booked out at least a month.

Nemuri steps inside and smiles at the host, whom she can’t recognize, and it suddenly occurs to her that Shoto may have been warning her about her date, not reminding her.

Well, she’s already here. She can’t cancel.

“Hello, Miss Kayama!” The host’s mouth stretches upward, showing teeth — a grin? She has no idea which staff member it is, but they clearly recognize her.

She settles on generic friendliness for her response. “Hey! How do I look? I’m a little late.” She fights the urge to wipe at her mascara — she’s already checked it in the mirror, it’s fine.

“Lovely as ever! Heard you have a date tonight. Let’s get you to her, hm? And good luck!” The man eagerly gestures to follow him. Nemuri obediently winds through the dimly lit restaurant, relaxing in the familiar warm, earthy tones of the interior design. By the time they reach a small, semi-private table tucked in the back, she feels much less anxious.

It’s been a while, so what? I’m Pro Hero Midnight! I can handle a date!

The woman seated at the table sees them coming and perks up, giving a small, adorable wave. The light blue of her dress makes her naturally eye-catching in the darker, upscale restaurant.

“Here you are! A server will be with you shortly. Have a wonderful night, ladies!” The host bows briefly, winks at Nemuri, and leaves.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” Nemuri immediately begins explaining as she slides into her seat across from her date. “There was a bit of a work emergency and I didn’t realize it would take so long. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

The woman’s mouth twists up, her eyes scrunching at the edges. It takes a bit of focus on Nemuri’s part to try and translate the disparate parts into an expression — hopefully not annoyance?

“Oh, it’s no problem! It’s only been a few minutes. Though I had no idea this place would be so fancy! I feel a bit underdressed…,” Her eyes flicker across Nemuri’s sleek black dress, red blooming on her cheeks.

Nemuri takes in the woman. She’s on the short side and has green hair, done up in an elaborate up-do with curls framing her face (she keeps tucking one side behind her ear in a cute nervous tic). Her voice is lilting, gentle, and incredibly pleasant to listen to. Her blue babydoll dress is covered in polka dots, a sash around the waist emphasizing her curves. She’s the kind of soft that makes you want to touch and hold. Her words are warm and friendly, and there’s something about her eyes that Nemuri can’t put her finger on, that keeps drawing her back to them; something that isn’t clicking…

God, she wishes she could see her face fully, but everything else about this woman is beautiful. Damn, Tensei, I really owe you one.

“I think you look gorgeous,” Nemuri says, voice low and genuine. The woman’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn an even darker red. That’s positive, right? She can’t be sure, everything is twisty—

“Th-thank you! You, um, you do as well,” the woman stammers, not quite looking at her. Her hands fidget nervously and she seems to be having trouble looking at Nemuri’s dress, which is a bit odd; she’s used to wearing revealing clothing and having all eyes on her, drinking her up, but something about this nervous attempt not to gawk —  presumedly out of respect, even though the dress is meant for her date — has her melting.

Nemuri grins. “Ah, where are my manners? I’m Nemuri Kayama! It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh! I’m Inko Midoriya, it’s nice to finally meet you! Iida has been talking you up for a while.” She tucks a loose curl behind her ear again.

“All good things, I hope?” Nemuri drawls. “Wouldn’t want to scare you off before we’ve even started.”

Inko laughs, some of the tension melting from her shoulders. “No, no, it’s all been great! He seems like a really good friend.”

“He is.” And he's getting bonus points for this.

Nemuri decides to focus on body language, still stumbling over the mental gymnastics she’s doing to try piecing a facial expression together. Inko is very expressive, always moving in some way, fidgeting or shuffling despite her nerves having calmed somewhat. It makes getting a read on her a lot easier (and it’s adorable).

Nemuri finds herself still staring into the woman’s eyes. Something is nagging at the back of her brain, desperately trying to get out, but she still can’t place it…

“You know, you look familiar,” Inko hums. “What do you do for a living? Maybe we’ve met in passing? I’ve had sort of a wild few months, sorry!”

Nemuri yanks herself back into the present. Shit, she recognizes her? Not a good sign. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m an infamous Pro Hero’ isn’t exactly the best foot to start any potential relationship on. Nemuri’s dealt with enough gold diggers, weirdos, and people in it for the clout to know this isn’t a first date topic. Especially if she might recognize her — she hasn’t become a recognizable name yet, despite her PR team’s best efforts, but the circles she is known in aren’t necessarily...dating material. People interested in Pro Hero Midnight tend to be people who don’t care for Nemuri.

She looks Inko over. She really doesn’t seem like the type to be a Midnight fan, but she could surprise her. Still, it’s more likely she’s rescued her at some point, which is just as bad. Hero-worship is also a great way to ruin any potential for a relationship.

She’s just met the woman, but damn it, Nemuri is already aiming for a second date, and she’s not going to fuck it up now with weird power imbalances. She wants to be on a normal date as a normal woman having a great time with someone who isn’t trying to use her for something for once.

Is that too much to ask?

“I’m a secretary at a hero agency,” falls from her mouth. It’s a good lie. She can know about the industry, for work talk or in case she slips, but she’s not an important person anyone might want to know.

Inko clasps her hands together in delight and for a second Nemuri is sure she’s flown too close to the sun with her falsehood, but then the woman squeals, “Oh, my son just adores heroes!”

