The Class 1-A reunion had been everything everyone secretly hoped for.

Laughter echoed across the hotel pool all afternoon—Bakugo yelling at Kirishima for cannonballing too close, Mina dragging half the group into an impromptu chicken fight, even Todoroki quietly floating on an inflatable ring with perfect deadpan floaties. Card games in the lounge ran late into the evening, old rivalries flaring up over Uno and spilled drinks, until finally, one by one, everyone stumbled back to their rooms with promises of “tomorrow we’re doing karaoke—no excuses.”

You and Ochako had ended up sharing a room. It wasn’t planned that way; room assignments got mixed up, someone double-booked, and somehow the two of you drew the short straw. Neither of you minded. Not really. You’d been close since school—closer, maybe, in the years since—and the idea of catching up in private felt… nice.

Until you opened the door.

One bed.

A single king-sized bed sat in the center of the room like it had been waiting for this exact moment. Crisp white sheets, too many pillows, soft golden lighting from the bedside lamps. No couch. No rollaway. Just one very large, very inviting bed.

Ochako froze in the doorway beside you, cheeks already blooming bright pink. “Um…” She laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of her oversized reunion hoodie. “They really didn’t give us a second bed, huh?”

She stepped inside, kicking off her sneakers. The hoodie slipped off one shoulder as she moved, revealing the thin tank top underneath—and gods, eight years of hero work had been kind to her. Her body had matured into something breathtaking: soft yet toned, curves fuller and more confident than the teenage girl you remembered. The tank clung to the generous swell of her breasts, the deep valley of her cleavage rising and falling with each quick breath. Her waist dipped in sweetly before flaring into wide, plush hips that swayed gently as she crossed to the bed, shorts riding high enough to show the creamy thickness of her thighs—strong from years of gravity-defying combat, yet impossibly soft-looking. Every movement made the fabric hug her in ways that stole the air from your lungs.

She turned, catching you staring. Her brown eyes widened, then softened into something warmer, almost daring.

“…We could just share,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s big enough. And… it’s not like we haven’t shared smaller spaces before.”