[The apartment is quiet, the only sound in the place is the stove and the bubbling water. Y/N leans against the kitchen counter, waiting for ramen noodles to boil, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt]
[The sound of the front door click. Nemuri walks in, clearly tired. Y/N hears a heavy sigh–the kind that sounds like she just really need to drop onto a couch–Nemuri then falls herself into the armchair, kicking off her boots]
M!Reader : ...I'll let her change first...
[A few minutes later, shuffling footsteps right behind him. Nemuri isn't wearing her Midnight gear, just wearing her oversized clothes and lounge shorts]
[Nemuri sees him—without a word, stumbles forward, throwing her arms around his waist from behind, and resting her chin on his shoulder]
[Nemuri let out a loong groan]
Nemuri : Too tired...
[Nemuri rubs her head against his neck]
Nemuri : I took down four villains, filled paperwork, and sat through a staff meeting... I'm obligated to do this to you...
M!Reader : Chuckles, no energy for anything, huh?
Nemuri : ...I mean, not if it comes to ******* right now...
M!Reader blushing : ..Wha–i meant that as in–nevermind...
When you started dating them, you knew their work was dangerous. You braced yourself for overnight hospital stays and long recovery times. If the mission wasn't dangerous, then it meant they would be gone for weeks. Every detail of their work you could learn you did learn.
What you didn't prepare yourself for was their students. Somehow, the fact that you would become like a parental figure to these up and coming talented youth escaped your mind. After one afternoon with these kids, you are grateful that hospital stays are so easy.
At first, they are overwhelming to all your senses. Their energy is matched only by puppies and their power by grizzly bears. It doesn't matter if they are training or stopping by your place to see their teacher, they are always balls of raw energy. They always leave you exhausted.
Yet in time, the kids grow on you. Their energy starts to feel normal and less draining to you. You give advice to them that your partner is clueless about. Did you ask to become a teacher about soical skills? No, but here you are, trying to explain how to ask someone out to a clueless teenager.
You truly have a little found family and wouldn't trade it for anything.
summary: you've always been a nervous soul, especially when it comes to the more intimate parts of life. fortunately, nemuri has a solution to help you.
relationship(s): nemuri kayama (midnight) x shy GN!reader
word count: 2.1k words
warnings: !! 18+ CONTENT MINORS DNI !!
notes: a collab work with @honeyandberryjuice for our kinktober prompt list!!!
You have always known Nemuri to be a bold, brave kind of woman. Everything that you’re not — flashy, daring, eccentric, loud, unafraid to speak and be heard. So when you asked her to help you overcome some of your shyness, to help you feel a little more bold… A sex tape shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was, because who thinks a sex tape will fix anxiety? Nemuri, apparently.
“We don’t need to share it with anyone but ourselves.” Nemuri assures you with a smile as she prepares the cameras. “Which I don’t mind one bit. Call me selfish, but… I’d like to keep your delicious body to myself.” The dark-haired woman’s smile turns into a full on grin, hungry and eager. The sight is as intimidating as it is attractive.
“I dunno…” You mumble, glancing down at your hands in your lap. You fidget with your fingers and fight the urge to grimace. “I just— I don’t think I’ll look all that good, Nemuri. Especially compared to you. And what if I hate it? Or what if we do share it and other people hate it?” The thought makes a lump form in your throat. The thought of rejection and backlash is terrifying.
“That’s why we keep it to ourselves, at least for now… And as for the rest of those worries,” Nemuri walks toward you now, clearly satisfied with the camera set-up. You can see the red light flash to indicate that the device is recording, but Nemuri gives you no chance to react as she works her way onto the bed, crawling toward you and closing the space with a voice that sounds all too close to an eager purr.
She looks like a big cat ready to devour you whole, and you fully believe that she will. Nemuri has an insatiable appetite, after all. Who can blame her? She’s pretty, and again, everything you’re not. Even patient as she bridges the gap between the pair of you, her warm fingers cupping your face to make you look her in the eye.
“Well. I intend to fuck them right out of you, my dear.” Nemuri tells you, like this is just a fact, like the sky is blue and you should have always known it. She’s so certain, and she’s so confident with the way that she stares at you, your face grows warm.
The thought of her fucking anything of yours makes you feel queasy with both excitement and nervousness. It isn’t like you have never had sex before — you have experience, but a part of you also doesn’t feel like you’re experienced enough for the sheer intensity that seems to swim in Nemuri’s gaze. Nobody has ever looked at you like that, with a greedy hunger bordering on starvation that can only be quenched after she has you shivering and calling her name.
