Tangled Hearts

Mirko stood frozen in the doorway of Zion's dorm room, her rabbit ears rigid, hero suit tight against her thighs.

Her eyes burned, wide with shock, then narrowed, slicing through Zion and Midnight, who lounged on the bed, her bodysuit half-zipped, hair a dark tangle, her appeal at 100 a smug glow.

The air reeked of sex, the bed creased, Zion's shirt in shreds on the floor. "What the actual fuck, Zion?" Mirko snapped, fists balled, her voice raw with fury and something sharper, her glare a blade.

She spun, storming out, her hand clutching her chest, her heartbeat hammering, a flush creeping up her neck.

Zion scrambled, yanking on pants, his bare chest still slick with sweat, Midnight's moans echoing in his head. "Mirko, wait!" he yelled, bolting after her, his All-Seeing Eye catching her stats as he ran:

<

Name: Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko)

Quirk: Rabbit

Energy: 75

Endurance: 90

Strength: 100

Appeal: 47

>

The UA dorm hallway was dim, walls scuffed, the lockdown's weight choking the air. Mirko's boots echoed, her pace fast, but Zion's Lightspeed flickered, closing the gap, his hand grazing her arm.

"Rumi, hold up!" he said, voice rough, crude but urgent. Mirko's shock cut deep, her heartbeat a drum he couldn't ignore.

She jerked free, spinning to face him, her back against a vending machine, its hum the only sound. Her hand still pressed her chest, her breathing uneven, her eyes wild, torn between anger and something raw.

"Don't, Zion," she hissed, voice low, her appeal steady but fragile. "I… fuck, I didn't need to see that." Her flush deepened, her ears twitching, her strength—20, a beast—softened by the crack in her voice.

He stepped closer, hands up. "Talk to me, Rumi," he said, voice stripped, his lust for her—Momo's curves, Midnight's heat—shoved down. "You're pissed, I get it. But what's going on?"

She laughed, bitter, her hand dropping, fists unclenching. "Pissed? Shit, Zion, I'm… I don't know." Her eyes met his, fierce but vulnerable, her hero mask slipping.

"I've been watching you, kid. Since you showed up, all cocky, fighting like a damn demon. I wanted to protect you, like… like you were my own son." Her voice cracked, her appeal ticking to 48, her honesty a knife. "But you're not a kid anymore. You're a man, fucking your teacher, fighting All for One's lackeys. I didn't see it coming, and it… it fucks me up."

Zion's chest tightened, her words hitting harder than any punch. Her appeal, her strength, her fire—he'd craved it, slow-burning her, but this was real, no game.

"Rumi," he said, stepping closer, the air thick, sensual, her scent—sweat, leather—pulling him in. "You don't gotta protect me. I'm built for this—killing liars, building something true. But you… you're part of that, if you want." His voice was raw, sincere, his All for One secret safe with Momo, but Mirko's heart laid bare.

Her eyes softened, her breath hitching, the space between them shrinking.

"You idiot," she whispered, her hand brushing his chest, lingering, her heartbeat loud in the quiet. The air turned electric, her appeal spiking to 50, the line between protector and something else blurring.

Without warning, her lips found his, a kiss soft but searing, romantic, deep, her hands cupping his face, his gripping her waist, the world fading.

Her taste—salt, strength—hit him, her moan a whisper, their bodies pressed, the hallway a haze.

She pulled back, gasping, her eyes wide, her appeal frozen at 50, her hand touching her lips. "Fuck… we shouldn't have," she muttered, stepping back, her voice shaky, her ears drooping. "This… this ain't right." She turned, fast, her boots clicking, leaving Zion against the vending machine, his lips tingling, her kiss a spark he didn't expect.

He stood, pulse racing, her words—like my own son—clashing with that kiss,

The day dragged—classes half-assed, UA's lockdown tight, students whispering about the incident.

Zion kept low, his Eye scanning: Tsuyu, appeal 30, neutral, a maybe. Ochaco lingered in the cafeteria, appeal 90, her smile soft but distant.

Momo caught him in a hall, her voice low. "You okay? Saw Mirko leave… fast." Her appeal at 100 held no jealousy, only care, her trust a rock.

"Fine," he said, crude but soft, her touch grounding him. "Just sorting shit. We're still building our crew." She nodded, her eyes sharp, her Quirk synced with his, their cause a shared blade.

Night fell, the dorms heavy, when Zion's phone buzzed—a text from Mirko: We need to talk. Not now. Stay safe.

Her appeal held at 50, her kiss a ghost, her regret a knot he'd untangle. He stepped into the common room, Momo and Ochaco chatting, their appeals blazing, when a low rumble shook the campus, lights flickering, Aizawa's voice barking over the intercom:

"All students, stay inside! Intruder alert!" Zion's Eye snapped wide, catching a shadow outside—tall, masked, moving fast.

*****