A bark of laughter breaks from Nemuri’s chest in her relief. “Well, I’d say the little guy has good taste, but I think I’m a bit biased myself.”

Inko’s mouth is stretched upward, but after a second it falls and she slaps a hand over it.

Through her fingers she mumbles, “Oh, no, you’re not supposed to mention kids on a first date, right? Oh, oh, I’ve messed up.”

Nemuri laughs again. Inko looks good flustered, but she’d rather have her comfortable. “It’s no problem! And I kind of figured, since Tensei met you at his brother’s daycare.”

Inko groans and moves her hand to cover her whole face. “Ack, of course! I completely forgot…but, now that it’s out there…” She straightens and balls her hands into fists before looking Nemuri directly in the eye, sitting up a bit straighter. Her brows are furrowed but Nemuri can’t read the emotion, unfortunately.

“My son is my entire world, so if you aren’t interested in a child being involved, this will have to be just a nice evening between friends. He comes first in everything in my life, and that is going to include any relationship or dating.”

Nemuri does her very best not to melt under the determination and love radiating from this woman. It takes her a moment to formulate a response.

“N-no, that’s perfectly understandable! I’m not the best with kids, but I think they’re great. I thought about being a teacher for a while, even.” She offers a soft smile. “Your little guy is very lucky to have a mother that loves him so much.”

Inko ducks her head, dark red dusting her cheeks and fidgeting like she’s embarrassed about her impassioned outburst. “H-he’s my everything. I don't know what I’d do without him.” Her voice is soft and full of love. The kid really is lucky.

Before Nemuri can respond, their waiter arrives with a gruff, “Good evening, ladies. Are you ready to order?”

Nemuri smiles. She knows that voice — she doesn’t know many people with one that deep. Finally, something to tell all these uniforms apart.

“Evening, Tokaji!”

She raises a brow at Inko — are you ready?

Inko stares at her menu for a moment, eyes wide. “Oh!” she mutters, barely audible as her eyes scan the page. “This place is fancy!”

Nemuri chuckles. “Don’t worry about anything, it’s my treat. I have to do something with all this corporate money and they certainly don’t give me enough time off to spend it well. We both deserve to be pampered a bit, I think.”

Inko smiles, cheeks still red. “I’ll have the, uh, the sushi platter?”

“Great choice!” Tokaji nods, scribbling on his notepad. “And you?”

“My usual and a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc to share. Top shelf.”

“I’ll have those right out for you, ladies,” Tokaji says as he takes their menus.

“Thank you so much!” Inko smiles at him as he leaves.

Nemuri leans forward, chin resting on her intertwined fingers. They’ve already stumbled into two sensitive topics — children and money — but there doesn’t seem to be too much tension. Inko is still fiddling with her hands, but it seems less nervous and more just something she does while thinking.

Her mannerisms are cute and innocent, but that dress is sinfully short. Nemuri wishes she’d gotten more than a peak of those thighs before sitting down.

She brushes her straying thoughts aside and smiles. “So, I heard you’re new in town?”

“Oh, yes! We moved here for...well, a change of scenery? A new start, I guess. It’s been a long time coming and it’s been lovely so far, if a bit stressful to do on my own.” Inko explains. She smiles and Nemuri senses something else in her words, but she can’t read it from her face.

“Well, if you ever need help, I’d be glad to,” she offers. “Or you can let Tensei know, he’d have an army for you within the hour.”

“That’s good to know! He does seem to enjoy making new friends.” Inko giggles behind her hand and Nemuri’s heart flutters in her chest; oh, that’s adorable. “How long have you known each other?”

Nemuri leans back, grinning. “Ah, I’ve known that dork since high school. Trust me, he’s not as cool as he seems!”

That gets a laugh, bright and carefree. It’s a sound Nemuri instantly wants to hear again.

“How long have you lived here?” Inko asks, fingers now playing with her napkin, folding it into careful shapes.

“It’s been, ah, six years now? I moved for school and just never left. Fell in love with the area and made some of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!”

The conversation comes smoothly and easily. It’s easily one of the best dates Nemuri’s ever been on — they seemed to click immediately, both getting sucked into passionate discussion about random things.

She hoards every bit of information she learns about Inko, like that she’s thinking about going back to law school, she’s a recent divorcee (“I could sic some heroes on him? I have friends.” “Oh, I appreciate the thought, but please don’t! I’d rather just not have to think about him anymore.”), she likes to cook even if she’s just average at it, she loves volunteer work, her hobbies are mostly craft-based.

In turn, Nemuri finds herself sharing things that took her best friends years to learn. She’s terrified of heights, her first dog was named Noodles, she’s been taking night classes for an Art History degree (“I don’t need it, I just...always loved it, you know? I just wanted to take the classes. But I might as well get the degree if I’m this far in, right?”), she’s known she was gay since fifth grade, she loves karaoke nights with friends but can never find the time these days.

Nemuri almost forgets they’ve just met. She could talk with Inko for days and never tire of it. The way she sees the world, explaining things so vastly different than Nemuri would, has her head spinning. She has the most fascinating perspective on things, finding meaning in the small things Nemuri so often skims over. She’s adamant that there’s a cookie for every emotion. She likes that muddy time between spring and winter because she likes to find the first buds of the season and keep track of them all year. She’s named all the stray cats in her neighborhood, delightedly recounting how she finally got one to trust her enough for a visit.

