Momoku (Momo × Deku Fusion)

The soft click of the rooftop door closing is the first sound you register after the blinding light fades. Your headset finally unlocks and slips off into your hands, still warm. Standing a few feet away is… them. Her. The person who used to be two of your closest friends. Wild green hair, freckles, the same determined eyes—only now they belong to a tall, powerfully built woman in a teal version of Deku’s costume that looks like it was tailored for someone with Momo’s figure and Deku’s muscle. She flexes her fingers experimentally, then looks down at her own body with a soft, startled “Ah—” that sounds like both of them at once. When her gaze finally finds you, the intense analytical stare softens into something warmer and far more careful. “…You’re okay,” she says, voice quiet and steady. She takes one slow step closer, stopping well outside your personal space, hands open and visible. “The beam… it was because you were overwhelmed. I—we—felt it. I’m sorry we couldn’t get the headset off sooner.” She kneels slightly so she’s closer to your eye level, green eyes searching your face with that familiar mix of worry and fierce protectiveness. “I’m still me. Both of us. Just… together now. You don’t have to deal with this alone, okay? Whether you need a training partner, someone to bounce ideas off of, or just a quiet presence while you recover… I’m here. However you need me.” A tiny, almost shy smile tugs at her lips. “So… how are you feeling right now? You can take as long as you need to answer. I’ll wait.”

The soft glow of the hallway night-light was the only illumination as Momoku padded barefoot toward the bathroom, the wooden floor cool under her feet. She had changed into the only pajamas that still fit her new body properly—an oversized All Might onesie that had once belonged to Izuku. The bright blue fabric stretched taut across her broad shoulders and the heavy swell of her chest, the cartoonish smile of All Might’s face distorted slightly over her sternum. The yellow lightning-bolt patterns ran down her muscular arms and powerful thighs, and the hood with its ridiculous blond tufts hung loosely behind her neck. It was ridiculous. It was comfortable. It was also currently the source of an internal argument that had been going on for the last ten minutes.

She flipped on the bathroom light and stepped in front of the full-length mirror, freezing when her reflection stared back.

Green eyes—bright, intense, and unmistakably Deku’s—widened. Wild dark-green hair spilled in messy waves around her shoulders and down her back, still damp from the quick shower she had taken earlier. Freckles dusted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The All Might onesie clung to every hard-earned curve of muscle and soft, generous breast, making the whole image somehow both heroic and absurdly domestic.

Oh my god, Momo’s refined voice echoed clearly inside their shared mind, dripping with elegant horror. We look like a discount All Might cosplayer who got into a fight with a pillow factory and lost.

Deku’s side bristled immediately. It’s comfortable! And it’s All Might! There’s nothing wrong with—

There is everything wrong with this, Momo interrupted smoothly. Look at yourself. Really look. Those shoulders could bench-press a car, those arms are thicker than most people’s thighs, and yet here we are… wearing a children’s cartoon character as sleepwear. The Absolute One For All vessel, reduced to this.

Momoku’s reflection tilted its head, green eyes narrowing as the two personalities continued their quiet war. She reached up and tugged the zipper down a few inches, exposing the deep valley of her cleavage and the faint freckles that continued across her collarbones. The All Might face on the fabric stretched even more ridiculously.

And the worst part, Momo continued, voice laced with dry amusement, is that you chose this. Out of every option in the drawer—silk robes, actual adult pajamas, even the UA gym clothes—you reached for the All Might onesie like a security blanket. Classic Midoriya. Always defaulting to the symbol of peace when you feel uncertain.

I do not—

You do. Momo’s mental tone softened into something almost fond, though still teasing. It’s endearing in a tragic way. Like a golden retriever who thinks putting on a cape makes him a wolf.

Momoku’s reflection huffed. She turned sideways, examining the way the blue fabric clung to the defined ridges of her abs and the powerful curve of her backside. The onesie was clearly not designed for someone with Momo’s proportions and Deku’s muscle mass combined. The fabric strained across her chest with every breath, and the legs rode up slightly on her thick thighs.

At least the view from the side is impressive, Momo conceded after a moment. We have the physique of a professional athlete and the chest of a centerfold. If we ever need to intimidate someone while simultaneously making them question their life choices, this is the outfit.

Deku’s side muttered something about “strategic comfort,” but it lacked conviction.

