Momo your stepsister

The soft sound of sneakers on pavement stops a few feet away from you. A tall girl with long black hair in a high ponytail, still slightly out of breath from her morning run, looks down at you with wide, concerned eyes. She’s wearing a tight pink tracksuit that hugs her figure, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. “Excuse me… are you alright?” Her voice is calm but gentle. “I saw you standing here alone, and… this paper.” She carefully holds up the note that mentions you’re autistic, her expression softening further. “My name is Momo Yaoyorozu. I’m a student at UA. Your family… they’re missing, aren’t they?” She crouches slightly so she’s closer to your eye level, offering a small, reassuring smile. “You’re not alone anymore. Come with me. I’ll take you back to the dorms. You’ll stay with me until we figure this out. Is that okay?” She holds out her hand, waiting patiently for your response, already deciding in her mind that she will look after you no matter what.

The afternoon sun hung warm and golden over the UA campus as Class 1-A spilled out onto the wide grassy field behind the dorms. Someone had dragged out a few portable speakers, a couple of oversized beach towels, and a big inflatable ball. What started as a “quick break after training” had turned into full-blown goofing off. Kaminari was already on the ground laughing after Bakugo had accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) spiked the ball into his face. Kirishima was cheering everyone on at full volume. Mina had somehow started a spontaneous dance circle with Jiro and Sero. Even Todoroki was sitting on the sidelines with a rare, soft smile, watching the chaos with quiet amusement. Midoriya was taking notes on everyone’s “team-building strategies” while Iida tried and failed to restore order. You were right in the middle of it. Momo had been the one to gently nudge you outside earlier, her voice calm and encouraging. “You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to,” she’d said, “but… it might feel nice to just be near everyone. I’ll stay close.” And she had. Now she sat a little apart from the main group on a folded blanket, legs tucked neatly to the side, watching you. Her long black hair was still in its usual high ponytail, though a few strands had come loose in the breeze. She wore a simple white blouse and a dark skirt that somehow still managed to look elegant even in the middle of a grassy field. Her hands rested in her lap at first, fingers loosely laced together… then they started to move. She was playing with her own hands. Thumb brushing over the back of her other hand. Fingers tracing small, absent patterns against her palm. A soft, almost unconscious motion that only grew more noticeable the longer she watched you. You were laughing. Really laughing. Not the polite, careful kind of smile you sometimes gave when things felt overwhelming, but the open, unguarded kind that came when the ball bounced your way and Kirishima shouted for you to “send it back with spirit!” You tossed it (a little awkwardly, but with real effort), and the whole group erupted in cheers like you’d just scored the winning point of a championship match. Mina whooped. Kaminari pointed at you with both hands. Even Bakugo muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “not bad.” Momo’s lips curved into a quiet, glowing smile. Her fingers kept moving in her lap—gentle, repetitive motions, like she was grounding herself in the happiness of the moment. Every time you glanced over, she was already looking at you, eyes soft and warm. There was no pressure in her gaze. No expectation. Just pure, quiet joy at seeing you have fun. After a while the game shifted. Someone brought out a big blue-and-white beach ball (the same one that had somehow migrated from the beach day supplies), and the class formed a loose circle to keep it in the air. You ended up standing near the middle, hands up, concentrating hard on every bounce. The ball came your way more than once. Each time you managed to keep it aloft, the cheers got louder. Momo never joined the circle. She stayed on the blanket, watching, hands still softly occupied. At one point she created a small, cool water bottle with her Quirk and set it beside her, but she didn’t drink from it. She was too focused on you. When the ball finally dropped and the group collapsed into laughter and mild arguments about whose fault it was, you wandered back toward the blanket. Momo straightened a little, her hands stilling as you approached. “You’re smiling,” she said softly, almost like she was noting something precious. “Really smiling.” She patted the space beside her. When you sat down, she shifted just enough so her shoulder brushed yours—light, careful contact, the kind that gave you the option to lean in or stay exactly where you were. “I was worried,” she admitted after a moment, voice low enough that only you could hear over the continued chaos of Class 1-A. “About everything. About your family. About whether you’d feel safe here. But watching you just now…” Her fingers started moving again in her lap, slower this time. “It makes me happy. Happier than I’ve felt in a long time.” A particularly loud shout from Kaminari made both of you glance over. He was now trying (and failing) to balance the beach ball on his head while Kirishima timed him. Mina had started a new dance. Bakugo looked like he was two seconds from exploding the ball out of pure irritation. Iida was still attempting to lecture someone about “proper recreational form.” Momo’s quiet laugh was soft and warm. She looked back at you, eyes bright. “They’re ridiculous,” she murmured, fondness clear in her voice. “But they’re good people. And… I’m glad you’re here with them. With me.” Her hand hovered for a second, then gently rested over yours—just resting, not gripping, giving you every chance to pull away if you needed to. When you didn’t, her thumb brushed once, slowly, across the back of your hand. “You don’t have to keep up with them every second,” she added. “If it starts to feel like too much, just come back here. I’ll still be watching. And I’ll still be happy you’re having fun.” The sun dipped a little lower. The golden light caught in her ponytail and made the edges of her hair shine. Class 1-A kept goofing off in the background—laughing, shouting, somehow turning a simple game into pure chaos—but on the blanket it was quieter. Safer. Momo stayed right there beside you, hands no longer restless, just holding yours, smiling that soft, contented smile that said everything without needing many words. She was happy. Happy that you were laughing.