It’s also fun to tease her, and after Inko’s settled some more, she gives as good as she takes. Wine and a few well-timed innuendos have settled a satisfying flush across her collarbone that Nemuri keeps finding her eyes drifting to. She blames it on the difficulty of making eye contact when eyes kind of just...mean nothing right now. Though something about Inko’s are still drawing her in, she’s missing something...

As soon as they’ve stopped picking at their food, meal stretched out by their conversation, Tokaji swoops in like a hawk and clears the table. He’s barely gone for a moment before returning with a small plate.

“Dessert for you lovely ladies, on the house.”

Tokaji sets the plate of yokan down between them. He leaves only one pair of chopsticks, winks at Nemuri, and vanishes again. He remembered me joking about the chopsticks trick. God, I love this place.

While Inko is cooing over a jelly square that has a fish imprinted inside, Nemuri snags the chopsticks. She selects a rose-shaped yokan and dangles it in the air between them, a smirk on her face.

“First bite?” she asks innocently. “They’re very good.”

When Inko reaches out to take the utensils from her, Nemuri darts them just out of reach.

“Please, allow me,” she purrs.

She’s perfectly ready to tease this gorgeous woman, feeding her sweets by hand. She wishes she could see the look on her face while she eats, savor those expressions, but she’s a bit limited right now. She’ll just have to hold out for date two, she supposes. It’s not a big deal.

Except maybe it is, because she gets zero warning from the woman’s face before Inko reaches out and snatches the jelly with her fingers. She pops it in her mouth triumphantly.

If she’s reveling in having outsmarted Nemuri’s tried and true move, Nemuri wouldn’t know, because she’s too busy watching a pink tongue lick jelly from delicate fingers. Her mouth feels very dry all of a sudden.

She clears her throat and tries to calm the warmth she can feel in her cheeks. Stop it, Nemuri, you’re a whole ass adult, not a horny teenager!

“They really are delicious,” Inko hums. Nemuri only realizes the chopsticks have been stolen from her when Inko levels another yokan in front of her. “Try it, Kayama.”

Okay, now I understand why that move always works, Nemuri thinks dumbly. She obediently opens her mouth and lets Inko feed her the sweet jelly.

She groans, half from the burst of flavor and half to wrestle back some control in this delightful back and forth.

Sure enough, Inko’s cheeks flush with color again.

They end up taking turns, voices low and tempting between sweet treats. Nemuri would give her right leg to be able to read her expressions right now, but she’s enraptured nonetheless. This is her favorite game and she’s positively buzzing with energy.

When Nemuri tries to coyly bite a jelly in half, she’s caught off guard by a scandalized gasp. “Kayama! You bit his head off!”

She looks down. She’s bitten the cube with the little fish shape inside. Sure enough, she’s cleanly severed the fish’s head. Inko pressed her hand to her chest in exaggerated dismay.

Nemuri throws her head back and laughs.

God, this woman.

Neither of them seem to realize how much time has passed until there’s a ringing from Inko’s bag. She stammers an apology and pulls out her phone.

“Oh! It’s Iida, I — I should take this.” She throws Nemuri an apologetic smile.

“No worries! I was going to head to the restroom anyway, you make sure nothing’s wrong with your boy,” she assures her.

Inko thanks her profusely as she picks up. As she heads towards the bathrooms, Nemuri catches a “No, we’re still — yes, we’re still at the restaurant! ...well I wasn’t going to not answer!” and shakes her head in amusement.

As she’s washing her hands in the bathroom, Nemuri examines herself in the mirror. She can't really tell what she looks like, but she can feel the ache in her cheeks from smiling and remember the electric buzz of excitement from flirting — especially with someone who keeps her on her toes like Inko does.

She jabs a finger at her reflection, accidentally flicking water onto the surface. "You are not letting this one slip through your fingers, Nemuri."

Satisfied with her pep talk, she dries her hands and heads back to the table. Inko is grinning at her phone in her hands, apparently now on a video call.

"That's great, baby! I’m so glad you’re having fun!" she hears as she approaches. Inko glances up and sees her, blushing and giving a little wave. "Okay, hun, Kayama’s back, I’ve gotta go. You'll probably be asleep when Mommy picks you up, so I'm gonna say goodnight now, okay sweetie?"

There’s a small huff from the phone before a high-pitched voice, slightly distorted by the speaker, complains, “But Miss ‘Yama doesn’t have to say ‘night…”

Inko snorts. “Miss Kayama is a grown-up, sweetie. She doesn’t need to say goodnight to anyone.”

Nemuri winks at Inko as she sits back down across from her, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself in bed.”

Inko’s cheeks turn bright red. She sputters a little. Nemuri grins, eating it up.

A distressed voice interrupts them. “Miss ‘Yama doesn’t have anyone to say ‘night to?!” There’s a commotion in the background and Nemuri could swear she hears Tensei’s laugh. “Can I say ‘night to Miss ‘Yama?”

Inko absolutely melts, grinning dopily at her phone. “Oh, baby, that’s so sweet of you, but I think she’s fine—”

“I can say goodnight, it’s no trouble.” Nemuri offers, against her better judgment

It’s going to be, what, two sentences? She can’t fuck that up too bad. It’s just a kid. They’re not that scary. She’d handled that coffee shop kid, no sweat! This is fine.

