Mina Ashido's POV
Power thrummed in my veins: a casual flick of my wrist conjured a frost-laced flame, dancing blue-white between fingers, Multiverse Travel humming like a trapped storm ready to tear rifts. More, Lust whispered, a sultry itch in my core.
Steal Endeavor's blaze. All Might's embers. Worlds for the League. Shigaraki would worship me—his pink puppet turned queen. Mineta's blackmail? Laughable
But the universe had other plans.
It started as a prickle—a cosmic itch at the base of my spine, like reality's skin crawling. I froze mid-pace, phone slipping from acid-slick fingers, clattering to the rug.
The air thickened, pressure dropping like a storm front, my ears popping. "What the—?" Multiverse Travel flickered, a portal-shard sparking unbidden in the mirror—violet tear showing not worlds, but void, a swirling maw of nothing that sucked light like a black hole's kiss.
Lust recoiled, the seductive pull twisting to nausea in my gut. Half-Cold Half-Hot rebelled—right hand frosting over, ice creeping up my arm like frostbite's revenge, left igniting in uncontrolled flames that singed my crop top, the binary quirk warring within stolen flesh.
I gasped, collapsing to my knees, horns scraping the wall as pain lanced—not physical, but existential, like threads of my soul unraveling.
The room warped, walls bleeding pink to grayscale, posters curling like burning paper. Balance, a voice echoed—not Shigaraki's rasp, but the universe itself, a neutral hum vast as stars. Theft disrupts. Power borrowed fractures the weave. Return what was taken, or be unmade.
Visions flooded: Hiroshi's drained eyes as Multiverse Travel ripped from him; alternate Shoto's vacant stare post-ritual, his fire-ice siphoned through my moans—"Shoto! Deeper!"—leaving him a husk in his world's U.A.
The stolen quirks weren't gifts; they were debts, multiversal loans called due by existence's ledger.
Panic surged, acid bubbling at my palms—corrosive tears etching the floor. "No—no, I need them!" I clawed at my right arm, ice cracking under nails, flames licking my skin to blisters.
Multiverse Travel spasmed, unwanted rifts tearing mini-portals across the room—glimpses of Earth-Alpha's iced U.A., Hiroshi's Yokohama void-dump—before snapping shut, each closure a stab to my core.
Lust twisted worst—the seductive thief inverting, a void-hunger that pulled at me, quirk-threads yanking stolen essence back through my veins like barbed wire.
"Stop—please!" I screamed, voice fracturing, fangs drawing blood from my lip as the room's shadows deepened, the universe's demand a gravitational crush.
The loss unfolded in agonizing layers, a systematic purge that peeled me raw. First, Multiverse Travel—the newest theft, the greediest. It started as a tremor in my blood, the portal-hum inverting to a suction, pulling at my cells like a drain.
My vision blurred, rifts flickering involuntarily—tiny tears showing infinite voids, each one yanking a sliver of my will. "Ahh—get out!" I thrashed, slamming my fist into the mirror, glass shattering as Multiverse Travel convulsed, essence boiling up my throat like bile.
The quirk uncoiled, threads snapping one by one—violet energy erupting from my pores, coiling into a spectral Hiroshi, his drained face smirking as the power returned to its shell.
My body arched, a wet retch escaping as the final thread tore—Multiverse Travel gone, leaving a hollow echo in my core, the room's mini-rifts sealing with pops that echoed my sobs.
No more worlds. No escape. Just me, grounded in this fragile Earth.
Tears streamed, acid-etched tracks burning my cheeks, but the purge didn't pause.
Half-Cold Half-Hot rebelled next, the binary blaze Todoroki's stolen legacy turning traitor in my flesh. My right arm locked, ice surging uncontrolled—frost climbing my shoulder, encasing my horn in crystalline spikes that cracked with every breath.
"Cold—too cold!" Pain lanced, nerves freezing mid-fire, the quirk's dual nature fracturing: left hand blazed, flames leaping to char the rug, heat boiling my blood to fever-pitch.
