UA's dorms were a fucking graveyard, morning sun slicing through the blinds, the forest massacre. Zion sprawled on his bed, scabs tight, muscles aching from shredding enemies with Momo's Creation Quirk, now his too, thanks to Quirk Echo.
His drive—cutting down the world's liars, sparing the true like her—raged, but UA's lockdown had him leashed, his All-Seeing Eye restless for trouble.
A knock cracked the silence, sharp and teasing, not Momo's soft tap. Zion swung the door open, and Midnight stood there, bodysuit hugging every curve, whip coiled at her hip, her scent slamming him, a mix of spice and sin, no Somnambulist needed.
Her appeal burned at 99, a breath from owned, her eyes glinting with hunger.
"Zion," she purred, voice thick as honey, stepping inside, shutting the door with a soft click. "Got time for a private lesson?"
His blood roared, raw lust kicking in—her tits straining the suit, hips rolling, thighs he'd kill to grip.
"Fuck, teach," he growled, leaning against his desk, keeping it cool. "You lookin' to stir shit up?"
She slunk closer, whip swaying, lips curling slow. "Stir? Nah, I want fun. You fucked up those forest bastards. Got me… interested."
Her fingers grazed his arm, nails dragging, her scent wrapping him, hot and heavy. "No hero crap, just us, rough and real. You in?"
Zion's grin was sharp, his dick already hard—her body, her voice, a prize he'd devour.
"You want it raw, I'm game," he rasped, closing the gap, his hand skimming her waist, feeling her shiver. "But you better not tap out, Midnight."
Her laugh was low, sultry, her eyes promising a storm. "Kid, I'll break you."
The room turned to fire, air thick with need. She shoved him onto the bed, her hands tearing his shirt, buttons flying, her nails raking his chest, pulling a hiss.
"Fuckin' wild," he growled, grabbing her hips, yanking her down, her weight straddling him, her suit rubbing his skin, teasing his cock. Her lips crashed into his, hot and greedy, tongues wrestling, her moan a deep hum that lit his nerves. His hands dug into her ass, firm and fucking perfect, her gasp spurring him, her hips grinding, slow and torturous.
She pulled back, smirking, her suit unzipping with a slow, deliberate tug, revealing smooth skin, her breasts spilling out, nipples hard, begging for his mouth.
"Like the view?" she teased, voice a velvet knife, rolling her hips, his pants tight as hell.
"You're a goddamn wet dream, have I told you that already?" he muttered, flipping her onto her back, the mattress groaning, his lips hitting her neck, sucking hard, her pulse hammering under his tongue.
Her hands yanked his hair, her moans louder, "Fuck, Zion, more," her voice raw, craving.
He peeled her suit lower, past her hips, her thighs glistening, her pussy already wet, her scent driving him insane. His fingers slipped between her legs, teasing her clit, slow circles, then faster, her hips bucking, her gasp sharp.
"Shit, you're dripping," he growled, his mouth on her tit, tongue flicking her nipple, biting soft, her body arching. Her hands ripped at his pants, freeing his cock, her grip tight, stroking slow, making him groan, "Fuck, Midnight, you're killing me."
She pushed him back, climbing on top, her eyes feral, hair a dark tangle. "My show," she whispered, lowering herself, taking him in, her tight heat gripping him, both of them cursing, the bed creaking.
She moved, slow at first, hips rolling, her moans soft, then harder, "Zion, fuck, so good."
He grabbed her waist, thrusting up, matching her, each move rough but smooth, her tits bouncing, her nails clawing his shoulders, leaving red trails.
"Harder," she panted, leaning down, kissing him deep, her tongue messy, her body trembling.
He flipped her again, pinning her wrists above her head, driving deeper, the headboard slamming, her cries spiking,
"Fuck, yes, don't stop!" Her legs locked around him, pulling him in, her pussy clenching, her moans a fucking symphony.
He angled his hips, hitting her spot, her gasps turning to screams, "Zion, shit, I'm—" Her climax hit, her body shaking, her pussy pulsing, her scream muffled against his neck, "Fuck!"
He kept going, relentless, her moans pushing him, his hands squeezing her thighs, spreading her wider.
"You're mine," he growled, her second orgasm building, her eyes rolling back, her voice breaking,
"Zion, again, fuck!" She came again, harder, her body quivering, her nails digging into his back, drawing blood. The sight—her flushed, trembling, fucking wrecked—sent him over, his release slamming through, hot and thick, filling her, his growl raw, their bodies locked, slick with sweat.
They collapsed, panting, her hair a mess, his chest heaving, the room smelling of sex. Her appeal hit 100.
Midnight smirked, tracing his chest, her voice hoarse. "Damn, kid. You're a fucking animal.
Round two later?" He grinned, still hard, her body a map he'd redraw. "Bet, teach. You're stuck with me now."
The door flew open, Mirko standing there, rabbit ears stiff, hero suit hugging her thighs, her appeal at 47 now ice, her eyes wide, then blazing. "What the actual fuck, Zion?"
*****