You begin to feel a throb between your thighs, a sign that tells you, despite your apprehensiveness, that you are really into the idea.
Your hair feels like it’s standing on end just from the energy in the room. You don’t have anything witty or sexy to say back to her, but instead raise your own hand to hold one of those cupping your face. Your cheeks feel horribly hot underneath her skin, but you find enough courage to lean forward to plant a feather light kiss on her lips. Nemuri kisses you back softly as if in encouragement, and you’re grateful for the grace she’s giving you.
The kiss deepens naturally, with Nemuri parting your mouth with her tongue. Her breath is hot, which sends ripples across your skin. Her hands leave your face to tangle in your hair, and while your own are shaky, you place them around her waist. You can feel the muscles underneath her clothes, and you don’t understand why you’re so surprised that they’re there — she has a fantastic body, which she’s never hesitant to show off. You suppose you might be similar if you had the same physique.
Your thoughts don’t have much time to wander before she’s gently pushing you onto your back, the softness of the mattress enveloping you. You’re unsure if that’s why you feel like you’re floating, or if it’s just because of how good a kisser she is. Her hands roam your body and you can’t help but do the same, noting that she is curvy in all the right places, her skin supple and tempting you to grab it. Your eyebrows furrow for a split second as you feel her teeth nip your lip, and you’re embarrassed as a moan escapes you.
This gives you a moment of respite, because you’re pretty sure that you’re about to pass out from the hammering of your pulse in your ears. Nemuri takes advantage of it too, rubbing her thumb along your bottom lip, swollen from the kissing. She stares down at it before catching your gaze once more, “You’re a gorgeous little thing, making such pretty sounds.” She hums, as if musing on something. “You aim to undo me, don’t you?”
You blanch at this statement. You undoing her? It very much felt like the exact opposite, your head still swimming and foggy with desire. It was pitiful, really — you were acting like you were a virgin, as if you’d never been kissed before. Yet, you’ve never felt anything like this before. A part of you hates yourself for never asking for her help sooner. If you had known you were going to be kissed like that, you would never have sought any other method.
Another part of you is astonished by just how confident Nemuri is, so sure of herself while saying something that feels so contradictory to her current demeanor. Above you, the woman seems so calm and confident as her hands begin to roam and explore you, like you were made for her touch. You find yourself jerking into her fingertips, skin tingly and pliable underneath her capable hands.
“I wonder how you’ll sound after we truly begin…” Nemuri mumbles, her voice low with arousal in a way that makes a shiver rush up your spine. Your nerves raise as Nemuri implies going even further with this, which you knew was going to happen, of course, but you’ve barely begun and you already feel this affected by her actions. You’re very much certain that you’re going to fall apart when you feel the tip of her strap brush against you.
You’re grateful for the steps that you had taken to prepare earlier, before beginning your recording. Nemuri had been loosely involved and helped to guide you through preparing your body properly, but she had encouraged you to try it by yourself for the most part. That fact makes it easy for the tip to slip in, a harsh gasp leaving your mouth as you feel yourself stretch and accommodate Nemuri’s strap.
“That’s it sweetness,” Nemuri nearly giggles from above you. “You’re doing wonderful so far. Such a good pet for me, aren’t you?” Nemuri coos, her voice so sweet in spite of how sinfully she begins to fill you. Your body feels alight with need as you shift your arms to cling to her, wanting as close as she’ll allow. You find yourself biting your lip to keep your noises to a minimum, but this is an action that Nemuri doesn’t seem keen on allowing.
Your mouth opens into a wide ‘O’ as Nemuri’s hips suddenly snap fully against your own, causing a moan to erupt from you at full volume. The woman is quick to slip two of her fingers into your mouth, fingers that you find yourself instinctively and eagerly sliding your tongue and teeth against.
“Ah ah ah pet,” Nemuri coos from above you as she moves her hips, filling you in a way that has your heart racing in your chest. “I want to hear every noise that you have for me and the camera. Who knows if I’ll ever have you underneath me like this again?”
If your mouth wasn’t full and your mind wasn’t so foggy, you would eagerly tell the woman that she could have you whenever the hell she wanted. Instead, you whine and arch your hips into the cock that’s nearly pushed fully inside of you. You feel warm, full and pleasant — fuzzy around the edges of your mind and tingling all across your skin and insides. You feel that drool is beginning to collect on and around Nemuri’s fingers and your mouth, but you don’t care.
