MHA: Lust Quirk

My apartment door was already open when I got to the third floor.

Mina was inside. She'd beaten me up the stairs because my legs were stiff from the tournament and she'd taken them two at a time and she was humming somewhere inside. The spare key was on the counter next to her phone. Neither of us had discussed the spare key. She'd had it copied sometime in the last week and it had just become a fact, like the pink hair on my pillow or the acid-resistant body wash that had appeared in my shower.

My shower. Her body wash.

She was standing in my kitchen in her hoodie and shorts and her horns were catching the overhead light and when I came through the door she spun around and her grin was enormous.

"You WON."

"Yeah."

"On NATIONAL TELEVISION."

"Mina-"

She launched herself at me. Legs around my waist, arms around my neck, her full weight hitting my chest, and I caught her because my arms were strong enough now that she weighed nothing. Her horns nearly took out my eye. She didn't care. She was kissing me before I got the door closed and her mouth was warm and her legs locked behind my back and her fingers were in my hair and she was still trying to talk between kisses.

"When you punched through the ice- I literally-Kirishima had to hold me-"

I kicked the door shut behind us. My back hit the wall. She was in my lap, wrapped around me, grinding against my stomach through her shorts, and her hoodie rode up and the strip of pink skin between the hem and her waistband was warm against my hands. My palms found her waist. The skin was smooth and faintly tacky, the acid-chemistry thing, the texture that was just Mina.

"-and then you just WALKED through Bakugo's explosions like they were-"

I pulled her down and kissed her hard enough to shut her up. Her mouth opened under mine and the strawberry gum was gone, swallowed or spit, and her tongue was hot and she made a sound into my mouth, a laughing gasp that vibrated against my lips.

My legs gave out. The tournament, the burns, the accumulated damage from three fights. I slid down the wall and she came with me and we hit the floor and she landed on top of me straddling my hips with her knees on either side and she sat up and pulled the hoodie over her head in one motion.

No bra. Pink skin. Her nipples were darker pink, small, already hard from the grinding. Her stomach was flat and toned from acid-skating drills and the horns caught the light from the ceiling fixture and she was grinning down at me like she'd won the Sports Festival and not me.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

She rolled her hips. The pressure through my gym pants and her shorts was direct, the heat of her against me, and I was already hard from the kissing and the wall and her weight in my lap. Her hands went to my shirt and she pulled it up. The burns on my chest were red and blistered and she paused for a half-second, her gold-and-black eyes tracking over the damage, and then she leaned down and kissed the bruise above my collarbone where Bakugo's AP Shot had drilled in.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not right now."

She sat back up. Her fingers went to my waistband and she pulled my pants down far enough and I lifted my hips and her shorts came off next. Quick. Practiced. We'd done this enough times that the clothing logistics were a solved problem.

She wasn't wearing anything under the shorts. She was already wet. The slick heat of her against my cock when she pressed down, sliding along the length without putting me inside, was enough to make my brain stutter. Her hands were flat on my chest, careful around the burns, and she was still talking.

"Sixty-five thousand people watched you throw Todoroki out of the arena-"

She reached between us and guided me in. The first inch was tight, the usual resistance, her body adjusting, and then she sank down and the heat swallowed me inch by inch and my head went back against the floor and my hands found her hips. She was wet. Wetter than the grinding should have accounted for. She'd been turned on before she got to my apartment, probably since the Bakugo fight, hours of anticipation compressed into the slide of her taking me all the way in.

"-and then you beat Deku in like two minutes-" Her voice hitched on the last word. She rolled her hips and the angle shifted and I was deep and she was so warm inside that the contrast with the cool apartment air on my chest was a physical thing, the line between where her body touched mine and where the air did. "-and Bakugo, god, when you walked through the Howitzer and said- ah- said 'that's your big one, right?' I thought Kirishima was going to-nn-"

She was recounting my fights while riding me. Her mouth hadn't stopped and her hips hadn't stopped and the words were coming apart at the seams. Her hands pressed harder against my chest. Her breathing was faster.

I gripped her hips and pulled her down on the next stroke, deeper, and she gasped and lost the sentence.

"You- the- ah-"

"You done talking?"

"Shut UP, I'm having a moment-" She ground down hard and her eyes closed and her mouth opened and the grin was still there but her eyebrows were pulling together and the pleasure was catching up with the words. "When you grabbed Bakugo's shirt and just- just started slamming-nn- slamming him into the-"

I thrust up into her and the sentence died in her throat. She braced her hands on my chest and the shift put her weight forward and the angle changed and the head dragged along the front wall on each stroke. Her thighs tensed. Her breathing came through her mouth now, short and fast.

"Ah- ah-"

The wet sounds were louder. Each time she dropped her hips the slick noise filled the quiet apartment. Her cheeks were flushed dark pink, darker than her skin, spreading down her neck to her chest. A bead of sweat ran between her breasts. Her nipples dragged against my stomach when she rocked forward and the friction made both of us twitch.

She tried to talk again. "The crowd was- when you- nnh-" Her mouth gave up. Her gold eyes were half-closed and glazed and the grin was gone. Her mouth was open and her eyebrows were drawn tight and she looked wrecked. She was breathing fast, each exhale carrying a sound, and the sounds were rhythmic and getting louder, matching the pace of her hips.

I drove up into her. Her hands slipped on my chest and she caught herself with her palms on the floor beside my head and her face was above mine and her pink hair fell around us and the grin was the last thing holding together. Her body was slick with sweat where it pressed against mine. The smell of her was stronger, the acid-chemistry under the clean-sweat, and the floor was hard under my back and the ceiling stain was above us and none of it mattered because she was clenching around me in pulses and the heat was building in my spine.