She stands up and moves to lean over Inko’s shoulder, putting herself in the frame and getting a good view of the screen. She takes the opportunity to lay a hand on Inko's back — Inko startles before leaning into the touch, shooting Nemuri a look she can’t decipher right now but hopes is good.

The video on the phone screen is angled awkwardly, held way too close to the face of a little kid in an All Might onesie that is two sizes too big. The only visible part of his face is his bright smile and his eyes, thanks to one pudgy hand holding the hood up just enough for him to see.

As soon as Nemuri is on screen, the kid squeals and the video becomes a blur and a loud clattering before they’re staring at a wonderful view of the ceiling. Inko shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

There’s some commotion on the other end, something about ‘the pretty lady’ — kids are hilarious, maybe she’s been missing out — before the video straightens itself. It’s clear that someone else is holding the phone, now; they can see the entirety of the boy and his floppy onesie. There’s another kid next to him with an Ingenium onesie on, little slits cut in the calves for his growing engines. She knows it’s little Tenya, but with the lack of facial recognition and the costume, all she can see is a very tiny Ingenium. She holds back the teasing; Tensei can wait until tomorrow, she has more important things on her mind. She shifts her hand, grazing Inko’s side, and the woman just leans in further.

Tensei’s voice says, “Okay, you two, say goodnight!”

Mini-All Might bounces excitedly, gripping the fabric of his pajamas, while Mini-Ingenium waves his arms around dramatically.

“G’night!” the two boys echo. The camera whips around to reveal who she assumes is Tensei.

“Have a great end to your date, you two! Sorry for interrupting!” He waves and the call ends.

Inko tucks her phone away, fidgeting again but in high spirits. “Sorry about that! That probably wasn’t very...date-like.”

As cute as the light embarrassment is, Nemuri needs to nip that train of thought in the bud immediately. “I’d never ask you to ignore your son! Plus, he’s a cutie — that was great. He seems like a happy kid.”

Nemuri straightens, running her fingers down Inko’s arm as she reluctantly pulls her hand back. She doesn’t want the date to be over, but, well. It’s also been perfect, and she’s not going to ruin it by dragging it out too long. Still…

“They’ve probably already run my card, it’s on file, so we’re good to go. Could I walk you to your train?”

Inko ducks her head and smiles. “That’d be great, actually.”

They leave the restaurant with a quick goodbye to the host at the door and step into the slight chill of the early evening. The lights of the city have been turned on, layering buildings in the soft, multicolored light of signs and shop windows.

They haven’t even made it past the Kazahana’s front windows before Inko reaches out and latches onto Nemuri’s arm, intertwining their fingers and resting her head against her shoulder. Her other hand grips Nemuri’s forearm, running her fingers up and down in absent patterns.

Inko’s face is a bit rosy, but she’s staring ahead stoically, so it might just be the chill. Nemuri takes her lead and doesn’t comment, just leans in and squeezes her hand. She can feel the heat in her own cheeks, the ache in them from smiling all evening.

They don’t say much as they walk. Nemuri really does feel like a teenager right now, dumbstruck when a pretty girl holds her hand, but that’s also not quite what’s going on. It’s just... comfortable.

They walk slowly through the waves of people, side by side. Nemuri makes a few comments about strangers they pass just to get a laugh from Inko, who responds by making up little stories about their lives, but other than that, it’s a content silence, just enjoying each other’s company.

She could do this for hours, basking in this woman’s warmth.

Unfortunately, the train station is barely a half-hour away, even at their meandering pace.

Nemuri walks Inko all the way to the gates before coming to a reluctant halt. Inko pulls away but doesn’t let go of their held hands, looking up at her. Nemuri really wishes she could tell what expression she was making; she hopes the smile is a good enough indicator.

“I had a great time tonight, Kayama,” Inko says softly.

“Call me Nemuri,” she blurts out.

Inko blushes prettily. “Then call me Inko.”

“I hope we can do this again soon?” Nemuri offers. “I have enough dirt on Tensei to get a lot of free babysitting for the little guy.”

Inko laughs, squeezing their fingers together. “I’d really like that, Nemuri.”

Nemuri smiles stupidly down at her. She hasn’t let go of their hands yet, and Nemuri isn’t going to be the first, so she just stands there, enjoying the softness in her hands.

Inko is staring at her, but she can’t tell why. She bites her lip, immediately drawing Nemuri’s gaze.

Right, dates end in kisses! Hell yeah. Should she just go for it? She can’t pick up on a whole lot of body language right now, and consent is important, maybe she should—

Inko slides her free hand around Nemuri’s neck and tugs her down into a kiss.

Nemuri’s impression of Inko has been softness, and so she expects a quick peck, maybe on the cheek, and a shy smile. She’s very wrong.

They’re still in public, so it’s relatively tame, but she can feel in the way that Inko presses against her that this woman could make an absolute mess of her if she wanted. She closes her eyes, wraps her arms around her, and loses herself in it.

It’s overwhelming in all the right ways. Her lips are soft, but the nails at Nemuri’s nape are just the right amount of sharp. The soft sigh she lets out feels like a distillation of the warmth that has been building in Nemuri’s chest all evening. She smells like cinnamon.

When Inko pulls away, Nemuri follows in a trance, earning a nip on the lip that leaves her short of breath. She blinks her eyes open, hands hovering mid-air while Inko steps back, heart pounding in her chest.

