The training camp lodge was a symphony of soft snores and creaking floorboards under the weight of exhausted teenagers.
Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of the boys' dormitory, casting silvery pools on the tatami mats.
It was 2:47 a.m., the witching hour when the forest outside held its breath, waiting for the League of Villains to descend like shadows at dawn. But for Izuku Midoriya, the real storm brewed inside his skull.
He had collapsed into his sleeping bag hours earlier, body aching from the Beast's Forest brawl and the emotional weight of Kota's cliffside confession. His mind, however, refused rest.
Sleep came in fits-fragments of vampire thrones and emerald fire he could no longer summon. Then, like a thunderclap in silence, the quest window ignited.
It wasn't gentle this time. No golden script floating politely at eye level. This was a searing brand across his retinas, bold letters etched in crimson fire that pulled him bolt-upright in his sleeping bag, heart hammering.
QUEST: TRAITORS' LEASH
OBJECTIVE: CAPTURE MINA ASHIDO (TRAITOR #1) & MOMO YAOYOROUZU (TRAITOR #2) USING MASTER BALLS.
Instant obedience. Permanent loyalty. No escape.
REWARDS:
DRAGON BALLS (7-SET): Grants any wish, no limits (resurrection, power amplification, reality rewrite-your command is law). Stored in dimensional storage upon completion.
BRAGGING RIGHTS: Two hot girls, all yours. (Because heroes deserve perks, right?)
TIME LIMIT: Before LOV ambush
FAILURE: None. But Mina walks free.
ACCEPT? [Y/N]
Izuku's breath caught. The clock on the wall ticked to 2:48. His classmates slumbered around him: Bakugou's muffled growl in his sleep, Iida's rhythmic breathing like a metronome, Denki's faint static hum (resurrected, but still sparking).
Across the hall, in the girls' wing, Mina and Momo plotted in whispers, their heartbeats a staccato rhythm in Ocean's tide-eighty percent mastery now meant he could feel the quicken of betrayal in their veins, two city blocks be damned.
The "bragging rights" line pulsed once, almost mocking. Izuku's cheeks burned. He wasn't that kind of hero. Never had been. But the Dragon Balls... Shenron's power? Resurrection without cooldowns. Allies unchained from death.
A wish to expose the League before they struck. The universe had taken his Saiyan blood for balance; now it dangled godhood on a string.
His finger hovered in the air, invisible to all but him. Y.
The window shattered into embers, absorbed into his skin like ink. No turning back.
Izuku unzipped his sleeping bag soundlessly, bare feet padding across the cool floor. He dressed in the dark-track pants, a loose U.A. tee, jacket zipped over the pouch.
Twenty-three Master Balls. He'd use one for Momo tonight. Mina... she was the head of the snake. Let her dangle a little longer, draw the League in. Capture her mid-ambush, when the chaos peaked. Momo first: the creator, the intel leak. Neutralize the brain, and the body flails.
He slipped into the hallway, Ocean guiding him like a compass. The lodge was a maze of wooden beams and sliding doors, but he knew every creak.
Past the common room, where embers glowed in the hearth. Up the back stairs to the girls' wing-risky, but Midnight had eyes on the perimeter, her bound loyalty a silent sentinel.
Momo's door was third on the left, paper screen glowing faintly from a nightlight within. Izuku paused, hand on the frame. Ethics warred in his chest. She wasn't herself-Mina's Mind Alter had rewritten her, a 10-minute kiss sealing the treason.
But capture meant obedience. Total. What if... what if he enjoyed it? The quest's flippant "bragging rights" echoed, a devil on his shoulder.
He slid the door open a crack. Momo lay on her futon, black hair splayed like ink on silk, breathing even.
Moonlight traced the curve of her shoulder, the rise of her chest under a thin tank top. She was beautiful-elegant lines, porcelain skin, the kind of poise that made heroes stutter.
Izuku's throat tightened. This wasn't lust. It was... curiosity? Power? The hero's heart twisted: Save her. Free her.