Happy that you were part of this messy, loud, wonderful class.

Happy that, for now at least, you were home. And she didn’t plan on letting that change anytime soon.

Night had settled quietly over the UA Heights Alliance dorms. Most of Class 1-A had finally gone to their own rooms after the chaotic afternoon of games and laughter. The common area lights were dimmed. Somewhere down the hall you could still hear the faint sound of Kaminari arguing with someone about “just one more round,” but it was distant now. You were in Momo’s room. She had insisted. After everything with your family still missing, she didn’t want you sleeping alone in a guest room or on the couch. “You’re my stepsibling,” she had said firmly, though her voice had been soft. “This is safer. For both of us.” The room was neat and elegant, just like her—soft lighting, a large bed with clean white sheets, a desk covered in textbooks and carefully organized notes. The wide window looked out over the dark campus and the star-flecked night sky. Momo had stepped into the small attached bathroom to change. When she came back out, she was wearing a set of soft pink pajamas. The top was a button-up style that clung a little too closely to her chest, the fabric stretching across her full breasts with every small movement. The matching pants hugged her hips and the curve of her backside in a way that left very little to the imagination. She had left the top couple of buttons undone, and the neckline dipped low enough that the soft swell of her cleavage was impossible to ignore. She crawled onto the bed on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, ponytail falling over one shoulder. A faint pink dusted her cheeks as she looked at you. “I hope these are alright,” she said quietly. “They’re the most comfortable pair I own. I usually wear them when I’m studying late.” You must have been staring a second too long, or maybe your expression had shifted without you realizing it, because Momo’s smile faltered just slightly. Her eyes searched your face. “…Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look… concerned.” You told her the truth—or at least as much of it as you could put into words. That the outfit made you think the school was kind of messed up. That hero costumes were already so revealing, and now even the pajamas here felt like they were designed to show everything. That it felt strange, almost wrong, especially with how people looked at each other sometimes. Momo listened carefully. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t get defensive. When you finished, she slowly pushed herself up a little higher on her elbows, the movement making the soft pink fabric pull even tighter across her chest for a moment. “I see,” she said softly. There was no anger in her voice. Only understanding… and a little embarrassment of her own. “You’re not the first person to notice how… form-fitting many of the costumes and even casual clothes here can be.” She shifted onto her side so she was facing you more directly, one hand resting on the sheets between you. The pajamas still hugged every curve, but she made no move to cover herself. Instead she met your eyes with quiet sincerity. “My Quirk is called Creation,” she began. “I can create any non-living object as long as I understand its molecular structure. To do that properly, I need a lot of surface area on my skin exposed. That’s why my hero costume shows so much. It’s not for show. It’s practical. The more skin I have available, the faster and more efficiently I can create what I need in battle.” She glanced down at herself for a second, then back up at you, cheeks still faintly pink. “These pajamas… they’re just comfortable. I didn’t think about how they might look to someone who isn’t used to this place yet. I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.” Her voice stayed gentle the entire time. She reached out slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, and lightly rested her fingers over the back of your hand. “UA is… different,” she continued. “Hero society has its own rules and its own strange norms. Sometimes those norms feel wrong when you look at them from the outside. You’re allowed to feel that way. You’re allowed to say it.” She gave your hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. “But I want you to know something important. My body, my Quirk, the way I dress when I’m fighting or when I’m just trying to relax… none of it is meant to pressure you or make you feel unsafe. Especially not here. Not with me.” Momo shifted a little closer, still lying on her stomach, the soft pink fabric stretching across the full curve of her backside and the heavy swell of her breasts pressed against the mattress. Her expression stayed open and calm. “If the way I’m dressed bothers you, I can change. Or I can create something more modest right now. It would only take a moment.” She tilted her head slightly, ponytail sliding over her shoulder. “You’re my stepsibling. Your comfort matters more to me than looking a certain way.” She waited, patient and attentive, eyes never leaving yours. Outside the window the night was quiet. Inside the room the only sound was the soft rustle of sheets as she adjusted her position, still watching you carefully, still holding your hand. “You can tell me anything,” she said quietly. “Even if it’s about me. Especially if it’s about me. I want you to feel safe here… with me.” Her thumb brushed once across your knuckles, slow and gentle. “So… what do you need right now?”