Musutafu's downtown buzzed with the aftermath of chaos, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the distant wail of sirens. A villain—a hulking brute with a quirk that turned his skin to molten rock—had torn through the shopping district, leaving shattered windows and panicked crowds in his wake. But the threat was over, neutralized by the R-Rated Hero, Midnight, whose silhouette now stood triumphant atop a pile of rubble, her whip coiled at her hip, her costume glinting under the flickering streetlights.
Izuku Midoriya, a lanky sixteen-year-old with a mop of green hair and freckles dusting his cheeks, stood at the edge of the cordoned-off scene, his heart pounding. He wasn't a hero, not like the ones he idolized. Quirkless, ordinary, he was just a kid who spent his days scribbling hero analyses in notebooks and dreaming of a life he'd never have. But Midnight—Nemuri Kayama—was his obsession. Her confidence, her strength, the way her sultry persona commanded attention without apology… she was everything he admired, everything he desired.
His backpack, slung over one shoulder, held his latest notebook, pages filled with sketches of her costume, notes on her Somnambulist quirk, and embarrassingly detailed daydreams he'd never admit to. When he'd heard the commotion on his way home from school, he'd sprinted toward the danger, not to fight but to see her. Now, as the crowd cheered and police herded onlookers back, Izuku clutched his pen and notebook, his palms sweaty. Just an autograph, he told himself. That's all I need.
Midnight descended from the rubble, her thigh-high boots clicking against the pavement, her bodysuit—black, skin-tight, and daringly translucent at the edges—hugging every curve. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her crimson eyes scanned the crowd with a playful, predatory glint. She waved, blowing a kiss that sent half the onlookers into a frenzy, but Izuku froze, his breath catching as her gaze landed on him.
"You," she said, her voice a velvet purr that cut through the noise. She pointed a gloved finger, her lips curling into a smirk. "The kid with the notebook. Come here."
Izuku's legs moved before his brain caught up, stumbling past the police tape as an officer waved him through, muttering something about "Midnight's orders." The crowd's murmurs faded, the world narrowing to the sway of her hips, the confident tilt of her head. He stopped a few feet away, clutching his notebook like a lifeline, his face burning.
"U-um, M-Midnight-sensei—I mean, Midnight! I'm a huge fan!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "I was wondering if, uh, maybe I could get your autograph? I-I know you're busy, but—"
She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Aren't you adorable?" she said, stepping closer, her heels clicking. She towered over him, her presence overwhelming, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating—filling his senses. "What's your name, cutie?"
"I-Izuku! Izuku Midoriya!" he blurted, thrusting his notebook forward. His hands shook, and he prayed she couldn't see the doodles of her on the open page.
She took the notebook, her gloved fingers brushing his, and flipped through it, her smirk widening. "Oh, my. Quite the scholar, aren't you? These notes are… thorough." Her eyes flicked to a sketch of her in a particularly dynamic pose, her whip raised, and she arched a brow. "And talented, too."
Izuku's face was a furnace, his words tripping over themselves. "I-I'm sorry if it's weird! I just really admire you! Your quirk, your fighting style, the way you—"
"Shh," she said, pressing a finger to his lips, her touch electric. "No need to apologize. I like a fan with passion." She handed the notebook back, unsigned, and leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "But I think you deserve more than an autograph, Izuku. How about a private thank-you for your… dedication?"
His mind blanked, his heart a drumbeat in his chest. "W-what do you mean?"
She straightened, her smirk wicked. "Follow me." Without waiting for a response, she turned, her hips swaying as she led him past the police, through an alley, and into a sleek black van parked discreetly behind a damaged storefront. The driver, a stoic man in a suit, didn't even glance at them as Midnight slid the door open and gestured for Izuku to climb in.
He hesitated, his instincts screaming that this was insane, dangerous, wrong. But her eyes, those crimson pools of promise, pulled him in, and he clambered into the van, his backpack forgotten on the seat beside him. The door slid shut, the world outside muffled, and Midnight settled across from him, crossing her legs with a grace that made his mouth dry.
"Relax, Izuku," she said, her voice a soothing command. "You're safe with me. I just thought we could have a little… chat." Her fingers trailed along her whip, coiled on her hip, and Izuku swallowed hard, his jeans suddenly too tight.
"A chat?" he echoed, his voice barely audible. "About… what?"
