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The summer sun was a relentless bastard, hanging over UA's Gamma Gymnasium as if it had a personal vendetta against Class 1-A. The city simulation arena stretched out beneath her: irregular concrete buildings, narrow alleys shadowed even at midday, and streets cracked by previous training accidents. The air shimmered with waves of heat rising from the asphalt, carrying the acrid smell of burning rubber from Bakugou's previous explosions and the faint metallic smell of overheated support equipment left baking in the open air.
By the time Aizawa appeared, his sleeping bag half open like a molting caterpillar, the class was already soaked. Hero suits – designed for agility, not comfort – clung like second skins. Sweat dripped down his forehead, ran down his pimples, and pooled in uncomfortable places. The collective smell was a gym teacher's nightmare: teenage effort mixed with synthetic fabrics, deodorant failing under pressure, and the earthy hue of dirt kicked up from the floor.
Aizawa's voice echoed through the fog, eyes half-closed as if the heat was lulling him back to sleep. "Pair up. Restraint and evasion. No quirks above five percent of production. First to fully immobilize the others wins. Don't break the buildings - or each other. Go."
Izuku Midoriya - Deku for Uraraka and normally an insult to Bakugou, though he still hesitated at the nickname - felt his stomach drop when names were called. He ran a gloved hand across his forehead, smearing the sweat that stung his eyes. His green hero costume, bulky and reinforced, looked like a sauna suit. The belt dug into his hips, the gloves stuck to his palms. He could already smell himself: that strong, youthful sweat mixed with the faint pine scent of his laundry detergent, now turning sour in the heat.
And then: “Midoriya and Yaoyorozu.”
His heart thumped against his ribs like a caged bird. Momo Yaoyorozu – vice class representative, genius quirk user, and the epitome of poise – gave him a small, encouraging smile as they moved to the designated sector. Her red hero costume hugged her curves in a way that made Deku's brain stutter, even on a good day. Today, with the sweat-darkened fabric on her lower back, under her arms, and along the high lines of her thighs, it was torture. Her long black ponytail swayed with each step, strands already escaping to adhere to the damp sheen of her neck. Before facing each other, Momo took off the utility belt that has the books about composition information she wears in in some cases, but as this class was about physical ability, she had to put other skills into practice, as she was usually bad at offensive. She left it in a corner near the other support items she had so she could start practicing, without the belt, it was very easy for Deku to see her beautiful, polished thighs, she may not be athletic, but her legs were impeccable and beautiful, and her crotch almost made Midoriya distracted, he would still see more behind her.
They faced each other first on a wide street, circling like wary cats. The air between them was thick and humid, trapping the aromas of the arena: hot concrete baking underfoot, distant ozone of peculiar waste, and closer – her. Momo smelled clean, refined, like expensive green tea leaves steeped in warm water, but the heat had put something more primal about him. Salt from her skin, a subtle floral note from whatever lotion she used, and beneath that, the warm, inviting musk of a body pushed to the limit.
Deku swallowed, his throat dry. "R-ready, Yaoyorozu-san?"
She nodded, eyes sharp and focused. "We'll do our best, Midoriya-kun. No hesitation."
She moved first – graceful as a dancer, precise as a surgeon. A quick creation from his quirk: a thin stick, materializing on his exposed thigh with a soft glow. She swept him down, aiming for his ankles. Deku dodged, his body responding with that inexplicable surge of power he didn't yet understand – One For All flickering at the edges, making him just a fraction faster than a quirkless boy should be. Momo's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered, turning to move forward.
He responded, lunging low to sweep her legs. She jumped back, but the momentum sent them both tumbling into a narrow alley between two fake buildings. The space was claustrophobic: rough concrete walls closing in, barely wide enough for two bodies side by side. Deku's shoulder hit a wall with a bone-shaking thud; Momo's back hit the opposite, her breath escaping in a sharp gasp.
They were trapped – chest to back, his front against her. The air in the alley was even thicker, stuck and stagnant, heavy with the smell of sunburned stone and combined sweat. Deku could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her costume clung to the curve of her spine, the softness of her ass pressing against his hips as she tried to steady herself.
