The Charm of the Quirkless

The gym felt off. Lighter. Like someone had sucked all the energy out of it, leaving this weird hollow space. Some festival had rolled into UA—one of those "ancient traditions" things, promising spiritual cleansing for young heroes-in-training. The gimmick: a localized quirk-suppression field. Everyone was powerless for the day. Most students treated it like a party trick. For Izuku? It was like stepping back in time. He wiggled his fingers. Nothing. Just that old empty feeling he knew too well from before.

But something else was different.

People were staring.

Asui caught his eye across the common room, her gaze lingering a beat too long. Kirishima clapped him on the back with a grin that was almost wolfish. Even Iida, Mr. Rulebook himself, gave him a stiff nod that felt loaded.

“Midoriya-bro!” Mineta materialized at his elbow, eyes gleaming. “You noticing everyone acting weird?”

Izuku shook his head, already feeling a headache crawl in.

“Old superstition,” Mineta whispered, dragging him into a corner. “Back in the dark ages, before quirks, people believed someone born without power was a living charm. Especially for love. They said—get this—quirkless people were lucky in romance. And, uh, blessed in other areas.”

Izuku’s face went red. “That’s just a myth! No scientific basis—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mineta said, licking his lips. “The festival tradition says a quirkless person’s touch brings good luck to relationships. And you’re the only one here who used to be quirkless…”

Izuku’s brain shorted out. Used to be. But now, with OFA suppressed, he was technically quirkless again. Every superstition applied.

Before he could form a denial, a soft hand touched his arm. Uraraka. Cheeks pink, hero costume replaced by a loose sweater. “Hey, Deku. Wanna… study together? In my dorm room. Private. Just you and me.”

“Study?” Izuku squeaked.

“Organic chemistry,” she said, but her eyes said something else entirely.

“Don’t monopolize him, Uraraka.” Todoroki’s voice cut in, flat as ever. He approached with measured steps, holding a small bag. “I need help with physics. My room’s quieter.”

“Tch. As if a nerd like Midoriya could teach you anything.” Bakugo shouldered past, red eyes burning. He jabbed a finger at Izuku’s chest. “Listen, Deku. You’re coming with me. Don’t ask why.”

Izuku’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Kacchan, I don’t—what’s happening?”

“You’re a lucky charm, idiot,” Bakugo growled, but his ears were red. “And I’m not letting these extras drain your luck before I get my share.”

A crowd was forming. Jiro leaned against a wall, smirking. Kaminari wiggled his eyebrows. Even Tokoyami gave a solemn nod. Izuku felt the walls closing in.

He bolted.

The library. Sanctuary. He dove between shelves, panting, heart hammering. Dark corners, old book smell—quiet. He slumped against a stack of texts on quirk history.

The door creaked open.

“Midoriya-kun?” A chorus of voices. Ashido poked her head in, followed by Hagakure’s floating cheerleader uniform, then Sero, then seven others. They spread out, surrounding him.

“Look,” Izuku said, voice cracking. “I appreciate the… interest. But can we handle this without a mob?”

A surprising calm settled over the group. Uraraka stepped forward, her expression earnest. “We just want to spend time with you, Deku. Just a little. We promise not to fight over you.”

“We already decided,” Todoroki said, “that if you agree to one private meeting, we’ll take turns. No chaos.”

Bakugo snorted but didn’t argue.

Izuku swallowed. His pulse thrummed in his ears. They were all looking at him—friends, rivals, classmates—with a vulnerable hopefulness that made his chest ache. He thought of the lonely years before UA, when he’d been invisible. Now, everyone wanted his touch.

“Okay,” he whispered. “One meeting. But somewhere private.”

They chose Uraraka’s room. It was the largest, with a big bed and fairy lights strung across the ceiling. The group filtered in—Uraraka, Todoroki, Bakugo, and surprisingly Mineta, who claimed seniority in explaining the tradition. Izuku stood in the center, hands clammy.

“So… how does this work?” he asked.

“We just… share your presence,” Uraraka said, settling on the bed. “Maybe hold your hand. Or…” She blushed. “Whatever feels right.”

Todoroki sat cross-legged on the floor. “I’m not here for superstitious nonsense. I’m here to observe.”

“Liar,” Bakugo muttered, but he sat too.

Mineta was already climbing onto the bed. “Let’s get the good luck flowing!”

Izuku took a breath. Absurd. But the fairy lights made everything soft, and the faces around him were earnest, not predatory. He sat on the edge of the bed.

Uraraka scooted closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Is this okay?”

He nodded, throat tight.

She took his hand, interlacing their fingers. Her palm was warm, calloused from training. “You have nice hands,” she said quietly.

Todoroki unfolded and moved behind him, sitting on the bed. His hand landed on Izuku’s shoulder, firm. “You’re tense.”

“A little,” Izuku admitted.