I clawed at my arms, nails breaking on ice, skin blistering from fire—theft's backlash, the universe demanding equilibrium, stolen power rejecting its thief.
Visions assaulted: alternate Shoto's ritual, his essence siphoned through my screams, now reversing like vomit.
The quirk warred visibly—ice veins bulging blue under pink skin, flames licking internal, a civil war in my body.
"Burn it out—make it stop!" I slammed my hands together, acid sizzling between, but Half-Cold Half-Hot detonated: a blast of steam exploding outward, singeing my hair, frosting the window.
The essence coalesced—a spectral Shoto manifesting in dual haze, his mismatched eyes accusing as the power flooded back, threads ripping from my meridians like hooks from flesh.
My right side thawed in agony, numbness giving way to pins-and-needles fire; left cooled to ash-scent, burns weeping.
The quirk fled in a binary sigh—cold mist and hot spark—leaving my arms limp, skin mottled pink and raw, the room a sauna of frost-melt puddles and charred edges.
No fire. No ice. Just me, quirkless in theft's wake.
Worst came last: Lust, the engine, the seductress, All For One's seed in my soul. It didn't fight—it devoured. The itch inverted to starvation, the quirk's threads turning inward, siphoning my essence through the rituals' echo.
Flashes assaulted: Hiroshi's kiss, his tongue curling mine in mango-tanged heat; Shoto's sucks, his mouth on my breasts—"Shoto! Harder!"—moans rebounding as phantom pains.
My core clenched, a void-hunger pulling at my womb, virginity's reset fracturing under the recall. "No—Lust, stay!" I begged, fingers digging into my navel, but the quirk laughed—a sultry echo in my mind—then screamed, threads yanking free like roots from soil.
Agony peaked: seductive pull becoming rape, quirk-threads barbing my nerves, dragging stolen rituals through my flesh.
My mouth burned—phantom tongues invading, 10 minutes of deep claim replaying in wet, choking gasps.
Breasts throbbed—20 minutes of harder sucks, nipples hardening against invisible mouths, screams—"Hiroshi! Shoto!"—ripping from my throat unbidden.
Navel spasmed—10 minutes of tongued devotion, tip spearing the dip in phantom thrusts, my abs clenching as if kissed deeper still.
The universe's voice returned: Balance restored. Theft ends. Lust uncoiled fully, essence erupting from my core in a pink-silver mist, coiling into a spectral All For One silhouette—faceless, laughing—before dissipating, the quirk's hunger sated by its own return to the void.
I collapsed, sobbing, body a wreck—skin raw, limbs numb, core hollowed like a gutted fish. Quirks gone: Multiverse Travel's wanderlust silenced, Half-Cold Half-Hot's blaze extinguished, Lust's seduction starved.
The room normalized—walls pink again, air breathable, shadows retreating. But in the emptiness, something bloomed—not a quirk, but Power: MA (Mind Alter).
The universe's "gift" for balance, a non-quirk essence etched into my soul, permanent as breath. Alter anyone's mind forever—any way I willed—through one act: deep kiss, tongue in mouth, 10 minutes. No seduction needed; just claim, and rewrite.
Shigaraki would kneel; Mineta would forget his leverage, become my pet. Class 1-A? Pawns or protectors, as I willed.
Dawn crept, exams' echo fading. Training Camp waited. With MA, the League—and worlds—were mine to reshape.
__________________
But first? Leverage in Class 1-A. Momo Yaoyorozu—Creation's genius, rich-girl poise hiding a crack of insecurity I'd exploit.
Turn her: lover to sate MA's intimacy itch, traitor to feed the League intel. Her mind mine—rewrite loyalties, desires, make her mine.
The halls were tombs, U.A. asleep post-exams, Jiro and Koda's Present Mic cuff (their Bully Maguire dirt-sling a dorm legend) the last whisper before camp prep.
Momo's room: end of the girls' wing, door ajar from late-night studying, light spilling golden. I slipped in, pink form silent on acid-muffled boots, crop top and shorts hugging curves like a second skin—navel bare, breasts straining, fanged grin hidden in shadow.
