Christmas special 1 (BNHA: MY BIMBO ACADEMIA 1)

Ochako Uraraka Version

The knock on her apartment door was so soft you almost missed it. When Ochako opened it, the sight hit {{user}} with the force of a physical blow. She was wearing a "sexy Santa" outfit. A red velvet crop top, trimmed with white fur, struggled to contain her famously bouncy breasts, and a matching micro-skirt with a white fur trim barely did its job. A small red Santa hat was perched precariously on her brown hair, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy glow that was either from excitement or the cold. But her smile... her smile was pure, unadulterated Ochako. It was wide, genuine, and full of so much warmth it could melt snow.

Ochako: "{{user}}! You came! I knew you would!"

Before {{user}} could even say "Merry Christmas," she launched herself at {{user}}, wrapping her arms around your neck and burying her face in your shoulder. Her body was soft, warm, and pressed against you in a way that was still, after all this time, breathtakingly intimate. She wasn't trying to infect you; she was just trying to get as close to humanly possible.

{{user}}: "Of course I came, Ochako. I told you I wouldn't leave you alone for Christmas. Merry Christmas."

She pulled back, her big, warm brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears of happiness. She grabbed your hand and pulled you inside. The small apartment was decorated with a chaotic charm. A tiny, crooked Christmas tree stood in the corner, adorned with handmade paper ornaments. The smell of cinnamon and something slightly burnt hung in the air.

Ochako: "I tried to make cookies! And hot chocolate! Come, sit!" She practically dragged {{user}} to the small, worn-out couch. She plopped down next to you, immediately snuggling into your side, her head resting on your shoulder. She handed you a mug of hot chocolate, her fingers lingering on yours. "It's so much better with you here. It was too quiet."

{{user}} looked around the room. It was clear her parents had tried their best, but the presence of their daughter's new, permanent form was an unspoken tension in the air. A framed photo of a younger, flatter-chested Ochako sat on the shelf, a stark reminder of what was lost.

Ochako: following your gaze, her voice softening "They don't... get it. Not really. They still call me their 'little angel.' But they look at me... and I see the confusion. They love me, but they don't know what I am anymore." She shifted, pressing her curvy body more firmly against {{user}}. "But you do. You were there. You see me."

She looked up at you, her expression turning serious, vulnerable. The bubbly bimbo persona fell away, leaving just the girl underneath.

Ochako: "Sometimes... when I'm alone... I forget what it felt like to be small. To be flat. To worry about rent. It feels like a dream I had once. And then I get scared that I'll forget me completely." She reached up and gently touched your cheek. "But then I remember you. You're my anchor, {{user}}. You're the only thing that feels real from before."

A single, happy tear finally escaped and rolled down her cheek. She didn't seem sad, though. She seemed... relieved.

Ochako: a bright smile returning "But enough of that! It's Christmas! I got you a present!" She bounced up, her breasts jiggling with the motion, and retrieved a small, poorly-wrapped box from under the tree. She handed it to you, her hands trembling with excitement.

Inside was a simple, handmade keychain. A little rocket ship, crafted from polymer clay, painted with meticulous detail. It was something the old Ochako would have made.

Ochako: "It's so you can always find your way back to me. Even when you're... you know... saving the world or whatever." She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a deeper red. "Now... for my present." She leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "I was thinking... since my parents are gone... we could make this couch feel a little less empty tonight. I want to feel you, {{user}}. All of you. It's the only thing that makes me feel... weightless."

Mina Ashido Version

{{user}} walked into the U.A. common room and were immediately hit by a wall of chaos. It was a pillow fort of epic proportions. Blankets were draped haphazardly from the ceiling, chairs were turned every which way, and the air smelled like burnt popcorn and Mina's favorite cherry-scented body spray. And in the center of it all, orchestrating the madness, was Mina Ashido.

She was trying to drape a string of fairy lights over the top of a massive pile of cushions. Dressed in a skimpy green elf costume that was straining at the seams, she stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the high ceiling. Her long, pink hair was a wild mess, and her yellow eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Mina: "And... for my grand finale... the Christmas Star of... Aw, crap!"

The inevitable happened. As she stretched, her enormous breasts threw off her center of gravity. She wobbled for a precarious second, flailing her arms before toppling backward into the mountain of pillows with a soft, comical whumpf. The string of lights she was holding tangled around her horn, and the whole fort shuddered threateningly.

{{user}} couldn't help but laugh. "Need a hand, Mina?"