Bakugo growled, then slumped against the headboard, pulling Izuku’s other hand into his own. His grip was rough, but he didn’t squeeze hard. “Shut up. This is stupid.”

But he didn’t let go.

Mineta wiggled between Izuku’s knees, grinning. “Alright, the real ritual requires skin contact. Let’s all take off our shirts.”

“No!” everyone shouted.

The moment shattered into laughter. Izuku found himself giggling, the tension dissolving. Uraraka leaned into his side, her head on his shoulder. Todoroki’s thumb traced lazy circles on his neck. Bakugo’s grip softened.

“This is nice,” Izuku murmured.

They stayed like that, a tangle of young bodies sharing warmth. Mineta tried to inch his hand lower and got smacked. Uraraka talked about her parents’ construction company. Todoroki confessed he liked the pressure of being held. Bakugo said nothing, but his breathing deepened.

It was gentle, fumbling, imperfect. At some point, Izuku’s shirt rode up, and Uraraka’s hand brushed his stomach. She gasped softly. “Deku, you’re really warm.”

“I’m just nervous.”

“It’s cute,” she said, and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Izuku’s eyes went wide. She pulled back, eyes questioning. He nodded, barely perceptible. She leaned in again, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Oi,” Bakugo snapped. “Don’t start without me.”

He yanked Izuku closer, pressing their foreheads together. “You owe me luck, nerd. Pay up.”

Their lips met—a collision, more teeth than finesse. Izuku’s hand flew up to Bakugo’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. Todoroki’s hand tightened on his shoulder, then slid down his arm, fingers entwining.

“If you’re all doing it, I want a turn,” Todoroki said, his voice low.

Izuku broke away from Bakugo, breathless, and turned to Todoroki. Those heterochromatic eyes held his, calm and demanding. Their kiss was slower, deliberate, like tasting something rare.

Mineta whined. “What about me?”

“You can hold his pinky,” Uraraka said, laughing.

Mineta grumbled but took Izuku’s pinky finger, kissing it with exaggerated flourish.

The room filled with warmth—genuine, unguarded affection. Izuku felt desired, not as a symbol or a weapon, but as a person. He let go of his fears and leaned into the moment, kissing Uraraka again, dodging Bakugo’s possessive grab, letting Todoroki’s cool lips trace his jaw.

They were all tangled, half-undressed, a mess of limbs and breath. Izuku’s shirt was gone; Todoroki’s was unbuttoned. Uraraka’s sweater lay in a pile. Bakugo was down to his tank top, muscles flexing as he pulled Izuku flush against him.

“This is… a lot,” Izuku gasped, sandwiched between Bakugo and Uraraka.

“You can handle it,” Bakugo growled, his mouth finding Izuku’s neck.

Someone—Mineta—started to unbutton Izuku’s jeans. The air grew thick. Izuku’s mind swam. He was hard, aching, and everyone seemed to know.

A sharp knock rattled the door.

“Uraraka, Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Mineta.” Aizawa’s voice, flat and tired. “Open up. I know what you’re doing.”

Chaos erupted.

Bodies flew in every direction. Uraraka shoved Izuku under the bed. Todoroki dove into the closet, knocking over a stack of books. Bakugo rolled off the bed and yanked the blanket over his head. Mineta squeaked and scrambled into the bathroom, locking the door.

Izuku lay flat on his stomach under the bed, dust tickling his nose. He could see Aizawa’s boots step into the room. The teacher sighed.

“The festival’s superstitions are not an excuse for orgies. You have five seconds to come out before I expel all of you.”

Silence. Then a stifled snort.

It was Uraraka, muffled from inside the wardrobe. Someone else giggled—maybe Todoroki. Bakugo let out a muffled curse. Izuku felt the laughter bubble up, unstoppable. He pressed his face to the floor, shoulders shaking.

Aizawa’s boots pivoted. “Get dressed. Meet me in the hall.”

The door clicked shut.

For a long moment, nobody moved. Then Izuku crawled out from under the bed, grinning. The others emerged one by one, hair mussed, faces flushed, fighting back laughter.

“Well,” Uraraka said, pulling on her sweater. “That was fun.”

“Lame,” Bakugo muttered, but he couldn’t hide his smirk.

Todoroki adjusted his collar, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “We should do it again. Without the interruption.”

Mineta emerged from the bathroom, triumphant. “I call next!”

They all groaned, but the laughter continued. Izuku pulled on his shirt, feeling different—lighter, braver. He caught Uraraka’s eye; she blushed. Bakugo punched his shoulder, not hard. Todoroki gave a small nod.

The festival ended that evening. Quirks returned with a warm pulse. But the memory lingered—the warmth of bodies, the ridiculous scramble, the easy intimacy.

For days, no one mentioned it. But when their eyes met across the classroom, a shared smile passed between them. And Izuku, for the first time, felt like he belonged. Not just as a hero, but as someone worth wanting.

He smiled back.