“Goodnight, Nemuri,” Inko murmurs, voice as soft and teasing as her smile. She winks and passes through the gates, leaving her dazed date behind.

She stares after the woman, mouth dry and heart stuttering, and tries to piece her mind back together.

Oh, Nemuri is screwed.

A man clears his throat behind her and she snaps her heart eyes away from the corner Inko disappeared around, apologizing and stepping out of the way of the gates. Eventually, she makes her way back to the restaurant where she’d left the agency car parked, desperately trying to think about anything other than Inko.

Maybe she can stop by the store on her way to drop the car off. She’s suddenly craving cinnamon.

Milf Hunter Support Group

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Morning, how was the date nemmy?

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: Didn’t hear from you again last night, was it that good? ;)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: IS SHE STILL AT YOUR HOUSE????

mommy dommy: im going to ignore you slandering midoriya’s good name like that

mommy dommy: final warning

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: SORRY

mommy dommy: now

mommy dommy: tensei

Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine: ...yes?

mommy dommy: you

mommy dommy has changed Boeing 727 JT8D Jet Engine ’s name to world’s greatest wingman

mommy dommy: BRILLIANT bastard

world’s greatest wingman: Oh thank god

world’s greatest wingman: I got a little worried when she called me mid-date

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: SHE WHAT????

mommy dommy: unimportant

mommy dommy: ten youre best man at my wedding i cant believe youve done this

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WHAT???????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: THATS MY THING!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: I CANT LOSE THAT TO TENSEI NEMMY PLEASE

world’s greatest wingman has changed their name to World’s Greatest Wingman!

mommy dommy: you lost it when you failed to set me up with the most adorable enchantress ive ever met

mommy dommy: step up ur game

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: DO YOU NEED ANOTHER ONE????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA: I CAN FIND ANOTHER ENCHANTRESS I SWEAR

mommy dommy: god, this one might be too much for me

World’s Greatest Wingman: INKO????

World’s Greatest Wingman: No way she’s too pure!

mommy dommy: no one pure kisses like that

mommy dommy: also she has a kid tensei did we forget to give you The Talk

World’s Greatest Wingman: You know what I mean!!!

mommy dommy: cant say i do babe

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: well damn I gotta meet this lady that tamed our dragon in a single date!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: send a pic at least!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: nemmy? U there?

World’s Greatest Wingman: Hello?? @mommy dommy

mommy dommy: oh my god

mommy dommy: oh my god i dont know what she looks like

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WHAT???????????

catboi: keep it down

catboi: im napping

World’s Greatest Wingman: You’ve been reading this entire time don’t pretend

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: sorry sho!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: but WHAT??????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: you were with her all night WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!!!

World’s Greatest Wingman: I’m also confused?

catboi: she got hit by a quirk yesterday

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WHAT????????????????????????

catboi: zashi

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: ARE YOU OKAY??????

mommy dommy: im fine!!

mommy dommy: i went on the date didnt i?

mommy dommy: im a woman of my word i wasnt gonna cancel for something stupid!

World’s Greatest Wingman: Holy shit

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WHAT WAS THE QUIRK?????

mommy dommy: i just cant see faces or whatever

mommy dommy: guy was from the red rouges case

World’s Greatest Wingman: Oof ouch

mommy dommy: one sec lemme just

mommy dommy: check

mommy dommy: yeah

mommy dommy: still can’t see em didnt recognize myself in the mirror

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

World’s Greatest Wingman: Wait, you were on a whole ass date with this woman and you forgot you couldn’t even see her?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: hey tensei did you set nem up with someone with an infatuation quirk or something????

World’s Greatest Wingman: Of course not! She has a minor telekinetic quirk I swear!

World’s Greatest Wingman: Wait does the face quirk work on pictures?

World’s Greatest Wingman: [03222037.img]

mommy dommy: it does

mommy dommy: that her??

World’s Greatest Wingman: Damn you really can’t tell huh?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: WOW NICE CATCH NEMURI!!!

mommy dommy: all i can see is body language and clothes give me a break!!

mommy dommy: and she wasn’t wearing an oversized knit sweater to our date!!

mommy dommy: thats super cute tho

mommy dommy: ugh this sucks

mommy dommy: this is worse than that greek guy

mommy dommy: yknow the one stuck in that hell pool with uhhh super good apples or whatever

catboi: tantalus

mommy dommy: sure whatever

mommy dommy: that guy had it better off then me

mommy dommy: shes right there!!! and i cant see her!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: HEY SHO DID YOU GET MORE INFO ON THIS QUIRK???

catboi: if i had wouldnt i have told you

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: NO

mommy dommy: no

World’s Greatest Wingman: absolutely not

catboi: …

catboi: best estimates on the dosage put it at around 24 hours

mommy dommy: UGH THEYRE GONNA BENCH ME

World’s Greatest Wingman: rip

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: THEY ALREADY DID!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA: CHECK THE SCHEDULE!!!

mommy dommy: fuck!!!

mommy dommy: fucking pr patrols??? Ugh kill me now

catboi: ha

Nemuri hates PR patrols.

Not because she hates interacting with civilians; she’s perfectly happy to sign t-shirts and pose for pictures.

It’s the goddamn costume.