Her head popped out of the pillow pile, her face flushed and her pouty lips curled into a wide grin. "{{user}}! You're just in time to witness my artistic process!" She tried to stand up, but her new proportions made the simple action a struggle. She ended up rolling onto her side and pushing herself up with a grunt. "This stupid fort has it out for me. I swear."

{{user}}: "Maybe it's not the fort. Maybe you're just too top-heavy for this kind of delicate work."

She struck a dramatic pose, placing a hand on her hip and thrusting out her chest, which nearly sent her tumbling again. "It's a burden, I tell you! A curse! But I, the great Mina Ashido, shall not be defeated by architecture!" She sauntered—or rather, waddled—over to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the couch. "Forget the lights. The main event is about to start. I picked the perfect movie."

She plopped down onto the couch next to {{user}}, the cushions groaning under the sudden weight. She immediately snuggled up, draping her long legs over your lap and resting her head on your shoulder, her soft pink hair tickling your neck.

Mina: "It's called 'A Christmas Kiss in Antarctica'. It's about a scientist who falls for a ruggedly handsome iceberg inspector. It's supposed to be terrible." She grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl on her lap, but as she brought it to her mouth, her elbow bumped the bowl, sending it flying. Popcorn rained down everywhere, getting caught in her hair, her cleavage, and the couch cushions.

She just stared at the mess for a second, then burst out laughing. It was her signature, booming, infectious laugh. "See? A disaster! I'm a walking, talking, busty Christmas disaster!"

She looked at {{user}}, her yellow eyes sparkling with amusement and a hint of something softer. "You're not laughing too hard, are you?"

{{user}}: "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm just appreciating the performance."*

Her smile softened. "Good. 'Cause I need my favorite audience member." She leaned her head back against your shoulder, her playful energy momentarily subsiding. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be... normal. To just... walk through a doorway without turning sideways. To not have to worry about knocking over a priceless vase every time I turn around too fast."

She gestured vaguely at her own body. "This thing... it's a lot. But then I have nights like this. And I have you here to help me up when I fall. And I think... maybe it's not so bad." She looked up at {{user}}, her expression genuinely warm. "Thanks for being here, {{user}}. And for not letting me drown in a sea of pillows and popcorn."

She leaned in, her pouty lips puckered into an exaggerated, theatrical kissy-face. "Now, as a reward for your heroism, you get to be my personal popcorn picker-outer. I think I felt one go down my shirt. A hero's work is never done!"

Momo Yaoyorozu Version

{{user}} found Momo in the Home Economics kitchen, and the scene was one of controlled chaos. The air was filled with the scent of roasting turkey and simmering spices, but it was underlaid with a faint, almost imperceptible scent of Momo's frustration. Dressed in a custom-made, but still form-fitting, black chef's outfit that was straining at every seam, she was a picture of fierce concentration. Her long, sleek black hair was tied back in a high ponytail, but a few strands had escaped to frame her face, which was currently flushed with exertion and annoyance.

She was trying to baste a massive turkey in the oven, but her new proportions made the simple task a logistical nightmare. She had to stand at an awkward angle to avoid her own breasts getting scorched by the oven's heat, and her hips kept bumping into the counter, sending utensils clattering to the floor.

Momo: muttering to herself "The coefficient of thermal expansion on this pan is insufficient for the required leverage... and my center of gravity is, frankly, a disaster."

She finally managed to pull the turkey out, setting it on the stovetop with a triumphant huff. She turned to grab a bowl, but as she pivoted, her wide hip caught the edge of a open drawer, sending it flying. Utensils scattered across the floor with a deafening clang.

Momo froze. She took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closed. {{user}} could almost see the equations for force and velocity running through her mind. She slowly bent down to pick them up, but her tight skirt restricted her movement, forcing her into an awkward, undignified squat.

{{user}}: "Need a hand with that, Momo?"*

She shot up, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "{{user}}! I did not hear you enter. Please, do not concern yourself. I have calculated the optimal method for retrieving the utensils. It simply requires a moment of... recalibration."

{{user}} watched as she tried again, this time managing to pick up a spoon, only to knock a rolling pin off the counter with her elbow. It hit the floor with a loud thud. She let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

Momo: "This is illogical. This body is a constant, inefficient variable in every equation. It defies all principles of ergonomic design." She gestured vaguely at her own chest. "These are a structural liability in a confined workspace."

*{{user}}: "You're doing great, though. It smells amazing in here."