Time seemed to stretch out, sticky like humidity.
Momo moved, trying to move past him towards the open street. Deku instinctively put his arm across the alley, blocking his path. Their bodies collided again – this time with more force. Her breath caught, hot against her ear as she turned her head slightly. Up close, everything intensified: the slippery slide of sweat-damp fabric, the rapid rise and fall of her chest synchronizing with his panicked breathing.
Deku's mind raced. *Pull back. Apologize. This is training, no...not that.* But his body had other ideas. His hips bucked forward – just a fraction – for stability, or so he told himself. The front of her gusseted pants met the soft, supple curve of her bottom. Through the layers of fabric, he felt her warmth, the way her leotard stretched taut over her full cheeks.
Momo remained completely still. A small sigh escaped your lips, barely audible over the distant screams of your classmates. Deku felt the exact moment she registered him: the hard, insistent expanse of her arousal pressing into the crack of her ass. His muscles tensed and then relaxed – just a little – as if a question was forming.
"M-Midoriya-kun...?" His voice was a whisper, breathy and uncertain, mixed with surprise. The sound sent a shock straight to his core, making him pulse against her.
"Sorry!" he blurted out, voice cracking like a teenager's worst nightmare. Heat flooded his face, mixing with the sweat that was already dripping there. He could smell it now—his own sharp, musky arousal cutting through the pine-scented detergent, betraying him. "I didn't mean... I just... it's the heat or the adrenaline, I..."
But he didn't move away. It couldn't. The friction was electric, a spark in the damp air. His hips rolled again, involuntarily, moving slowly and hesitantly against her. The drag of the fabric – the thick green pants against the thinner red spandex – sent shivers down his spine. It was slippery, aided by the sweat that soaked through both of their costumes, creating a hot, slippery slide.
Momo's gloved hands flattened themselves against the concrete wall, her nails lightly scraping the rough surface. She didn't push him. I didn't scream. Instead, she arched her back – just a little – pushing him back. The movement caused her ass to press tighter against his hardness, molding around him like an invitation.
Deku's breath hitched, hot against the back of his neck. He buried his face there, inhaling deeply without meaning to. God, she smelled incredible: hot skin salty with sweat, that light vanilla lotion now transformed into something richer, sweeter. Mixed with it was the subtle, feminine taste rising between her thighs – arousal, he realized in a dizzying rush. She was getting wet, the heat penetrating her tights to tease him.
"Is...is everything okay?" he whispered, voice muffled against her ponytail. Strands of her hair stuck to her lips, tasting faintly of shampoo and salt. His hands hovered at your waist, gloved fingers trembling before resting lightly on your hips. The belt of his costume was hot under his palms, the metal buckle slick with sweat.
Momo hesitated, her breathing shallow and rapid. She tilted her head back slightly, exposing more of her neck – skin glistening, a single bead of sweat tracing a path to her collarbone. "I... I don't know," she admitted softly, her voice shaking. "It feels... weird. But good. Too good." She pushed back again, a tentative movement that dragged her clothed cheeks along his length. The movement drew a low moan from him, vibrating against his skin.
The air of the alley grew heavier, saturated with her scents: his strong musk mixing with her softer floral heat, the unmistakable touch of sex thickening everything. Sweat dripped down Deku's temple, landing on the exposed skin of Momo's lower back where her costume hung down. It slid down, disappearing around her waist, making her shudder.
Emboldened – encouraged – Deku began to act serious. Slow, deliberate movements of his hips, pressing his hardness into the seam of her ass again and again. Each thrust pushed a puff of hot, moist air between their bodies, carrying the raw scent of their arousal. His gloves squeaked against her belt as he gripped it tighter, pulling her closer. "Yaoyorozu-san... Momo... you're so soft," he murmured, the words coming out quickly. "Your skin is so warm and you smell like...vanilla and sweat, it's driving me crazy."