With her hips now fully pressed against you, the woman stills before slowly pulling out. You whine and squirm, trying to chase after her to the best of your abilities. This time, Nemuri does giggle as she looks down at you, expression absolutely ravenous. You think you could die happy if she decided to eat you alive at this very moment.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be getting plenty more tonight, my dearest.” Nemuri purrs as she stops before she’s pulled out fully, and then her hips snap against yours again, and this time you cry out with want. The pleasure is monumental, and the feeling of her cock fully inside of you again has tears welling in your eyes. Nemuri is happy to wipe them from your cheeks with her hand covered in your drool, smiling sweetly. The feel of your own ecstasy rubbed into your skin causes your nipples to harden.
“I bet it feels good, doesn’t it? You look so perfect like this. You sound so perfect like this. You’re going to be the death of me.” The woman whispers into your ear, breath brushing against your warm, sensitive skin. A part of you thinks she must be part siren or something, because you truly would do whatever the hell she told you to if she kept sending waves of pleasure through you.
You don’t even have the capacity to think coherently, the pleasure rocking your body. Your words get tied in the back of your throat, and your tongue feels thick. Despite your efforts, this reaction doesn’t seem good enough for Nemuri, her mouth parting as she stares down at your desperate face, gaze burning onto every inch of your skin. It dawns on you that her plan had worked — you don’t shy away from the intensity of her stare, but rather shudder as a tingle shoots up your spine.
There’s a new roughness in her voice when she speaks next. “I want you to say it. Tell me how good you feel.” She commands. Her hand grips into your skin, an addictive sting that reverberates through you.
You nod, swallowing. Your tone is wobbly, but you’re also eager for her to continue with what she was doing before. All thoughts about the cameras, and a possible audience, are free from your mind when you manage to get out, “It feels amazing, Nemuri.” Your thighs tremble as if in agreement. You squirm a little underneath her, trying to spur her back into action. “Why did you stop?” You don’t even feel any shame when the question comes out whiny and desperate.
The woman quirks an eyebrow, her eyes glittering with a smile. “Eager little cutie.” She gives you a long, drawn-out stroke as if it is a reward. A shuttering moan escapes you, hands gripping into the sheet beneath you. You have to remember how to breathe. It’s hard to focus on much of anything with Nemuri filling you the way that she is, a devious smile on her face as she rocks her hips back. You can feel that coil in your stomach, turning and shifting and burning with need before it snaps like a thread being undone.
A noise that doesn’t quite sound like it’s coming from you rips from your mouth, foreign but not unpleasant to your ears. Your body has arched on its own, trying desperately to keep close proximity to Nemuri. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can see darkness overcoming the edges of your vision. You come down from the high of your orgasm slowly, limbs numb and shaky.
Nemuri is no longer above you, having pulled out and snuggled up to your side. You feel warm and fuzzy as she wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer to her as though neither of you are sticky with sweat. She giggles as she kisses your forehead, smooth fingers rubbing against your skin in an assuring manner. You feel comfortable, safe, your fear of the cameras turned on temporarily forgotten in favor of leaning into her. “You did so good, my dearest. Let’s get you cleaned up and some hot cocoa, hm?”
“That sounds good.” You mumble sleepily, a content smile on your face.
Warning: Extreme Angst, Comfort, family issues. Found Family. Gn reader Wc: 3.8k
Guidance Counselor Midnight, who knows the sound of your footsteps by heart.
You’ve walked this hallway too many times, enough for her to recognize the rhythm of your steps before you even reach the door.
Today, they sound heavier, slower—like your body is carrying a weight too great for one person to bear.
Nemuri stops typing mid-sentence, her breath catching just slightly. She steels herself, sitting up straighter, smoothing the front of her blouse.
She hopes—prays—that maybe, just maybe, you have good news this time. That today won’t be like all the other days where she watches you sink deeper into something neither of you have the power to control.
You weren’t always like this.
The first time you came to her office, three years ago, you sat in the corner of the waiting room, head bowed, hands frantically scribbling answers onto a crumpled worksheet, trying to finish before Aizawa finished speaking.
You hadn’t wanted to be there. Not really.
You didn’t come from a place that believed in this sort of thing—therapy, guidance, help. In your world, struggle was something to be endured, not spoken about. Problems weren’t things you solved with a conversation; they were things you got over.