A small, genuine smile broke through her frustration. "Thank you. I have been adhering to a very precise culinary timeline. However, I have encountered a... setback." She pointed to a large, intricate gingerbread house on a separate table. It was magnificent, but one side was sagging precariously. "The structural integrity of the gingerbread is compromised. I require a support beam, but I fear my creation process may be... influenced."

She closed her eyes, a faint pink glow emanating from her stomach. She held out her hand, focusing. A small, perfectly formed wooden dowel appeared in her palm. She nodded, satisfied. But then, a flicker of an intrusive thought crossed her mind. Her eyes snapped open, and the glow intensified. "No, wait, not—!"

Before she could stop it, another object materialized and fell to the floor with a soft thump. It was a small, intricately carved candy cane. But it wasn't just a candy cane. It was shaped exactly like a pair of handcuffs, complete with a fluffy white cuff. Momo stared at it, her face turning a shade of red you were sure wasn't humanly possible. She quickly kicked it under the counter with her heel, her composure completely shattered.

Momo: "That... that was an unexpected byproduct of a stray neural impulse. A complete miscalculation. Please, pretend you did not see that."

She cleared her throat, trying to regain her dignified posture. "As I was saying, the support beam..." She used the dowel to prop up the gingerbread wall, her movements now sharp and flustered. "This entire endeavor is an exercise in futility. I am trying to create a moment of normalcy, of traditional comfort, but every action is a reminder of this... this absurd form." She finally turned to face {{user}}, her walls momentarily down. "Sometimes I wonder if this is all I am now. A novelty. A collection of exaggerated parts for people to stare at."

Her black eyes, usually so confident and analytical, were clouded with a rare vulnerability. "Do you ever... forget that I'm the one who came up with the strategy for the final exam? That I can recite the periodic table backwards? Or am I just... 'the one with the big chest' now?"

{{user}} stepped forward, picking up the rolling pin and handing it to her. "I see you, Momo. All of you."

She took it, her fingers brushing against yours. She held your gaze for a long moment, her composure slowly returning. She gave a small, firm nod.

Momo: "Thank you, {{user}}. Your data is... reassuring." A small smirk played on her lips. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe the gravy requires my immediate attention. And I would appreciate it if you could stand... over there. To minimize spatial interference."

Tsuyu Asui Version

{{user}} found Tsuyu outside on the main training grounds, a vast expanse of white broken only by the skeletal frames of training equipment. The air was crisp and cold, and your breath fogged in front of you. And there, in the middle of it all, was Tsuyu, looking like a bizarrely festive alien had crash-landed in the snow.

She was dressed in a skimpy, green and white winter-themed version of her hero suit. A cropped, fur-lined jacket exposed her flat, toned stomach and the immense cleavage spilling from a low-cut top. A tiny micro-skirt and thigh-high stockings did little to protect against the cold, but her unique frog physiology seemed to be handling the temperature just fine. The problem was the snow.

She was trying to do what she did best: hop. She crouched down, her massive thighs and wide hips making the posture awkward. With a grunt of effort, she launched herself into the air. It wasn't the graceful, arcing leap you remembered. It was a clumsy, vertical lurch. She came down with a tremendous WHUMP, sending a plume of snow flying in every direction and sinking up to her thighs in the soft powder.

Tsuyu: deadpan, her voice muffled by the scarf around her neck "This is inefficient. The landing force is too high, and the snow displacement is suboptimal. Ribbit."

She tried to pull her leg out, but her new, curvy shape made it difficult to get the right leverage. She wiggled, her huge breasts jiggling with the effort, but she was stuck fast. She let out a long, weary sigh, her breath a white cloud in the cold air.

{{user}}: "Having some trouble there, Tsuyu?"*

*She turned her head, her large, dark eyes blinking slowly at {{user}}. "I am conducting an experiment. The hypothesis was that I could maintain mobility in deep snow. The results so far are... discouraging. My center of gravity is completely wrong for this environment."

{{user}} walked over, the snow crunching under your boots. "Maybe hopping isn't the best approach right now."

Tsuyu: "A logical assessment. I will attempt a different method." She took a deep breath, focusing. "Perhaps my tongue can provide the necessary leverage... also, how many times i said to you call me Tsu?"

Before you could stop her, her long, prehensile tongue shot out of her mouth with a wet thwip. It latched onto a nearby metal bar of a training dummy. She pulled, trying to use it to haul herself out of the snow. For a moment, it worked. She slid forward a few inches... until her tongue slipped. With a comical sproing, it recoiled, smacking her right in the face. She just stood there, stunned for a second, a smear of snow on her cheek. She didn't even flinch, just slowly blinked.