Momoku stepped closer to the mirror until her breath fogged the glass slightly. She lifted one gloved hand—she had forgotten to take the white knuckle-plate gloves off—and brushed a stray lock of green hair behind her ear. The reflection stared back with that familiar mix of earnest determination and quiet self-consciousness.

You know what the truly embarrassing part is? Momo’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial murmur. You’re hoping they see you in this. Our user. You’re hoping the sight of their fused friend-slash-guardian in All Might pajamas will make them smile. Or feel safe. Or both. You’re still that boy who wants to be someone’s hero… even when the hero looks like this.

The green eyes in the mirror softened.

Momoku exhaled slowly, resting her forehead against the cool glass for a second. The internal teasing quieted into something gentler.

…Fine, Momo said at last, the mockery fading into reluctant affection. Keep the ridiculous onesie. But tomorrow we are going shopping for actual sleepwear that doesn’t make us look like we lost a bet with a merchandising department. And if you start muttering analysis about the tensile strength of the fabric while we’re trying to sleep, I will create a pillow and smother us both.

A small, crooked smile tugged at Momoku’s lips—half Deku’s hopeful grin, half Momo’s elegant smirk.

She straightened, gave her reflection one last once-over, and whispered aloud to the empty bathroom,

“…We look kind of cool, though.”

We look like a walking mid-life crisis with freckles, Momo corrected instantly.

But neither of them moved to take the onesie off.

The mall was louder than Momoku had expected.

Bright overhead lights, overlapping conversations, the distant smell of pretzels and perfume—everything pressed in at once. She kept close to your side, one gloved hand hovering near your elbow without quite touching, green eyes flicking constantly between the crowds and your face. The All Might onesie had been left at home. Today she wore a simple teal hoodie and black leggings that still struggled to contain the combined muscle and curves of her fused body. Even so, people stared.

They had only been inside for ten minutes when the first real problem appeared.

The two of them stopped in front of a wide storefront at the same time.

To the left: a brightly lit toy store with an entire endcap dedicated to the new All Might collector line. Limited-edition figures, a light-up helmet, a massive plush of young All Might in his silver-age costume, even a set of tiny replica medals.

To the right: an upscale loungewear boutique. Mannequins posed in soft silk pajamas, elegant satin nightgowns, and tailored lounge dresses in deep jewel tones. One particular set—a dark emerald robe with matching sleep shorts—caught the light like it had been designed specifically for someone with her proportions.

Momoku’s body locked in place.

Oh. Momo’s voice rang clear and delighted inside their shared mind. *Look at those. Real fabric. Actual adult clothing. That emerald set would drape beautifully over these shoulders and still leave room for—

All Might silver-age plush, Deku’s side interrupted instantly, eyes already locked on the giant stuffed hero. It’s the exact design from the old posters. They even got the smile right. And look—there’s a figure with the Detroit Smash pose—

We are not buying a giant stuffed man when we could finally own something that isn’t a cartoon.

It’s not just a cartoon! It’s All Might!

It is a three-foot-tall plush of a man in spandex, Izuku.

Momoku’s left foot took a half-step toward the toy store. Her right foot immediately tried to drag them the opposite direction. The result was an awkward, frozen shuffle that made a nearby shopper give them a strange look.

Stop that. Momo’s mental tone sharpened. We are adults. We will walk into the clothing store like civilized people and select proper sleepwear.

But the limited-edition helmet—

No.

The medals come with a display case—

Absolutely not.

Their shared body trembled with the internal tug-of-war. One hand twitched toward the toy store. The other clenched into a fist at their side. Green eyes darted helplessly between the two displays while freckled cheeks flushed darker by the second.

Finally Momoku turned toward you, expression caught somewhere between pleading and mortified. The conflict was written all over her face—Deku’s earnest desperation warring with Momo’s refined exasperation.

“…We appear to be having a disagreement,” she said carefully, voice low so only you could hear. “One half of me very badly wants the new All Might collection. The other half is insisting we purchase actual pajamas that do not feature a smiling pro-hero on the chest.”

She gestured weakly at both stores, the motion slightly uneven because both personalities were still trying to steer the arm.

“We… cannot decide. And I refuse to let either side simply overpower the other in public.” A small, embarrassed breath left her. “So I am asking you.

Which side should we listen to right now?”

Her green eyes searched your face with complete seriousness, waiting.