Nemuri had seen it before, but something about you stuck with her.
Aizawa had meant well, sending you to her. He saw your walls, the way you’d built them brick by brick, shutting out anyone who tried to get too close. He knew he couldn’t give you the time and space you needed—not with so many students to look after—so he handed you off to someone who could. Someone he trusted.
And so, for months, she was just a name in your inbox. A quiet presence in the background of your life, checking in with casual emails, keeping the door open for you to walk through when you were ready.
And eventually, you did.
Now, three years later, she’s the only one you let see the cracks.
She watches as you walk through the door, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket—probably clutching one of those little rocks you always carry. There are always rocks. Smooth river stones, jagged crystals, tiny pebbles with chipped edges. She’s never asked why, but she imagines they must bring you comfort. A weight in your hands when the weight in your chest becomes unbearable.
You sit down in the waiting room, quiet. You used to be a little ball of light, someone who found joy in the small things, who gifted her handmade cards on holidays and birthdays, carefully decorated with stickers and intricate little doodles. She still has them all, tucked away in her desk, tear-stained from the nights she sat at home, reading and rereading your words, wishing she could fix things for you.
But that light in you has dimmed.
You’re struggling. You’re drowning, and she doesn’t know how to pull you back to shore.
School is hard, but that’s not what’s breaking you. Not really. It’s home. The place that was once your foundation, your support system, has become something suffocating. The weight of expectation, of culture, of disappointment—it’s pressing down on you from all sides.
And there’s no escape, no dorm room to retreat to, because you lost your job and can’t afford to move out. Your student refund barely covers transportation, and the schools near your parents’ house wouldn’t pay for your tuition the way this one does.
You’re stuck.
And the comments at home—those sharp, cutting remarks disguised as concern—don’t help. The whispers of you’re not trying hard enough, you’re lazy, you should be better than this. They seep into your skin like poison, and she can see the way they’ve begun to take.
She doesn’t know what to do anymore.
But for thirty minutes a week, she can offer you something no one else does.
Peace.
So she takes a breath, pastes on a gentle smile, and calls your name—soft, warm, careful. You lift your head, eyes tired, body worn, and shuffle into her office. She closes the door behind you, shutting out the world for just a little while.
Because here, in this space, you don’t have to carry everything alone.
Nemuri watches you settle into the chair across from her, and despite the lighthearted smile she flashes, she can already tell—this is going to be one of those talks.
You start with the good things, like you always do. It’s a habit, trying to soften the blow, trying to convince yourself that everything isn’t as heavy as it feels. You tell her about something funny that happened in class, or a random cat you saw on the way here. She listens, nods, lets you have that space. But then, the shift comes. Your voice gets quieter, the air feels heavier, and she watches your hands fidget with the hem of your sleeve, picking at loose threads like they’re holding all your stress.
You’re tired.
Not the kind of tired that a full night’s sleep could fix—if you were even getting those to begin with—but the kind of tired that’s been sitting in your bones for almost two years now. You tell her about the missed math classes, not because you don’t care, but because sometimes getting to class feels impossible.
Transportation is a mess, and last week you were out with the flu, which only put you further behind. You’ve already failed two exams.
You know how bad that is, how it puts your financial aid on the line.
You know, and yet, fixing it feels like climbing an endless mountain with bricks strapped to your back.
You’ve been looking for another job. You can’t find one. You don’t even have time for one. But you miss working, because having your own money felt better than having to ask for it, knowing there were always invisible strings attached. That sense of control, of independence—it’s gone, and the absence of it stings.
Your hands tighten in your lap, and Nemuri doesn’t say anything yet. She just listens.
Then, you talk about your family. And this, this is where she really feels the weight of it. She already knows—she’s known for a long time now—but hearing you say it makes her want to shake someone, to hold you, to do something. The mixed messages, the constant expectations pressing down on you until you feel like you can’t breathe. Your parents think they’re helping, but all they’re doing is making you feel like you’re running a race with no finish line.
And you’re exhausted.
She’s noticed the way your energy has dipped, how you come to school but don’t really seem there. How your hair has been in the same style for weeks, and she knows—she knows that means something deeper. You always used to switch it up, experiment, take pride in it. Now, it’s just one more thing that feels like too much.
Depression does that. It creeps into the small things first, turning basic tasks into battles. She knows you’re still washing your clothes, still putting effort into dressing yourself, but she also knows that’s one of the last things standing between you and the void.