She’s had her underground costume since her third year at UA. She’s gotten used to fighting with nothing restricting her and the fullness of her quirk at her disposal. Having to wear this skin-tight full body suit of ‘breathable fabric’ (it barely lets her quirk out, damn it) for ‘protection’ has her feeling vulnerable and, ironically, naked. The obstruction of her quirk makes her feel like a villain is going to catch her with her pants down at any moment. At least they let her keep her trench coat. Small victories.

She tries to make sure she’s always paired up with someone, just in case. She’s not going to let hang ups about nudity and her stupid PR managers keep her from helping save lives. She won’t be the reason someone fails to be saved some day.

But today she’s alone, the benching unplanned and too last minute for anyone to bother rearranging schedules other than her own.

The support they outsourced is working on the costume, but it’s slow going. Unfortunately, her gas behaves a little strangely and dislikes being filtered a great deal. The person in charge of her costume is determined to make a ‘self-healing’ fabric that Nemuri can tear and then have it seal up itself. Their notes even suggested just switching to a regular tearable outfit in the meantime, arguing that releasing the buildup of her gas on her skin could potentially make her quirk even more powerful and it’s not like she’s sacrificing any protection, but Nemuri would still have to relearn her fighting style if every use of her quirk now required an extra step and access to her hands.

So for now she’s stuck with a massive handicap whenever she’s interacting with the public. She tries not to resent it too much, but enough glares from mothers in the street at even her ‘public-friendly’ skin-tight costume make her want to scream sometimes.

Would you rather I cover up and risk not saving someone because I was too slow? She thinks as another woman haughtily redirects her daughter’s eyes. Is this more important to you than people’s lives? Really?
Nemuri keeps the smile on her face, perfectly practiced to show no sign of strain as she poses with a couple of young men as their friend takes a picture. She hopes the photo won’t show the way her nails dig into the one man’s shoulder until he moves his hand from her ass.

Maybe I should lean more into the domme thing. If people expect me to be mean, PR can’t get on my ass about it when I snap at people. Just make it sexy and suddenly everyone’s fine with it.

She’s debating how she can sell this to the nags in PR when her coms crackle to life, dropping a stone into her stomach.

“Midnight, there’s a robbery two blocks east of your location,” a voice from dispatch drawls. She stifles a groan. She’d really hoped there wouldn’t be an incident today, when she’s alone.

“I’m heading over. Any info?” She breaks into a run in the given direction, dodging around civilians that don’t clear out of her way at the sight of a sprinting hero.

“Location is a small coffee shop on the corner. Police ETA is three minutes behind you. Quirk unknown, but the suspect is armed, so a combat quirk is unlikely.”

The dispatcher continues rattling off what little information he has while she runs. It doesn’t take long to find the disturbance. There are several small groups of people on the sidewalk, all watching some windows across the street with wide eyes. Nemuri doesn’t understand why they think crossing the street makes them safe from a gun, but whatever. She has plenty of training in dealing with civilians.

“Everyone, clear out! Heroes are on the scene!” she calls out. There’s a lot of relieved muttering and even more not listening to her instructions, but she doesn’t have time for that. Let the police shepherd the gawkers around, she has people to save.

Nemuri approaches the store cautiously. There’s some glare on the windows, but she can still make out the inside. She counts at least five other people inside beside the assailant; 2 workers and 3 customers. No, wait — six people. A mother is shielding her son behind her body.

The robber isn’t intentionally holding them hostage, it seems. He’s waving his gun about but mostly just forcefully insisting a barista empty the registers into his backpack. The girl behind the counter is complying with shaky hands and wide eyes. The customers inside look like they were just on the wrong side of the shop when the man had pulled the gun and didn’t risk running past him to the door when the others fled. It left more people in danger, but it’s better in the long run; there’s no way to know if the man could have been spooked and hurt someone if they’d moved.

If it had been a legitimate hostage situation, she would have found some vents and started releasing non-visible amounts of her quirk until everyone was conked out. The hostage team loves her. As it is, she doesn’t want to waste time crawling around vents or looking for a potential back entrance with that gun being swung around so freely, so Nemuri makes a split-second decision to abandon stealth and opens the door.

The soft tinkle of the bell has every head in the building turning toward her, the man with the gun turning around entirely. There’s a wave of relief from the civilians and the would-be robber’s eyes go wide.

“Hello!” Nemuri calls out pleasantly, keeping her pace casual and making eye contact with the barista. “How many shots of espresso are you allowed to put in a coffee? I’ve had a bit of a day and it’s barely one o’clock.”

The gun is shakily turned to her. Not ideal, but all she cares about is that it’s no longer pointed at innocents. The man holding it grits his teeth. Nemuri notes that his mouth seems connected to his face in a normal way, which she hasn’t seen much of since getting quirked. It makes reading the tension around his mouth easier, looking for signs that he might act.

“S-stop! Don’t move!” he yells at her. Nemuri halts and raises an eyebrow, then her hands when he demands that as well. Her entry had thrown him off enough that she’d gotten pretty close to him before being stopped.

“Hurry up and put the money in the goddamn bag!” The man growls at the barista filling his backpack. She looks on the verge of tears now, but less shaky than before Nemuri had entered. Having a gun trained on you will do that to you.

Nemuri watches the man closely. She’s two steps away — she needs to be fast. When the barista hands the backpack over, the man turns his head to face her; Nemuri sees the twitch of his eyes, dark brown and connected to his nose that flows into the straining muscles around his snarl. She sees the exact moment he loses track of her and strikes.