Momo let out a soft moan, her head falling forward to rest against the wall. A hand left the concrete, returning to grip his thigh. Your nails dug into the green fabric, sending shivers of sensation down his leg. "Midoriya-kun...," she breathed, testing his name as a secret. "You're so strong against me. I can feel you throbbing - it's hot, like fire through your clothes." She backed away in slow circles, matching his rhythm, the smooth fabric of her leotard sliding with a wet, rustling sound.
Deku's pace faltered for a second, overwhelmed. The pressure eased in his stomach, tightening. He ran faster, hips thrusting forward with more urgency. The slap of fabric against fabric echoed softly in the narrow space, muffled by the walls but loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his back, soaking his costume until it clung obscenely, outlining every muscle. He could feel the wetness between them, where their bodies met – a sticky, intimate mixture of perspiration and pre-coital fluid oozing through the layers.
“Your ass… is perfect,” he confessed in a husky whisper, his face burning as the words escaped. "So soft, so warm. I can smell you getting wet—it's sweet, like honey mixed with salt." He inhaled deeply against her neck, chasing that scent, his lips brushing her skin accidentally. She tasted salty, hot, alive.
Momo moaned softly, the sound vibrating through her body and into his. Her thighs trembled, squeezing together as she sought friction for herself. "Midoriya-kun...touch me more," she begged softly, her voice breaking. "Your hands are so strong. I didn't expect...from you." She arched even more, pressing her breasts against the wall for support, the movement making her ass press harder against him.
He complied, one hand sliding down her side, gloved fingers tracing the curve of her waist, then moving up, brushing the underside of her breast through the costume. The fabric was damp, her nipple a hard peak that he could feel even through the layers. "Like this?" he asked, voice hoarse with need. His other hand dipped lower, grabbing your thigh, pulling your leg back slightly to spread you wider. The air between her thighs was warmer, the scent stronger – musky, feminine, intoxicating.
"Yes, oh, yes," Momo panted, her free hand joining his on his thigh, guiding him. "Do you feel how wet I am? I'm soaking wet... because of you." She rotated her hips in a figure eight, dragging the tip of the clothed penis along her slit with each upward movement. The feeling was maddening – teasing, never enough, but growing relentlessly.
Deku groaned, burying his face harder in her neck. "Momo... you're dripping. I can feel the heat, the softness. It smells so good - it makes me want..." He stopped, embarrassed to finish, but his hips thrust harder, faster, chasing release.
The alley was now a sauna, their breath coming out in a rush that fogged the air. Sweat dripped down every inch: dripping from the chin, pooling at the navel, leaving the transparent costumes in patches. The smells enveloped them – salt, musk, excitement – a heady cocktail that made Deku's head spin.
"Don't stop," Momo whispered urgently, her body shaking. "I'm close - Midoriya-kun please, harder."
He obeyed, rutting with abandon, the friction burning deliciously. His hand on your breast squeezed gently, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric. "Come for me, Momo. I want to feel you tremble against me, smell your release..."
She broke first - a full-body shudder, thighs squeezing like a vise, back arched as she pressed hard against him. A soft, broken moan escaped, muffled against his arm. Deku felt the rhythmic pulse of his climax through the thin barrier, the cool moisture penetrating and mixing with his sweat.
It pushed him. "Momo—!" He came with a choked cry, hips rocking erratically as heat spread inside his costume, sticky and hot. The smell sharpened – his release mixing with hers, filling the air with a raw, satisfied edge.
They fell together, panting in the heavy silence. The sweat cooled on the skin, the costumes stuck together like lovers' embraces. Momo turned around slowly, her face flushed, her eyes dark with an afterglow. "That was...intense," she murmured, a shy smile appearing on her lips.
Deku nodded, still catching his breath. "Yes... I'm sorry if I..."
"Don't be sorry," she interrupted softly, fingers brushing his cheek. "It was good."
In the distance, Aizawa's voice echoed: "Time. Back to assembly."
They straightened themselves as best they could, smoothing the wrinkled fabrics, ignoring the obscene stickiness of the damp stains. Side by side they returned, the summer heat a pale shadow of the fire they lit.
Next workout? They would offer to pair up. Every time.
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