He stepped inside, closing the door with a whisper. The room smelled of lavender and creation dust-residue from whatever gadgets she'd birthed that day. Momo stirred, eyes fluttering open, dark and alert.
"Midoriya?" Her voice was sleep-soft, but suspicion laced it. Traitor instincts, sharpened by Mina's programming.
She sat up, sheets pooling at her waist, revealing the flat plane of her stomach, the navel a delicate dip in the moonlight. "What are you-"
Izuku moved before she could scream. Not with force, but precision-a hand over her mouth, gentle but firm, the other pressing the Master Ball to her collarbone.
The sphere hummed, warm as a heartbeat. Red light bloomed, swallowing her form in an instant. No struggle. No cry. Just a soft snap as the ball sealed, rolling into his palm.
He exhaled, trembling. One traitor down. Momo Yaoyorozu, vice president of Class 1-A, genius creator, now a prisoner in a sphere no bigger than an apple. The HUD in his vision flickered:
TARGET ACQUIRED: MOMO YAOYOROUZU
STATUS: 100% OBEDIENT
RELEASE PHRASE: "Creation unbound."
Izuku sank to his knees beside her futon, the ball heavy in his hand. The lodge was still silent; no alarms, no footsteps. But his pulse thundered.
What now? Store her? Interrogate? The quest demanded both, but Mina could wait. This moment... it was his.
He turned the ball over, tracing the seam. Curiosity won. Or something darker. "Creation unbound."
White light erupted, soft as dawn. Momo materialized kneeling before him, naked from the waist up-her tank top and shorts dissolved in the capture's residue, leaving only panties and the sheet clutched modestly to her chest.
Her eyes, once sharp with calculation, were now vacant pools of devotion. "Master," she breathed, voice a velvet murmur. "How may I serve?"
Izuku's mouth went dry. She was gorgeous-full breasts straining against the sheet, nipples pebbling in the cool air; the elegant arch of her collarbone; the soft swell of her hips.
Human now, his body responded in ways Saiyan fury never allowed: heat pooling low, breath shallow. Guilt gnawed, but the quest's whisper drowned it. Bragging rights. Two hot girls.
He reached out, tentative, cupping her chin. Her skin was silk. "Momo... do you remember Mina? The Mind Alter?"
She tilted her head into his touch, eyes adoring. "Yes, Master. She rewrote me. But you... you are truth now."
Relief flooded him. The Master Ball had overwritten the treason, purging the Alter like code overwritten. She was free. His.
Izuku leaned in, heart pounding. "Kiss me."
It was a test. A spark.
Momo's lips met his with the hunger of a devotee. Soft at first, tentative, then deepening as her hands rose to frame his face.
Her mouth was warm, tasting of mint and surrender. Izuku groaned into it, the sound muffled as their tongues brushed-hers tentative, his exploratory. He angled his head, pressing deeper, the kiss evolving from chaste to consuming.
Minutes blurred. One. Two. Her breath hitched as he nipped her lower lip, drawing a gasp that he swallowed whole.
His hands slid to her shoulders, pushing the sheet away inch by inch. Fabric whispered to the floor, baring her to the moonlight.
Her breasts spilled free-heavy, perfect orbs with dusky nipples begging for attention. But not yet. The kiss first.
Five minutes in, and it was a battle. Tongues tangled in a wet, heated dance; her moans vibrated against his teeth. Izuku's fingers threaded her hair, pulling just enough to arch her neck, exposing the column of her throat.
He broke for air-panting, foreheads pressed-then dove back, claiming her mouth like territory. She yielded, pliant, her body molding to his as he shifted to kneel between her thighs.
Eight minutes. Saliva slicked their chins; her nails dug half-moons into his scalp. Izuku's free hand roamed her back, tracing vertebrae, dipping to the dimples above her ass.
She whimpered, hips canting instinctively, seeking friction against his thigh. The kiss turned sloppy, desperate-sucks and licks, breaths shared in gasps. He tasted her soul in it: the genius unraveled, the traitor redeemed.