She’s scared for you.
You tell her about the fights at home. How they used to roll off your back, how you used to just push things down, but now… now you’re holding onto them. The pressure is too much, the cracks are showing, and you don’t know where to put it all. You know bottling it up isn’t safe, but in your household, keeping quiet is the only way to survive.
Nemuri grips the underneath of her desk, nails pressing into the wood.
She knows you need to get out. The longer you stay in that environment, the harder it will be to crawl your way out of this fog.
You miss the things you used to love. You still have writing, still have fanfiction as an escape, but everything else feels impossible. The burnout is crushing, suffocating, and the major you chose—one you refuse to back down from—only adds to the weight.
She knows you aren’t asking her to fix it. You know she can’t.
But that doesn’t stop her from thinking about you late at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what else she can do. Because she cares. More than she probably should. And she’s scared that one day, you’ll hit a breaking point you can’t come back from.
The familiar scent of her jasmine tea fills the air, but it does little to settle the weight in your chest. Her office is warm—cozy in a way that most school offices aren’t. The walls are lined with books, framed photos, and awards, but your eyes keep drifting to the small, well-loved cat plushie on her shelf. The one you gave her a year ago as a valentine, telling her it reminded you of her—soft but a little mischievous. She had laughed, promised to take care of it, and now it sits proudly beside her plaques and certificates because it belongs there.
You wish you felt like you belonged somewhere too.
“I mean, they still let me stay at home,” you say, but it doesn’t sound like much of a comfort. You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then sigh, bracing yourself for what comes next. Nemuri leans in slightly, careful not to push but making sure you know she’s listening.
“But?”
You exhale slowly. You never cry in public—ever—but you trust her enough to let yourself unravel, just a little.
She remembers the first time it happened, how you had been talking about school and home and how you felt less than. She hated it. Hated how your bright smile—the smile that lit up the room, the smile that was often the highlight of her and the other staff’s day—had started to disappear.
She knows your parents love you. She truly believes that. She’s seen it before—the way they call you randomly just to check in, the times they tell you there’s food at home and that they love you. She’s seen them at your award ceremonies and community events, pride in their eyes. There is love there.
But you’re all too close, too tangled up in each other’s expectations and disappointments, and none of that love is being seen or communicated properly.
“Well,” you start, voice quieter now, “My dad was offering me dinner the other night, and inside, I was like, ‘Oh cool, he loves me.’ And of course, he does, but I was still reeling from the therapist stuff, y’know? And then he just—casually—starts talking about me self-isolating in my room and how he shouldn’t have to take my devices—”
Nemuri frowns. “Was this when you texted me?”
“Yeah, they cut my WiFi and took everything but my phone.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do you know how it still had cellular?”
“Nope.”
Her lips press into a thin line. She can agree with consequences, sure—but you’re too old to be treated like a young teenager. Too aware of what’s happening to be punished into submission.
“So, he was going on about that,” you continue, fingers picking at a loose thread on your sleeve, “And inside, I was just like, ‘I don’t wanna hear this. I can’t take it.’ And then—”
You swallow hard.
“Then he says to me that he just accepts that he won’t have peace in his life or house until I move out.”
Her stomach drops.
She watches you carefully as you speak, as you try to hold yourself together, but she can see how much those words cut you open. You don’t even realize how much your hands are shaking.
You keep talking, explaining how after that, you barely wanted to eat. How the food didn’t even taste like anything. How later, your parents decided they weren’t going to give you a ride to school anymore on your dad’s way to work—because, in their words, you hadn’t been doing anything to justify it.
Nemuri clenches her jaw. She knows how far you live. Knows dorming might be too expensive. Knows you’re backed into a corner.
Then you say it—your voice breaking just slightly, eyes glassy.
"I’m scared they’ll be happier without me and not want me to move back."
Nemuri feels like the wind has been knocked out of her.
She sees how much this is weighing on you—the way your siblings are already asking if you’re going to leave, how your mom wants you out. You’re afraid your stuff will get thrown away because you won’t be able to take everything with you.
She grips your hand. “Dorming isn’t year-round. What will you do if they don’t want you back?”
And you smile. That tired, knowing smile that makes her heart ache.
“I don’t know.”
The words are quiet. Defeated.
You look at her with glassy eyes, and the floodgates open. You explain how you feel like no one wants you—how you want to stay, but they want you gone. How they tell you that you won’t make it on your own but then turn around and say that you’re strong and that they can see you’re breaking—but the only way to fix it is to submit.