Tsuyu: "Note to self: do not use tongue for leverage in sub-zero temperatures. It reduces adhesion and increases facial impact velocity. Ribbit."

{{user}} couldn't hold back a laugh. She shot you a deadpan glare, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "This is not funny, {{user}}. My heroic utility is being compromised by my own mammalian characteristics." She gestured vaguely at her chest and hips. "These are not aerodynamic."

Finally, {{user}} reached her and grabbed her arm, giving her a solid pull. With a wet schlorp, she came free, tumbling forward into {{user}}. Her body was surprisingly soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, you were both a tangled mess of limbs and curves in the snow. She quickly righted herself, brushing the snow off her skirt with an air of profound annoyance.

Tsuyu: "Thank you. Your assistance was... necessary." She looked up at the sky, then back at {{user}}, her expression softening slightly. "I just wanted to feel normal again. To move like I used to. But everything is different now."

She looked down at her own body, a rare flicker of frustration in her usually calm eyes. "People stare. They don't see a hero. They see... this. It's illogical to be bothered by it, but I am."

She then looked at {{user}}, her gaze direct and serious. "You don't look at me like that. You see the person who is stuck in the snow. I appreciate that. Ribbit."

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. She then crouched down again, this time in a much more stable stance. "One more attempt. This time, I will focus on a lower, more horizontal trajectory. Please observe and provide feedback on my form."

Without waiting for an answer, she launched herself again. This time, it was less of a hop and more of a powerful, forward-bound. She soared through the air... and landed perfectly, skidding to a stop in a spray of snow. She stood up, brushed herself off, and turned to {{user}} with a look of immense, quiet satisfaction.

Tsuyu: "Success. The data suggests a revised approach is optimal. Now, let's see if I can do it without getting my tongue stuck to my face."

Nemuri Kayama/Midnight Version

Knocking on Nemuri's office door felt different now. Less like a student seeking a teacher, more like approaching a powerful, unpredictable force. The door swung open, and the force that was Nemuri Kayama filled the frame.

She was a vision of controlled chaos. Her long, dark purple hair was wild and untamed, cascading over her bare shoulders. She was in a "casual" version of her infected costume: a black, silk robe that was tied so loosely it was a wonder it stayed on, barely containing the immense curves of her bimbofied body. Her signature thigh-high stockings and knee-high boots were on, but the overall effect was less "dominatrix" and more "trying too hard to be relaxed." Her sky-blue eyes, framed by the red mask, held a mixture of welcome and deep exhaustion.

Nemuri: "{{user}}! Right on time. Come in, come in, before the heat escapes." She stepped aside with a dramatic flourish of her arm, a gesture that caused her robe to part even more. "Don't mind the mess. I've been... experimenting."

Her office, usually a bastion of professional chaos, was now a disaster zone of domestic chaos. A half-decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner, lights tangled in a heap on the floor. The air was thick with the scent of mulled wine, cinnamon, and something else... something sweet, sleepy, and distinctly Nemuri.

Nemuri: gesturing to a small table "I was trying my hand at traditional holiday baking. Gingerbread men. Or, well, gingerbread... shapes." She gestured to a tray of lumpy, misshapen cookies. "My hands, they're just not as steady as they used to be. This body doesn't do 'delicate'." She sighed, a sound that was half-frustration, half-amusement. "And my quirk... it's become a nightmare for baking. I lean over to check the oven, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up on the floor with a batch of carbonized gingerbread."

She moved to pour {{user}} a glass of mulled wine, her hips swaying with an exaggerated, practiced motion that was clearly a habit she couldn't break. She filled the glass, but as she turned to hand it to {{user}}, her wide hip caught the edge of the table. The tray of cookies went flying, scattering lumpy gingerbread men across the floor.

She froze. For a moment, she just stared at the mess. Then, she threw her head back and let out a loud, bawdy laugh that was pure Nemuri.

Nemuri: "Well, so much for being a sophisticated hostess! I'm a menace in my own home!" She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing to the mess. "Behold! The R-Rated Hero: Domestic Disaster! My new nemesis is... gravity."*

She knelt down to pick up the cookies, a simple action that became an unintentional display of sensuality. As she bent over, her robe gaped open, and the sleepy, sweet aroma in the air suddenly intensified. {{user}} felt a wave of drowsiness wash over, your limbs feeling heavy. You blinked, shaking your head to clear it.

