Dawn cracked over UA, the campus a steel cage under lockdown. Zion woke in his dorm, sheets a mess, body taut from the clone fight.
The whispers from class pinned him as All for One's target, a threat or a traitor, pushing him to act.
He needed a crew, fierce and loyal, to fuel his mission: shred the corrupt hero system, rip out its rotten core, and build something raw, no mercy for fakes, no blood from the real.
Ochaco, with her soft edges and Gravity Quirk, and Midnight, all heat and Somnambulist, were his first marks—perfect for his fight, ripe for his charm.
He slipped out before breakfast, dodging the dorm's hum, firing off texts to Ochaco and Midnight: Old warehouse, edge of town, noon.
Big talk, keep it hush. The spot was a busted relic, rusted walls and shattered windows, far from UA's eyes, built for secrets. He threw on a black jacket, tight shirt, jeans that showed enough to work his appeal, his All for One humming, Creation Quirk poised to craft trouble if needed.
The warehouse squatted under a gray sky, its roof sagging, graffiti bleeding down cracked walls, the air thick with dust and old oil.
Zion got there early, scoping the place—empty crates, a warped floor, a grimy mattress tucked in a corner, sketchy but perfect. He paced, mind sharp, his plan simple: seduce them, fuck them senseless, then pitch his fight.
Ochaco arrived first, her hero skirt swaying, sneakers scuffing, her eyes bright but wary, like she trusted him but knew he played deep.
Midnight strutted in next, bodysuit gleaming, whip coiled, her smirk pure fire, like she'd already won.
"Shady spot, kid," she said, leaning on a crate, voice dripping with promise. "Spill it—what's the game?"
Zion grinned, crude and bold, stepping into their space.
"You two ain't like the rest," he said, voice low, eyes flicking from Ochaco's flush to Midnight's smirk.
"I want you for something real. But first, we cut loose."
He moved to Ochaco, his hand grazing her cheek, her skin warm, her breath hitching, her trust bending fast. Midnight laughed, closing in, her fingers trailing his chest, nails catching his shirt.
"Oh, I'm liking this," she purred, her lips close, her scent a punch of spice and heat.
The warehouse turned molten, the air thick with want. Zion pulled Ochaco in, kissing her slow, her lips soft, shy, then fierce, her moan a quiet spark that lit him up.
Midnight pressed against his back, her hands bold, scraping his neck, her whisper hot, "Let's see what you're made of, Zion."
He spun, kissing Midnight, her tongue wild, her bite sharp, her body grinding into his.
Ochaco's fingers tugged his jacket, her caution melting, her hands unzipping his shirt, her touch tentative but hungry, her breath fast.
They stumbled to the mattress, clothes shedding—Ochaco's skirt hiked, her panties pale pink, thighs trembling; Midnight's bodysuit peeled down, breasts spilling out, nipples stiff, her smirk daring.
Zion's jeans dropped, his little brother hard, his lust a fucking storm. "Goddamn, you're both fuckin' perfect," he growled, pulling Ochaco onto his lap, her heat soaking his thigh, her gasp loud as his fingers slipped under her panties, finding her slick, teasing her clit, slow circles that made her squirm.
Midnight straddled his chest, wet, her eyes wicked. "Don't tease, kid," she said, grinding against him, her scent driving him wild.
He kissed Ochaco's neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark, her moans rising, her hips rocking as his fingers worked, sliding inside, her tightness gripping, her voice breaking,
"Zion…" Midnight leaned in, kissing Ochaco, their tongues tangling, a fucking show that made his cock throb.
"Shit, that's hot," he muttered, his free hand squeezing Midnight's ass, pulling her closer, his lips on her tit, sucking her nipple, her groan deep, her body arching.
Ochaco's hands fumbled, stroking him, her grip shaky but eager, her whisper desperate, "Please, Zion…"
Midnight slid lower, her mouth finding his cock, lips tight, tongue swirling, his growl rough, "Fuck, Midnight, you're killing me."
Ochaco's climax built, her moans louder, her pussy clenching, her cry sharp, "Zion, I'm—!" She came, her body shaking, her thighs trembling, her breath ragged.
He lifted her, laying her back, spreading her legs, entering her slow, her heat wrapping him, her gasp a plea, "More, please."
He thrust, steady, then harder, the mattress creaking, her nails digging into his shoulders, her eyes locked on his, her second peak rising.
Midnight climbed behind, her hands on his hips, urging him deeper, her lips biting his ear, her voice raw, "Fuck her good, kid." Ochaco's cries spiked, her legs wrapping him, her orgasm hitting, her pussy pulsing, her scream muffled against his chest, "Zion!"
He pulled out, turning to Midnight, pushing her down, her thighs open, her pussy glistening.
"Your turn," he growled, thrusting in, her tightness a fucking vice, her moan loud, "Yes, fuck, Zion!" He moved, rough but smooth, her hips meeting his, her nails clawing his back, leaving red streaks.
Ochaco recovered, kissing Midnight's neck, her hands roaming, pinching her nipples, making Midnight's moans wilder, her voice breaking, "Shit, you two, keep going!"
Zion's pace was relentless, his hands gripping Midnight's thighs, spreading her wider, her climax building, her gasps ragged, "Zion, now, fuck!"
She came, her pussy squeezing, her scream raw, her body quivering, her eyes rolling back.
Ochaco's touch—her fingers teasing Midnight's clit—pushed him over, his release slamming through, hot and thick, filling Midnight, his growl deep, their bodies locked, sweat dripping, the mattress soaked.
They collapsed, panting, the warehouse air heavy, the floor cold against their skin.
Zion pulled them close, his chest heaving, his voice low, crude but steady. "You're mine now, yeah? I'm building something—smashing the fake-ass hero world, the pros, the system, all the lies. I need you—your Quirks, your fire. You with me?"
Midnight smirked, her hand on his thigh, her eyes blazing, no hesitation. "At this point, I'd probably die for you, or, for this lil boy lower. I'm in." Her loyalty snapped into place, his charm a chain she didn't fight.
Ochaco sat up, her eyes down, her breath uneven, her skirt crumpled.
"Zion…" she said, voice soft, her fingers twisting her hair. "You're talking about fighting everyone—heroes, villains, the world. I want to help people, not… destroy." She paused, her eyes meeting his, his appeal tugging her, her trust bending slow.
Minutes ticked, her silence loud, then she nodded, firm. "Alright. I'm with you. But we do it careful, okay? No innocents."
Zion grinned, his crew tightening, his mission gaining teeth. "Done," he said, kissing Ochaco's lips, soft and lingering, then Midnight's, fierce and quick. The warehouse was still, their pact sealed, the fight ahead a spark ready to ignite.
*****