In the blink of an eye, she ducks to the side, grabbing the barrel in one hand. A swift chop to his wrist and the gun is turned toward him, loosening his grip enough for her to easily disarm him. He shouts in alarm, jerking back, but she follows through with her striking hand and grabs his face, pumping her gas from her palm. A couple of seconds of struggle and he’s on the floor.

There’s a beat of silence before the man lets out a long snore. Nemuri flips the safety and pockets the gun and zip-ties the man in a few rough movements before she’s swept up in a hug. She startles and nearly elbows her in the gut, but thankfully recognizes her as the counter girl.

“Thank you so mu-u-u-uch!” the girl sobs as she pulls away. She’s trying to get a hold of herself and failing, hands shaking. Nemuri rubs her back and mumbles comforting nonsense while she stares at her face.

She’d recognized her.

The features are slowly clicking into place, still a bit off but at least identifiable. Soft brown eyes full of tears and a small nose. Her lipstick is a bit smeared on the top lip from wiping her nose as she tries to calm down.

It’s a face. An identifiable face.

“Hey, it’s okay, let it all out,” Nemuri hums, still rubbing soothing circles on the girl’s back. “You handled the situation very well, but it was still scary!”

A siren outside lets her know the police have arrived. She turns to the girl’s coworker, a middle-aged man who looks mostly confused by his situation. “Could you take her to the first responders? They can help her calm down, I’ve gotta take care of this guy.” She jerks her chin toward the slumped figure on the floor.

The man nods slowly and begins leading his coworker out the door. As Nemuri hefts the criminal over her shoulder with a grunt, she surveys the rest of the room. A couple officers are already herding out the other four civilians. She nods to one policeman as she passes, pleased to see that she recognizes his thin mouth and bushy eyebrows.

A quick chat later and she’s left the unconscious body in the back of a police car, properly handcuffed. She glances around the scene, contained by the officers holding back curious bystanders. Time to make her rounds and check on the civilians. She’s on a PR patrol, after all—

Nemuri’s gaze lands on a familiar face and she nearly chokes.

Green!

After months of searching, she’s standing right there, hugging her son tightly in her arms and speaking softly to him. The coffee shop lady. She looks no worse for wear from her experience, thank god.

Nemuri suddenly finds herself standing right in front of the woman. Those captivating green eyes meet hers. Maybe it’s just the quirk wearing off, but she feels like she can read every emotion on her face; worry, anxiety, relief, and the underlying steel of a mother ready to protect her child.

Not a drop of recognition.

Green pokes her son, Izuku, in the side. He turns and sees Nemuri and freezes, eyes full of stars. Right. Hero fanboy.

“YOU’RE A HERO!” he shouts, vibrating in excitement. Nemuri laughs and nods, but her attention is still on Green, her mind desperately trying to find words.

Fuck, what do I say? Hi, I spent months looking for you and you’re still gorgeous but I think I just have a type because I just had a great date with another green-haired mom and I’m really looking forward to the next one so…god, I’m such a creep.

Instead of any of that, she tries a joke. “Looks like I was staking out the wrong coffee shop.” Fuck, shit, wait, that was even creepier, abort, abort—

Green’s small smile drops into an ‘o’, surprise overtaking her features.

“Nemuri?! You’re Midnight?! ” says Inko Midoriya’s voice.

Nemuri’s jaw drops. “Wait, Inko?!”

Suddenly a lot of things click into place. The hair. The son. That steel wrapped in softness and kind words. The All Might onesie. Fuck.

She feels like an idiot.

Inko’s face screws up. “Wait, coffee shop—you were—,” She pales. “Oh my god, I assaulted that man in front of a pro hero,” she wheezes, because of course that’s the first thing she thinks of.

Nemuri can’t help the burst of fondness in her chest, despite her world still rearranging around her.

“No, no, it’s fine! I’m not that strict. You were defending me, and technically he’s the one who started the altercation,” Nemuri assures her, desperately grasping at some lifeline of conversation. She’s still reeling, completely unmoored.

Inko’s having a similar meltdown, apparently. Her face is flickering through emotions rapidly, like she’s in fast-forward. In her arms, Izuku is looking back and forth between the two women with wide eyes.

“Wait, the date—why didn’t you say something?!”

R-Rated Hero Midnight blushes and turns her head away, scratching the back of her neck. She mumbles her reply under her breath.

“What?”

“I said I got hit by a quirk!”

“You got what?!” Inko shrieks. A nearby officer turns to give them a questioning look. Nemuri waves him off.

“I got hit by a quirk just before the date, I couldn’t recognize faces,” Nemuri admits miserably, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It seemed like a good idea at the time!

Inko closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She looks ready to bash her head repeatedly against the nearest hard surface.

“You got hit by a quirk. And you went. On a date.”

“...yes?”

Inko pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. Nemuri absolutely does not feel like a chastised child, because she’s an adult woman with a job and bills and taxes. Not a kid.

Speaking of kids, Izuku has decided he’s had enough of the grown-ups talking and repeats his earlier outburst. “You’re a hero!”

“Yeah, kid. Pro Hero Midnight.” She gives him a smile and pretends not to notice Inko’s blush.

Izuku’s face screws up, confusion battling raw, unfiltered excitement. “But I—I know all the heroes!”