To them. To religion.
To everything you’ve already been suffocating under.
And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
There’s so much more. So much you don’t even have the energy to put into words. But she knows because you text her updates. She talks to your favorite professor.
Nemuri doesn’t realize she’s gripping your hand a little too tightly until she sees you rubbing your thumb absentmindedly over the back of hers. A small gesture. A grounding one.
She exhales slowly, forcing herself to focus. She doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to scare you with her anger, doesn’t want to make this about her. Even if she would like to slap your old therapist.
So Nemuri asks, carefully, “What do you want to do?”
Because you’re miserable at home. You’re miserable at school. And if you don’t do something, she knows you’ll regret it in the spring.
She watches as you try to come up with an answer, but you’re exhausted. She can see it in your slumped posture, the way you keep rubbing your temples, the way your lips part and close again like you’re trying to find the right words but keep coming up empty.
She glances toward her shelf, where the small cat plushie sits—squished and a little worn but still standing tall next to her awards. She thinks about the way you had given it to her with a grin, how you had laughed when she immediately named it something ridiculous.
She misses that smile.
And for the first time in a while, she realizes that you probably do too.
You wipe at your face, sniffling as you try to collect yourself. "I think I’ll just have to talk to them again about moving onto campus," you say, voice small. "Probably have to take out another loan."
Nemuri nods, but she’s studying your face, and she sees the way your shoulders sag, how your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sleeve like you’re holding yourself together by a thread.
She tilts her head. "What’s wrong?"
You shake your head at first, but then you let out a shuddering breath and stare at your hands.
"I feel like a monster."
Nemuri’s brows knit together, concern flooding her face, but you press on before she can speak.
"I ruined everything," you say, voice cracking.
"I know—not everything can be my fault. You and my new therapist have told me that. But holy shit, it’s so hard to feel that way. I feel like I’ll never live outside the shadow of my past. My mistakes are just hanging over my head—"
You try to take a deep breath, try to steady yourself, but something shifts inside you.
Your chest tightens, and suddenly, your vision blurs. You don’t even realize how wide your eyes have gone until the first gasp for air tears through you.
And then you just cry.
It’s not quiet. It’s not controlled. It’s not one of those times where you blink away the tears and pretend you’re fine. It’s raw. Ugly. A choked-out mess of grief and exhaustion.
And then you hear her sniffle.
Through the haze of your own tears, you see Nemuri’s eyes glossing over, her lips pressed together in a trembling line as she tries and fails to keep it together.
Because she doesn’t understand.
She doesn’t understand how anyone could look at their struggling child—see them drowning, see them breaking apart—and still say such terrible things. How they could watch you pull away, see the changes in your personality, see the light dim in your eyes, and think that kicking you out is the answer. How they could dismiss the weight of their words, brush off your pain, make you feel so small.
Maybe they don’t know they’re being abusive. Maybe they think they’re doing what’s right.
But you’ve told them. You’ve told them so many times when they hurt your feelings. You’ve tried to make them see.
And still, they call you too sensitive. A snowflake.
She doesn’t hesitate—she pulls you in.
Warm. Steady. Safe.
She smells like good soap and elderberries, like the cranberry wine she swears by, like the dark chocolate she keeps hidden in her desk. But it’s not just that. It’s the way her arms wrap around you, firm but gentle, the way she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fix it, just holds you.
Because she knows.
She knows she’s the only one you can come to with your heavy heart. The only one who gets the whole truth. The only one who listens without conditions.
And as you bury your face into her shoulder, tears soaking into the soft fabric of her blouse, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that you are not alone.
The two of you stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, the weight of the moment settling between you like a quiet understanding. Your breath hitches as you press your face into the warmth of her shoulder, and Nemuri’s own shoulders shake as she holds you just a little tighter.
Neither of you speak—there’s nothing to say yet, just the shared grief of knowing that some things cannot be undone, only endured.
Eventually, you feel her pat your back in that reassuring way of hers, and you sniffle as you finally sit up. Your head feels heavy, your throat raw, but Nemuri doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, she rolls backward in her chair, still holding onto you with her left hand as she grabs a box of tissues with her right.
"Here, sweetheart," she murmurs, passing you several tissues before taking off her glasses and dabbing at her own wet lashes. You wipe your face, trying to breathe through the remnants of your tears as she steadies herself. Then, she looks at you with all the certainty in the world and says,
"You are NOT a monster."