She leaned forward, her bodysuit stretching taut, revealing the faint outline of her nipples. "About you. About what you really want." Her hand reached out, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing his freckles. "I see it in your eyes, kid. You worship me. And I'm flattered. So, let's skip the formalities. Tell me what you fantasize about when you're alone, thinking of me."
Izuku's breath hitched, his mind a whirlwind of panic and desire. "I-I don't— I mean, I just admire you! I don't think about—"
"Liar," she teased, her hand sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "Your body's telling the truth." Her gaze dropped to his lap, where his erection strained against his jeans, and she chuckled. "Oh, sweet boy. You're adorable."
He flushed, mortified, but her touch was gentle, disarming. "M-Midnight, I'm just a nobody. I'm not a hero, I'm not—"
"You're enough," she said, her voice firm, almost tender. "You're here, with me, and that's all I need." She shifted, straddling his lap, her thighs pressing against his, the heat of her body overwhelming. "Let me show you how a hero rewards her biggest fan."
Her lips crashed against his, a kiss that was all heat and hunger, her tongue teasing his with a skill that left him dizzy. Izuku gasped into her mouth, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch, but she grabbed them, guiding them to her hips. "Touch me," she murmured, her voice a command wrapped in velvet. "Don't hold back."
His fingers dug into her, the thin fabric of her bodysuit a flimsy barrier between them. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating through him, and ground her hips against his, eliciting a choked groan. "M-Midnight," he stammered, his voice raw, "this is— I can't—"
"You can," she whispered, nipping his earlobe. "And you will." Her hands worked at his jeans, deft fingers undoing the button, the zipper, freeing his cock with a hum of approval. "Look at you. So eager for me."
Izuku's head spun, his body a traitor to his reeling mind. She stroked him, her touch firm yet teasing, and he bucked into her hand, a whimper escaping his lips. "Please," he begged, not even sure what he was asking for.
She smiled, wicked and warm, and slid off his lap, kneeling between his legs. "Let's make this unforgettable," she said, then took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around him with a heat that made his vision blur. Her tongue swirled, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, and Izuku's hands tangled in her hair, his moans filling the van.
"M-Midnight," he gasped, his hips twitching, "I'm— I'm gonna—"
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock, and grinned. "Not yet, Izuku. I want you inside me." She stood, peeling off her bodysuit with a slow, deliberate grace, revealing her flawless skin, her full breasts, the curve of her hips. Izuku stared, awestruck, his cock throbbing as she straddled him again, her wetness brushing against him.
"No protection," she said, her voice a sultry challenge. "I want to feel you. All of you." Before he could protest, she sank onto him, her tight heat enveloping him inch by agonizing inch. Izuku groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, her moan echoing his as she took him fully, her hips rocking in a slow, torturous rhythm.
"Oh, Izuku," she purred, her hands braced on his shoulders, "you feel so good." Her movements grew faster, more desperate, her breasts bouncing as she rode him. The van rocked slightly, the windows fogging, but they were too lost to care. Izuku's hips thrust up to meet her, instinct overtaking his inexperience, his need matching hers.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, their moans a symphony in the confined space. Midnight's nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red lines, and Izuku's hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, worshiping her with every touch. "Midnight," he gasped, his voice breaking, "I— I can't hold on—"
"Then don't," she said, her voice a breathless command. "Give it to me, Izuku. Fill me up." She clenched around him, her orgasm hitting with a cry that echoed in his ears, and the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure—pushed him over the edge.
He came with a shudder, his release spilling into her, hot and unrelenting. Midnight moaned, her hips grinding against him, milking every drop, her body trembling with satisfaction. They clung to each other, breathless, the van silent save for their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.
She kissed him softly, a contrast to the ferocity of before, and brushed a thumb across his cheek. "You're something special, Izuku Midoriya," she murmured, her voice warm. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
He stared at her, his heart swelling, his body spent but his mind racing. "Midnight… I… thank you."
She laughed, sliding off his lap and slipping back into her bodysuit with a grace that belied the intensity of what they'd done. "No need to thank me, kid. Just keep cheering for me." She winked, then handed him his notebook, now signed with a flourish and a lipstick kiss. "A little something to remember me by."
The van door opened, the cool night air a shock against his flushed skin. She stepped out, pausing to blow him a kiss. "See you around, Izuku." And then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Izuku sat there, his jeans still undone, his notebook clutched to his chest, the memory of her touch, her heat, her everything etched into his soul. He wasn't a hero, but for one fleeting moment, he'd been hers—and that was more than enough.
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