Ten minutes ticked over on the internal clock in his mind. Izuku pulled back, lips swollen, chest heaving. Momo's eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide. "Master... more?"
He swallowed, voice rough. "Yes. All of you."
She lay back on the futon, sheet discarded, body an offering. Izuku hovered, drinking her in: the flare of her hips, the shadow between her thighs, the navel a tempting hollow.
But her breasts-god, her breasts. Full C-cups, perhaps D, firm yet yielding, capped with nipples like ripe berries. He lowered his head, mouth watering.
His lips brushed the left first, a feather-kiss on the swell. Momo shivered, a soft "Ah" escaping. Then his tongue flicked the nipple-wet, warm, circling the areola in lazy spirals.
She arched, hands fisting the sheets. Izuku latched on fully, sucking with gentle pressure, tongue laving the peak. The taste was salt and skin, her scent musky-sweet.
Two minutes in, and he was lost. He suckled harder, teeth grazing just enough to elicit a moan-low, throaty, un-Momo-like. His hand cupped the right breast, thumb rolling the twin nipple, pinching lightly.
She bucked, thighs parting wider, panties dampening visibly. Izuku switched sides, mouth enveloping the right, sucking deep as if drawing milk from her core. Her free nipple he tormented with fingers-twist, pull, soothe with strokes.
Five minutes. Momo's breaths came in pants, body writhing. "Master... Izuku... please..." He hummed against her flesh, vibration drawing a cry.
His free hand explored lower, tracing ribs, dipping into her navel briefly-a tease-before returning to knead the neglected breast. He alternated now: left suck, right pinch; right deep-throat pull, left bathed in hot breath.
Ten minutes. Sweat sheened her skin; her hair clung to temples. Izuku's jaw ached, but he pushed on, alternating breasts with fervor. Suck-release with a pop-lick the wet trail down the valley between, then devour the other.
Momo's hips ground against air, seeking relief. He obliged partially, thigh pressing between her legs, rocking gently as he feasted. Her moans crescendoed, muffled by bitten lip.
Fifteen minutes. The room smelled of arousal-hers sharp, his musky. Izuku's cock strained against his pants, but this was her pleasure, his control.
He lavished attention: nibbles turning to bites, sucks to vacuums that hollowed his cheeks. Momo's hands found his hair, tugging, guiding-submissive yet demanding. "Harder... gods, yes..."
Twenty minutes hit like a wave. Izuku released her breasts with a final, lingering swirl of tongue, both nipples red-swollen, glistening. Momo lay boneless, chest heaving, eyes fever-bright. "You... you're incredible," she whispered.
He smiled, predatory-soft. "Not done yet."
His gaze dropped to her stomach-toned from training, a faint line of muscle from pubic bone to ribs, the navel a perfect, puckered invitation.
Izuku shifted down, hands splaying her hips, thumbs hooking her panties' waistband but not pulling. Tease. He kissed her sternum first, light pecks trailing south: one on each ab, feather-soft.
Momo giggled-giggled-then gasped as his tongue traced the underside of her breast, dipping lower.
(Timeskip: 10 minutes)
"Enough," he murmured, though his body screamed otherwise. This was reclamation, not conquest. He helped her sit, wrapping the sheet around her modesty. "You're mine now, Momo. Loyal. Free."
"Yes, Master," she breathed, nuzzling his neck. "Always."
He pressed the Master Ball to her forehead. "Return."
She dissolved into light, ball warming in his palm. Stored. Safe. For future battles-creating weapons mid-fight, intel on the League, or... this. Intimacy on demand.
Izuku slipped out, door whispering shut. The hall was empty. Mina's door loomed opposite-heartbeat steady, plotting. Let her. The ambush was coming. With Momo bound, the traitors' web frayed.
He returned to his bag, quest half-complete. Dragon Balls waited. But for now, sleep.
In the dark, Izuku touched his lips, tasting her still. Hero. Master. Man.