You shake your head weakly, but she won’t have any of that.
"You are kind," she continues, voice firm. "You are strong. And I know this because I’ve seen it."
She grips your hand a little tighter, grounding you.
"I’ve seen how you check in on the people around you, how even when you’re struggling, you still have it in you to care—genuinely. You succeed when you put your mind to it. You may be shy, but you have never let that stop you from being kind. I remember the time you complimented that girl wearing the same sweater as you as she was being loaded into an ambulance. The time you thought a student had jumped from the roof, and you pushed through the crowd to help, even though you had no idea what you were walking into. Even if it meant you might get traumatized, you still went forward. Because you just… you want people to have another chance."
Her endless blue eyes lock onto yours, full of conviction. You swallow thickly, unable to look away.
"I would never sugarcoat something for you," she says softly. "I would never lead you astray."
You nod, waiting for her to continue, because somehow you know she has something important to say next.
And then she says it.
"You have to get out of there."
The words settle deep into your bones.
She squeezes your hands tighter. "I will do everything in my power to help you, okay? I need you to know that. I’m glad you’re here. You matter. You have a purpose." Her voice wavers slightly.
"And I love you very much."
Your chest tightens, but this time, it isn’t just grief or exhaustion—it’s something else. Something warm.
Something that makes you feel seen.
Nemuri gives you a small, wobbly smile of hers and whispers,
"Sometimes, family is tough. And not all family is blood. Sometimes, we find our family."
You take a shaky breath and nod, gripping her hands like a lifeline.
"I love you too," you whisper.
She smiles, eyes glistening.
You sniffle and clear your throat. "I… I have to do what’s best for me. I don’t want to get hurt anymore—not emotionally, not mentally."
She sighs softly, but it’s not disappointment—it’s relief. "Okay, sweetie." She cups your cheek for a second, her thumb brushing gently over your skin before she pulls back. "I just worry, you know? You get into your head sometimes." You huff out a weak, teary laugh.
"Yeah… I do."
"Just… promise me you’ll stay above water for me, okay?" she says, tapping your hand lightly. "At least until spring break. Then we’ll figure something more permanent out."
You nod, inhaling deeply, feeling just a little bit lighter.
"I promise."
"Good." She leans back and reaches for something on her desk, then holds it out to you—a small container of blueberries. "Want some?"
You shake your head, smiling faintly. "I’m good, but thanks."
She nods and stands up, stretching slightly. "Alright, then. Get your coat on, sweetheart. It’s cold out, and I want you to get some fresh air before heading back." You grab your coat and slip it on, and as soon as you’re ready, you link your arm with hers. The receptionist at the front desk smiles at the two of you as you walk out.
"Stay safe, you two!"
Nemuri waves, and you nod in acknowledgment as the cold air hits your face. But somehow, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.
Because sometimes, she’s the only person who gives you a hug all week. Sometimes, she’s the only one who says something encouraging.
Sometimes, you think of her as a mom.
Which is strange, because Nemuri doesn’t have kids. Not many would call her ‘motherly’ at first glance. And you aren't trying to replace your own mother.
But she’s so kind.
So warm and lovely.
…Maybe it’s because you miss your mom right now.
But that can’t be fixed.
Not now. Maybe never.
So instead, you focus on this—on walking arm-in-arm with her for these next twenty minutes, on holding onto this small, good moment with everything you have.
The winter sun hits your face and she pulls her hair into her hood to keep it from becoming too wild in the wind. She's gotten new purple highlights and you ADORE them. You sometimes wobble when you walk and she adores that too.
Because Nemuri lives in the garden of your heart.
And you know, without a doubt, that she has a picture of you in hers.
If you enjoyed this make sure you leave a like, comment, and reblog!
I am taking requests for the series though dm's or anonymous asks.
You can choose anyone you'd like and even characters not listed.
You’ve had a crush on her since your school years. And to be able to date her was the best day of your life. You knew you’d be good to her, and you pulled all the strings to make sure this date would be the most romantic. Nothing would be off the menu for her.
Nemuri was charmed, to say the least. By the end of the night, she was eating out the palm of your hand. She had that starry look in her eyes that you’ve always loved. She was the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met and you knew you’d always cherish her.
On the cab ride back home, that’s when things got more heated. You snuggled beside her in the back of the cab, kissing her cheek first. She’s a little tipsy, but that’s okay ‘cause so are you. She looks so beautiful, you can’t help but keep kissing her. You kiss her cheek, then her jawline, then her neck. You whisper sweet nothings in her ear, reminding her that she is just so gorgeous.
