[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...
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.
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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.
I want to know about Nightmare and Blue's children! What would they do if a love interest of theirs came up to them one day with a bouquet of flowers?
And perhaps a basket of their favourite sweets, plus a brief message of: "I - uh - I just wanted you to know that I really like you and I'd love it if you'd go out on a date with me- but- but only if you want to, of course!"
My boys! :D(and girls)
I will say I have been thinking about adding new kids.
Midnight: Midnight most likely has to look down at you when you came over, tilting his head to the side then smiles putting his hand over his mouth, "Oh?" He was… shocked, honestly? Nobody has ever confessed their attraction to him before! With a little giggle, he takes the flowers and nuzzles his cheek against them, "I would love that, Y/n. I don't think I could ever turn you down" you two share the treats that you got him. He loves himself some chocolate covered strawberries!
Blackberry: Blackberry stares at you while you were talking, a small frown on his face. Don't ask him how he fell for you, he has no idea! There was no reason for him to have done so, but he did, and now you were confessing. He clicks his teeth together, looking off to the side. "You want to go on a date with me?" he asks, then breathes out slowly and takes the flowers, a relaxed smile on his face, "I… would greatly enjoy that, Y/n." He lowers his head, "Thank you" You helped him see that not everyone was out to get him.
Horror Story: Horror Story looks at you with a big eyesocket, the other covered in a deep blue goop. "Y-You…" he clears his throat, looking away, "Why would I want to do that?" he shuts his mouth tight, then takes the flowers and sweets, mumbling, "Of course I would, get over here" he's having a hard time admiting his feelings but he REALLY likes you! He loves that you don't fear him but you treat him well, and you're sweet to him. He's always scared of people treating him bad or something of that sort.
Periwinkle: "Of course I would love to!" She squeals, taking the flowers and treats in one of her arms, and hugs you with the other one, nuzzling her skull against your face. She's so happy! She's had a crush on you for a while, and she's been planning on asking you out but kinda forgetting so this was perfect! She's so happy.
Sleeper: Sleeper looks at you with sleepy eyes. Her eyesockets only halfway open, before getting a small relaxed smile, "I've known you've liked me for a while, Y/n. You haven't been hiding it that well" she takes the flowers, nuzzling her face into them. They were her favorite type! Lavender. "We can go out, it'll be fun" she's not that impressed but finds you cute, so hey, why not try?
Eclipse: Eclipse wanted to tell you no, and tell you to screw off. He had a crush on you, yes, but… you can't come out of nowhere and say that! Ahhhh! He, instead, breathes out slowly to calm himself down, blushing dark. The goop hid that, luckily. "You can't just come over to tell me that out of nowhere" He snaps, and takes the flowers, looking down at them. He turns his head away, moving one of his tentacles around your waist to pull you closer, mumbling, "Of course I'll go on a date with you, just give a damn warning next time"
Babybat: He gasps and before you could even finish what you're saying, he tackles you in a hug, his wings flapping happily, "Of course!" he nuzzles his face against yours, squeaking happily. His eyes were so bright and he looked excited. He might not have really knocked you over, depending on how much you could hold. He doesn't weigh anything pretty much.
Could I request headcanons for midnight with a female s/o who’s 4’11 in height pwease
— MIDNIGHT WITH A SHORT FEM!S/O
»»----- ♡ -----««
↳ Beautiful living Christmas tree hovers over you 😔. Like damn-
↳ tease? I think so. She’ll tease you whenever she can and will. Nothing to hurtful, just jokes.. everything all fun and games til she’s pinned 👀.
↳ This women loves to see you struggle for a short while before walking over to your direction, grabbing whatever item that you wanted only for her to have it over her head with a shit-eating grin.
↳ “Jump, Shorty, jump.” Bitch-
↳ But obviously loves your height. Makes her feel like the bigger person and it’s easier for her to have you caged In her arms.
↳ You look up to her...
↳ Cuddles are the best with her. Her arms around your smaller frame is just- 😩. She loves it so much that she has you suffocating.... strong ass lady.
↳ Throws hands at anyone who makes fun of your height. She don’t play like that. That’s crossing the line.
↳ All in all. She loves you and your arm rest height.
↳ Arm rest...?
—
I’m sorry for taking so long, to get to your request.
Midnight really loves to tease you, so honestly, she’s already being pretty obvious.