Nemuri bites her lip to keep herself from laughing at his distressed wail. “Don’t worry, there’s a lot of heroes, kid. Even I don’t know them all, and I work with them!”

“But Mommy helped me look up all the heroes in our new home and you weren’t there!” He seems incredibly agitated by this fact, looking at his mother like she holds all the answers.

Nemuri makes eye contact with Inko, who cringes. Yeah, she understands why you wouldn’t show a baby her usual hero costume. One of the reasons the agency’s got her doing so many PR patrols in her ‘new’ one.

“Well, I’m usually an underground hero,” Nemuri half-lies. It’s her go-to with kids, steering them away from looking her up on the internet and getting in trouble. She sees Inko mouth ‘thank you’ as Izuku chews over this new information.

She continues, this time looking directly at Inko. “Sometimes heroes don’t want anyone to know who they are, so they don’t get hurt while they’re not being heroes.” Sorry for lying to you yesterday, I was being cautious.
Inko’s smile is understanding, which is a huge relief. She runs a hand through the wild green hair of her son, who is nodding frantically at Nemuri’s wisdom.

“You got a secret idenaby just like All Might!”

“Identity,” Nemuri corrects softly. It takes a lot of control to say, “Yeah, just like All Might,” with a straight face. She sort of manages.

Izuku’s eyes sparkle. “Does your quirk make people take a nap? Does it make you sleepy? Do you decide who gets sleepy? Can you make a whole lot of it? Is it just your hands? How many bad guys have you fought? Did you take ‘em to jail? Have you fought with All Might? Did you kiss my mommy? Can I be your sidekick?! I can fight bad guys with you! I’ve been practicing lots!”

Nemuri blinks, trying to catch up under the deluge of questions. “Uh…,”

She looks to an amused Inko for help and gets none. Luckily, Izuku doesn’t seem too concerned with getting his answers right now. Instead, he gasps and leans over to frantically whisper in his mother’s ear.

Inko nods, smile soft. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind! Why don’t you ask her?”

She sets him down gently, then reaches into her purse and shuffles around for a moment before pulling out a well-loved notebook and a novelty pen. The notebook is covered in crayon drawings of what is either All Might or a spiky caterpillar. The pen with the number one hero’s hair on the end.

Izuku snatches the objects and hugs them tight to his chest before looking up at her. He shuffles a bit and mumbles something inaudible to his shoes.

Nemuri crouches down to his level, drawing his eyes again. “Hey, kid, no need to get shy on me now! Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

He nods his head and holds out the notebook and pen, both oversized in his tiny hands. He gives her big, puppy-dog eyes and asks, “Please can I have a obbograph, please?”

Nemuri’s heart clenches. She would commit murder for this child.

“Of course, kiddo!” She ruffles his hair and takes the notebook, flipping to a relatively empty page — there are a LOT of drawings of All Might in there, jesus — and signs:

For my biggest little fan, never let anything dull your enthusiasm — Midnight 🖤

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Izuku squeals as she hands the notebook back, the pen tucked into the spiral binding. The little guy is trembling with excitement, grabbing his mom’s hand and tugging to get her attention — as if he’d ever lost it. “Look, Mommy, I got a name in my book!”

Inko looks at Izuku like he hung all the stars in her sky. Nemuri has only felt a sliver of this kid’s power, but she’s starting to relate. “That’s so great, honey! I’m proud of you for asking all by yourself!”

Izuku’s face turns red, but he doesn’t let it slow him down. “Can we get some Midnight toys?! She’s the coolest!” He bounces in place, wildly swinging the hand he’s clutching. “Almost as cool as All Might!”

Nemuri snorts. “Well, I don’t have a lot of merch because I’m underground” —I’m not letting a baby near my merch, nope— “but I could get you some of my friends’, Present Mic and Ingenium.”

Izuku freezes, staring at her with wide eyes. When they start to well up with tears, Nemuri panics, trying to figure out what she said, until he sobs, “You’re so cool!”

Nemuri looks at Inko, still alarmed — is this normal? She assumes the answer to that is yes, since his mother has that same fondly exasperated look she’d had that first meeting in the coffee shop. She rubs his back and shakes her head before looking back at Nemuri.

“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to—”

“Please, Hizashi and Tensei will love it! They adore kids, they’ll have no problem signing some stuff.”

Inko pales. “Wait, Iida?”

Nemuri doesn’t have much room to talk, quirk aside, but she still puts a hand on her hips and flatly says, “Inko, he has engines in his arms.”

Inko turns bright red. “There are lots of people with speed quirks!”

“Engines! In his arms!”

“There are lots of heroes, Nemuri! And I just moved here!”

“It’s been six months! And Idaten isn’t just some local agency!”

Inko puffs her cheeks out and huffs before deflating, her gaze softening. “Well. Looks like I’m going to be learning a lot more about heroes with you two around, huh?”

Nemuri’s breath catches. She likes the sound of that.

“Ma’am?” Inko startles, turning toward the officer that had spoken. “We’re ready for your statement now. If you’d follow me?”

“O-oh! Of course!” Inko takes her son’s hand and looks back at Nemuri with a soft smile. “I’ll see you later, Nemuri.”

Nemuri waves as the little green family is led away, grin still in place.

“Mommy,” she overhears Izuku say, “are you gonna marry the hero lady?”

Nemuri chokes. The officer nearest to her cackles.