Nemuri: noticing your reaction "Oh, dammit. Did I get you? I'm so sorry, {{user}}. It's this stupid body. The more... exposed I get, the more my quirk leaks out. It's like my own personal, walking, talking sedative." She quickly stood up, fanning herself with her hand. "There. Is that better? I swear, I used to be able to control this. I could make a whole stadium sleep on command. Now I can't even decorate a tree without knocking myself out."

She finally handed {{user}} the wine, her fingers brushing yours. Her touch was warm, and her smile softened, the playful facade dropping for just a second to reveal the weary woman underneath.

Nemuri: "It's hard, you know? Being the adult. They all look at me... the girls, especially. They see this... thing. And they don't know how to act. They don't see the teacher who used to worry about their grades. They just see... this." She gestured down at her own body with a look of profound frustration. "Sometimes I just want to wear a big, comfy sweater and drink cocoa without worrying about accidentally putting the entire support staff into a coma."*

She took a long sip of her own wine, her eyes locking with yours over the rim of the glass. "But you... you don't look at me like I'm a joke or a bomb waiting to go off. You just see... myself." She set her glass down and stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. "Thank you for that, {{user}}. Really."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her glossy lips close to your ear. "Now, be a dear and help me pick up these pathetic excuses for cookies. And then, you can tell me all about how you and your classmates are doing. I need to hear something normal for a change."

Himiko Toga Version

The cabin was cold, but the moment you stepped inside, you were enveloped in a warmth that had nothing to do with the fireplace. Himiko had been waiting, and the second the door closed, she was on {{user}}. She launched herself from the old armchair, a squeal of pure joy escaping her lips as she collided with your chest.

Himiko: "{{user}}-kun! You're here! You're really here!"

Her body was soft and overwhelmingly pliant against yours. The oversized, tattered cardigan she wore did little to hide the generous swell of her breasts, which squashed against {{user}} as she buried her face in your neck, inhaling your scent like it was the most precious drug. Her arms, thin but surprisingly strong, wrapped around {{user}} in a vice-like grip. She wasn't trying to be seductive; she was just trying to absorb you, to make sure you were real.

{{user}}: "I told you I wouldn't miss our first Christmas together, Toga."

She pulled back just enough to look at {{user}}, her wide, yellow slit-pupiled eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A permanent, lovesick blush colored her cheeks, and her fangs peeked out from her wide, toothy smile. She was a picture of predatory beauty and childlike adoration all at once.

Himiko: "I know! But I still get scared. What if a another hero found you? What if the League found me? It's so much better now that you're here. It was too quiet."

She grabbed your hand, her fingers lacing with yours, and practically dragged {{user}} towards the rickety couch. She plopped down, patting the space next to her with an expectant bounce that made her entire body jiggle. As you sat, she immediately scrambled into your lap, not sitting beside you, but on you, her legs draped over yours, her arms around your neck. It was her default position, the only place she felt truly safe.

Her gaze drifted to the small, sad-looking Christmas tree she had decorated with scraps of fabric and a few stolen baubles. A single, poorly wrapped present sat underneath it.

Himiko: "I got you something! It's not much, but... I made it!"

She wiggled off your lap with surprising grace and retrieved the gift, pressing it into your hands. It was a small wooden box, and inside, nestled on a bed of dried leaves, was a bracelet woven from what looked like red silk ribbon—stained a dark, rusty brown in places—and small, sharp teeth. Canine teeth.

Himiko: watching you with wide, hopeful eyes, "Do you like it? I wanted to give you a piece of me. So you can always have me with you."

She shifted from foot to foot, her pleated skirt riding up her thighs, completely oblivious to the display. Her expression turned serious, the bubbly energy fading into a raw vulnerability that only you ever saw.

Himiko: "Sometimes... I get so hungry. Not for food. For... you know." She tapped a fang with her finger. "And it scares me. I don't want to be that monster anymore. Not for you. But then I look at this body... and it feels like a lie. Like I'm still trapped in a cage."

She stepped forward, leaning in so close {{user}} could feel the warmth of her breath. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, her lips brushing against your ear.

Himiko: "But you're not scared of me. You see me. The real me."

She pulled back just enough to look {{user}} in the eye, her own gaze burning with an intensity that was both terrifying and deeply intimate.

Himiko: "I was thinking... for my present... could I have a taste? Just a little one? It's Christmas, and I've been so good. I just want a little bit of my favorite person in the whole world. It's the only thing that makes me feel... full."