If you were another teacher, she would love to lean on your back as you graded tests or whatnot so you could feel her chest pressing against you.
She likes to cuff the two of you together by the wrists so she can hold your arm against her body, only to have you laugh and say something like “Midnight, you’re so funny!”
She kind of wants to beat the shit out of you when you say things like that.
She gets to the point where one day she brings her foot down harshly on your desk, startling you from your work, heel glinting dangerously in the setting sunlight coming through the window.
“I swear to god, (Name), if you don’t take me out for coffee right this instant, I’m going to tie you to that chair and gag you for the others to find in the morning.”
The two of you went for coffee after that.
Mina:
Mina may be a more aggressive girl, but still, you obviously have to be the one to ask her out.
Will do things like pour water on herself after a hard workout with you so you can partially see through her shirt.
Purposely does squats in front of you so you can see dat booty.
Unfortunately, when she looks back to see if you’re watching, your too busy planking or something.
Bakusquad absolutely noticed her behavior, and its probably just a chorus of “Seriously? Just fuckin’ ask them out. Idiot.”
One day, the two of you are having lunch alone, and you laugh at a joke of hers.
“Haha, Mina, you’re such a good friend!”
She growls and turns to press her lips to yours.
“Would a friend do that, (Name)?”
Mt. Lady:
Our Mt. Lady is very “accident prone” around you.
“Trips” on her own feet and falls against you, her chest pushed against your own.
“Oh noooo, I’m so sorry (Name), I’m so clumsy, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay, Yu!” You say, as you push her away to help her gain her footing, “Maybe your shoes are too big, you’re always tripping and falling on me after all. Speaking of that, I also thought your costume could use-”
Mt. Lady is not amused. How did you always manage to change the subject?
She grabs your shirt and pulls your face closer to hers.
“Kiss me already, idiot.” She huffs, meeting her mouth with yours.
M!Reader : W-Well... Nemuri is definitely one hell of an affectionate sweetheart! But-Uhh—
[Y/N chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile as blushes starts appearing on his cheeks]
M!Reader blushing : Her affections towards me always… changes moods…
Flashback
[In the U.A. staff lounge during a quiet evening, Y/N sits on a couch with papers scattered in his lap when Nemuri wrapped her arms around his neck and let out a sweet laugh]
Midnight : Guess whoo?~
M!Reader : Chuckles, Is it the midnight?
Midnight : Oh you know what you can call me sweetheart~
M!Reader : My nemuri
[Midnight hopped over the couch and sits herself down next to Y/N, sitting sideways as she plopped her legs onto his lap]
Midnight : Chuckles, that's what I like to hear~ ...lot of paperwork, huh?
M!Reader : Sighs, yeaah... A lot of it is about some of the students getting a bit too rough during training...
Midnight : Aww. well I definitely know a certain lady that will stay by your side in this time of need~
M!Reader : Pftt–Chuckles, now why would this lady accompany me—
[Midnight leaned in, cupping Y/N's cheeks with both hands and give Y/N several kisses on his cheek. Midnight giggled as Y/N just accepts it with a big smile on his face]
Midnight : Why wouldn't she!
. . . . .
[...Midnight has Y/N pinned against the wall, holding onto both of his cheeks while giving him neck kisses, her blue eyes locked onto his while she teasingly licked at his skin]
[Y/N on the other hand–is panting like crazy, his hands holding onto Midnight's arms]
[Midnight stopped, licking her own lips as she stayed close to his neck, a smirk forming on her face]
Midnight : You earned a well deserved treat after doing so much work. don't you think so, my dear?~
M!Reader blushing : I—
Midnight : Ah. Ah. I want to hear you say you do deserve this, I don't wanna hear any other answers~
M!Reader blushing : I—I deserve this–
Midnight : Goodboy~
Flashbacks end
M!Reader blushing : ...Those were on the same day...
[At the teacher's lounge – Y/N sitting on the couch, peacefully reading the reports from the other teachers about the students]
M!Reader : 🎶Hm~ Hm~ Hmm~🎶–...Sighs, of course Bakugou did that...
[Midnight opening the door, catching Y/N's attention making him smile]
M!Reader : Chuckles... Hey hon! You okay?
[Midnight walking up behind the couch, handing Y/N a letter from behind–Which he grabs in confusion, what he didn't expect more is when midnight wraps her arms around his neck]