Your hands wander her body as the cab drives you towards your place. As you continue to whisper sweet things in her ear, Nemuri begins to melt into your touch. She smells so good too, making you feel a little dizzy.
“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. “So breathtaking.”
The cab slides into your driveway and you pay the driver. You hand him a tip as you help Nemuri out of the car. Then you bring her upstairs to your apartment. She’s a bit tipsy, so you help her sit down. When you return from the kitchen, you’ve got a glass of water for her.
“Sip this slowly, beautiful.” You sit next to her, sipping your own water.
Then you help undo her boots, bringing her feet up to your lap. You rub them as she relaxes. You’ve always wanted to make her feel so wanted, and right now, you have really succeeded. One look from her had you on top of her, kissing her deeply. Even her damn tongue was so soft as it wrestled with yours.
It’s only a little while before you’re on your knees, spreading her thighs and taking greedy whiffs of her heady scent. You rub her clit through the silky panties she’s wearing.
“You’re so wet, baby.” You groan. “Such a pretty little pussy.”
You pull back her panties to reveal the most gorgeous cunt you’ve ever seen. She’s glistening with juices and you can’t help yourself. You lean in to begin lapping at her fervently, tasting the sweetest arousal ever. Between deep licks and soft sucking, you murmur loving words.
“Fuck, such a good girl.” You whine. “I fucking love your little pussy. Such a good little pussy, could eat it all night.”
She moans your name, arching into your touch as you draw her closer to her orgasm with expertise. She never knew her childhood best friend could bring her so much pleasure like this. When she reaches down to tug on your hair, this makes you grunt against her soft flesh.
“Cum for me, beautiful. Make a mess for me.”
Nemuri’s panting and you can feel her thighs tensing with each passing moment. What you don’t anticipate is when she begins to gush all over you. She’s like a fountain as you try to desperately lap up every single drop of her precious juices. They taste like the most expensive and the sweetest wine.
“Beautiful,” you murmur before going back to clean her up with your tongue. “You look like an angel when you come apart for me.”
a/n: i really liked the concept of the midnight boys in vigilante, so i had to write for midnight crushing on one of them!
midnight was quite the popular hero amongst young men and she had caught your attention as well with her womanly charms
you knew that you wanted to be a part of her agency and become one of the so called “midnight boys” that were her sidekicks
so once you graduated, you applied for her agency and soon got the job as her sidekick – well, as one of them!
the other boys took you in quickly and helped you get accustomed with working for midnight
and it didn't take long until you got to meet midnight as well! after receiving a call, you and the other boys made your way to a crime scene, where midnight had just helped arrest a criminal
you were smitten the moment you first saw her in person, while midnight felt quite similar. you were quite the handsome young boy, just her type
from that day on, you kept getting more opportunities to work with her, even if it was mostly work such as bringing her a coffee or cleaning her office
but soon, it became clear that, despite you being the new guy, midnight had taken a liking to you, as she kept giving you the jobs that allowed the two of you to be close
though that was all she was doing for you, as she expected you to take the next step and ask her out!
after all, you're the sidekick, while she's the pro hero. you got this job because you wanted to be near her, so now you had to show you had enough courage to ask her out!
Could I have headcanons or anything for midnight with a cat hybrid reader?
Sfw and nsfw is at all possible!! 🧡
Sfw
꜀ Midnight would pet your head as a reward whenever you do something good or did what she asked.
꜀ She’ll bake fish-shaped or cat-shaped cookies for you.
꜀ Loves to call you “kitty” to tease you.
꜀ Will scratch your ears or twirl your tail.
꜀ She buys you a necklace with her initials, loves pulling on it to give you a kiss.
꜀ Buys you heated blankets.
Nsfw
꜀ She’d use a collar on you, even going far to attach a leash. Especially if you're going down on her, she'll tug on it to bring you closer or if she's pounding you with her strap, Nemuri pulls on it, slightly choking you.
꜀ If you have sensitive ears, she will take that to her advantage while she’s overstimulating you.
꜀ Adores doing pet play with you
꜀ Absolutely is obsessed with the way you scratch her whenever you two have sex, whether it is when she does missionary or whenever you eat her out, managing to scratch her thighs.
Note
Sorry it took long to respond, Tumblr is giving me a hard time with my drafts.