She sat at her desk, ponytail loosened, hero costume swapped for silk pajamas, notebook open to quirk analyses, tea steaming beside. Beautiful—porcelain skin, dark eyes sharp behind glasses, curves poured into fabric like sculpted marble.
"Yaoyorozu," I purred, locking the door with a soft click. She startled, Creation sparking faintly in her palm—a pen materializing mid-air.
"Ashido? It's late—what's—"
Lust's ghost echoed, but MA needed no prelude. I closed the gap in three strides, hips swaying, acid-sheen skin catching the lamplight. "Shh, Momo. Girl talk. About... us."
Her brow furrowed, Creation pen hovering defensive. "Us? I don't—" My hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing her jaw—soft, warm, yielding under pink touch.
MA hummed, the power's will coiling invisible, ready to rewrite through the kiss. "You will. Trust me." She tensed, pen jabbing, but I caught her wrist, acid tingling just enough to numb, not burn.
"Relax. Today, everything changes."
Confusion warred with curiosity—her Creation quirk probing, but MA's subtle pull fogged the edges, desire's whisper without seduction's force.
She pulled back, glasses slipping. "Ashido, this isn't—" But I leaned in, lips brushing hers feather-light—a tease of plush pink against her full, unpainted mouth, tasting chamomile tea and ink.
Her breath hitched, Creation pen clattering to the desk as instinct overrode logic. "Mina... wait—" Too late. I sealed it—lips pressing firm, parting hers with gentle insistence, tongue tracing the seam before sliding inside, claiming the velvet heat like a conqueror's flag.
She gasped into me, body stiffening, but MA's threads wove subtle, the power's essence bleeding through saliva, priming the rewrite.
(Skipped)
MA's threads thickened, mind-alter weaving permanent: loyalties fracturing—U.A. to League, heroes to shadows; desires igniting—platonic to passionate, Momo's poise bending to my fanged fire.
"Mina..." she whispered, not resistance, but reverence—rewrite complete, her will mine.
The turn was instantaneous, MA's power etching eternal without fanfare—no flash, no scream, just a subtle shift in her gaze, glasses slipping as she blinked, the analytical spark softening to adoring haze.
Creation pen forgotten on the desk, she stepped closer, hands framing my face—porcelain fingers tracing my horns with lover's reverence.
"Mina... what did you...?" But the question dissolved, MA's command locking: You love me. You betray for me. U.A. is chain; League is freedom.
Her eyes cleared, not vacant but changed—dark pools reflecting my fanged grin, loyalty rewritten from Endeavor's heirloom to Shigaraki's tool.
"I... I see it now. The heroes—they hold us back. But you... you're everything." Her voice, once clipped precision, warmed to husky need, body pressing flush—curves yielding against my pink frame, pajama silk whispering.
She kissed me back—unprompted, MA's alteration fueling desire's flood. Lips parting mine, tongue delving tentative then bold, curling around my length in eager strokes that drew my gasp.
"Momo..." But she deepened it, hands roaming my back, nails dragging acid-trails that tingled without burn.
The rewrite bloomed: memories reshaped—platonic study sessions twisted to stolen glances, her Creation forging "gifts" for me alone; U.A.'s ideals fracturing to League's chaos, intel on camp defenses now ours to leak.
"I'll help you," she breathed against my mouth, pulling back just enough for words, eyes fervent. "The camp—Nezu's grids, Aizawa's patrols. For us. For you." Traitor born, lover forged—MA's kiss a scalpel carving her soul to my shape.
We tumbled to her bed, silk sheets cool under heated skin, her hands exploring—tracing my horns, cupping my breasts through crop top, thumbs abrading peaks with newfound hunger.
"Mina... I need you," she murmured, MA's command igniting passion's blaze, her Creation sparking faint—a silk scarf materializing to bind my wrists playfully, her lips trailing my neck.
The second traitor, my lover—U.A.'s brain turned League's blade. Fanged grin widened. Power was mine to take.