"Ryo-" My name. She only used my first name when she was close. Her fingers dug into the floor beside my head, the nails pressing into the wood. "Ryo, I'm- I'm going to-"

"Stay."

She whimpered. The sound was high and broken and nothing like the loud confident girl who'd been narrating my tournament wins a minute ago. Her hips stuttered. Her thighs clamped against my sides. Her whole body tightened around me and the clench was sudden and hard and her eyes squeezed shut and she came with a sound that was half-laugh half-gasp, her mouth open and her shoulders shaking and the exhale broke into my name again, quieter this time.

I followed her. The tightness and the heat and the sound she'd made, and I came inside her with my hands on her hips and my head on the floor and my eyes on the ceiling of my empty apartment where the bird-shaped stain was directly above us.

She collapsed on my chest. Her forehead against my collarbone. Her breathing was ragged and her skin was damp and hot against mine and her horns were pointed at the ceiling and she was laughing. Quiet. Breathless.

"I'm dating the best first-year in Japan."

"Todoroki only used half his Quirk."

"And you still beat the guy who beat him. First place." She traced the bruise from Todoroki's ice on my shoulder with one finger. "Does this one hurt?"

"Not anymore."

She kissed it. Soft. Her lips on the bruise, gentle where the ice had burned, and then she settled her head against my chest and her breathing slowed and the sweat was cooling on both of us and the apartment was quiet.

We ate konbini rice balls on the floor because neither of us moved to the bed. She was wearing my shirt, the replacement one they'd given me at the stadium, and it was too big on her and the sleeves covered her hands and she ate with the fabric bunched around her wrists. The rice ball was salmon. The apartment had no furniture besides the bed and the desk and the floor was cold but she was warm against my side.

She fell asleep before I finished eating. Her head on my shoulder. Her horns angled away from my face because she'd learned to do that. Her breathing evened out and the strawberry gum smell was gone and what was left was Mina: acid-chemistry and clean sweat and the faint sweetness of pink skin that didn't match any human chemistry I'd ever read about.

My Quirk hummed. Low, quiet, the diminishing-returns cycle of an established partner. My reaction time was incrementally faster. Nobody would notice. I barely noticed. The gains from Mina had plateaued weeks ago but my body still absorbed what it could and the warmth was there, fading, like the last ring from a bell.

I sat on the floor with a sleeping girl against my shoulder and a gold medal somewhere near the door where it had fallen during the kissing and the burns on my chest stinging under the shirt she'd stolen.

Midnight ran the hero name class like a stage show.

Whip crack against the podium. Heeled boots on the tile. Her costume was the full R-Rated production, the black leather and the domino mask and the smile that made half the class sit up straighter and the other half look at their desks. She had a stack of whiteboards and a rubber stamp that said APPROVED in red ink and the stamp hit the desk every time she liked a name, which was loud and theatrical and absolutely on purpose.

"A hero name is not a brand." She was pacing. She did that. "It's not a marketing exercise. It is who you choose to be when the costume goes on and the cameras start rolling. It is the name people will scream when they need saving. Make it COUNT."

The energy. The performance. She leaned into the persona so hard you forgot there was someone underneath it.

In two years, Shigaraki's army was going to knock her off Gigantomachia's back. She was going to fall. A masked member of the Paranormal Liberation Front was going to find her on the ground and she was going to die relaying the anesthetic plan to Momo through a phone she could barely hold.

Unless I was there. Unless I stopped it.

She was cracking her whip at Kaminari's name suggestion (he'd written STUN GUN, she'd vetoed it for trademark issues) and my chest hurt because she was right there and she had no idea what was coming and I couldn't tell her.

Names went around the room. Compressed, quick. Tsuyu: Froppy. Midnight gushed. Ochaco: Uravity. Approved with enthusiasm. Iida: Ingenium, inherited from his brother. Midnight's expression shifted. Bakugo submitted something that had the word MURDER in it and got vetoed. Kirishima: Red Riot. Midnight paused, recognized the reference to Crimson Riot, and stamped it with visible respect. Todoroki said "Shoto" and sat down and Midnight looked like she wanted to argue but let it go.

My turn.

I walked to the whiteboard. Picked up the marker. Wrote one word in block letters.

HAVOC.

Midnight leaned forward in her chair. Her eyes went bright behind the mask. "Oooh." She drew the word out. "Havoc. Direct, punchy, a little dangerous." She tapped her whip against her palm. "Very on-brand for a brawler." The stamp came down hard. APPROVED.

She moved to the next student and I sat down and she glanced back at me as she passed my desk. One look. Quick. Her eyes behind the mask on mine, a teacher registering a student who'd surprised her. Then she was past me and the performance continued.

After class, the hallway was crowded with students comparing names. Kaminari had resubmitted as Chargebolt and was telling anyone who'd listen. Momo caught me near the stairwell.

"Why 'Havoc'?" She had her notebook under her arm. "Your Quirk is physical enhancement. Havoc implies collateral. Widespread damage. That's not what Enhancement does."

"Because I'm going to break things that need breaking."

She tilted her head. The pen was behind her ear and her dark eyes were narrowed, calculating. "That's either poetic or concerning."

"Both."

Her mouth moved. The smallest pull at the corner. She walked away before it became a smile.

The internship offers were posted on the bulletin board outside the faculty office. My mailbox was full. First place in the Sports Festival meant every agency in the country had sent something. Big envelopes from big agencies. Polite form letters from mid-tier firms. At the bottom of the pile, a handwritten note on plain paper from a small agency in Hosu. The agency wasn't impressive. The handwriting was neat and the offer was standard.

Hosu. Where the Hero Killer was waiting in an alley with a sword and an ideology and a body count that hadn't started yet.

I put the note in my bag. The other offers could wait.

Stain was in Hosu. That was this week's problem now.