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One Shot Man (One Punch Man Oneshots)

Chapter Text

You looked at the fence that blocked off the civilian and abandoned area in City Z, next to you, was your bag. “I have to prove myself and find out what really goes on here, and what makes all the monsters spawn here, instead of anywhere else.” You hold your shirt-pin to your heart and whisper softly to it.

For a moment, your eyes glow, before you turn back to normal. Well as normal as a magical girl can be, anyway. Your hair had increased in length and flowed like a gentle breeze pushed it back (there was none, by the way) and your skirt had layers of tulle and untied ribbons. You grab the fence and start to climb, letting the point of your point shoes go in between the holes of the chain link fence.

While this form did not appear ideal for sneaking about, it allowed you to turn invisible and camouflage with minimal effort due to the properties of the shirt pin. Your top was a deep v-neck and had one side go over the other, held together by a small Tortoise charm. The sleeves were long and made tulle as well, and were loose and poofy, allowing for movement, style, and breathing.

You threw yourself over the top of the fence and looked at the bag at the other side. It was close to the fence and allowed you to stick a hand through and grab a walkie talkie and a camera, which was all you needed. You turned it on. “This is (f/n) speaking, I’m over the fence. I will proceed to the heart of the area and take pictures. Over.”

Emily’s voice came from the walkie talkie. “Good. I expect you to be careful, and if you see a monster, DO NOT engage in conflict. Now get started. Over.”

You felt no need to respond, so you said “over”, and turned off the walkie talkie to save battery life. You see the ruins of a tall building, which provides the perfect vantage point, and a good view of landmarks. So you climb it, jumping from wall to wall, heaving yourself through windows. Unlike other superheroes, you couldn’t fly, because the author isn’t making you a mary sue. I know, your welcome.

You get to the top and look at the mid-day sky. “It’s gorgeous here if only people could live here.” It gave you all the more reason to find out why the monsters came here, and more of a reason to stop them. You looked around and found a small supermarket and a hole, about three miles away. “Bingo.” You found where the queen lies. Or where the monsters magically pop out of the earth. Or something. You didn’t know where they came from.

You ran and jumped from the ledge and land on another, short building. Despite not being able to fly, you sure felt like you could in moments like these. It was nice. You kept going, legs spreading mid-leap in the air, and tulle filtering the sunlight on the ground like stained glass.

You stopped abruptly, realizing you had arrived at the hole. It was deep and filled with clear sea water. You pulled out your camera and started taking pictures from the view at the top of the gas station. The water stirred and turned murky, giving you your clue to leave. But you needed more pictures for Emily and her research project on the Monsters! So you hid behind AC unit on the building and turned invisible.

The monster appeared from the depths and climbed out, it’s limbs, slim and elongated and body like a snake. Hundreds of small dorsal fins grew along it’s back, capturing light with its blackness. Its eyes beady red and bloody thirsty appeared to be staring right into your own. You were terrified, but nevertheless, you snapped pictures as it walked right past you, and down the street. Down the street towards where the civilians resided. Its body took up the entire street and stood at least five stories tall. While it wasn’t large in scale, it wasn’t small or medium-sized either.

You turned on the walkie talkie. “Emily I got what you wanted and more, however, the monster is heading towards a civilian area, and I can’t stand by. I have the situation handled. Over.”

“No you fucking don’t.” Emily immediately said. “I’m going to call the hero’s association and tell them to handle it.”

“Damn it Emily I’m going to!”

“This is why I didn’t want you to go. You’ll get into a fight you can’t win. Your just a normal person with big dreams.”

“Listen to me (f/n), just because you have a black belt in aikido and kendo doesn't mean you are qualified to fight monsters. Leave it to the professionals.”

“Half of the heroes in the c-class can’t even walk. I’ve got this. Over.” You turn off the walkie talkie and jump down to the street. I can’t run fast in this form, you think to yourself. So you change. Eyes glowing white, you whisper softly again to your shirt pin and begin to morph. High legged bikini bottoms form on your hips, holding stalkings and garter belts on your thighs materialize and a white, backless top appear in a flash of white. The painful part comes: raven wings form.

The shirt pin goes back to below your collar bone, and you hold back sobs of pain as feathers and muscle and bone protruded from your back. It hurts so badly, and you collapse into a light pole, holding onto it for dear life. “Damn it,” you whisper, “why does it hurt so bad?”

Then the itching began. Between the feathers, the joints in your back, the tips of fingers and face. The only way to relieve it is to fly. Which is what you needed to do anyway. You start sprinting down the road, fast and quickly and jump up, letting your wings flap and send you forward and up.

By the time you spotted the monster, it was in the city, and several heroes were already fighting it. That hero with the tank-top, one with crazy hair, and someone in a furry suit. You didn’t even want to know. You sweep around and face the monster yourself, watching as it effortlessly passes through physical material. If physical attacks don’t work, then most hero’s stand useless against it, seeing as very few know about energy manipulation.

It walked through another building and rippled the air about, causing people to crumple in waves. The shirt pin pulsed. You had five minutes left before recharge.

You hold out your hand and let light from a ball in it, pitch black, before chucking it at the creature. It smacked it right in the head and it toppled back. Trying to catch it’s footing in the ground it phased about halfway through and got stuck. There was a big dent where the ball landed.

Flying towards it, you begin to descend and form a sword in your hands. It grew larger and larger until it was about the size of a train car. You swung it over your head and let out a guttural scream.

And just like that, the monster was slice in half.

You back up and look at your handy work. Minimal infrastructure damage and minimum time spent fighting the damn thing. Maybe you should join the hero’s association. You look back, only to see it’s elongated hand slowly slip from the building it was holding. Your timer beeps again, and immediately, your wings start shedding and itching, your outfit starts to fade away and the pain returns. The agonizing pain. The hand came down like lightning, and while you laid there, collapsed with pain, you knew two things:

  1. You were dead
  2. Maybe Emily was right. You should have left it to the heros.

You curled up and closed your eyes. This was the end. You expected to see your life flash before you, but instead of seeing your maker, you simply felt warm. Like standing in front of a fire. You peak open an eye and see nothing but fire and metal feet. A cyborg?

It wouldn’t be the craziest thing you ever saw. You looked up at him, scorching the ever living shit out of the hand. “Thanks,” you whispered. He turned around, and you saw his black eyes and blonde hair. It was Genos!

Emily may have been right, but to meet Genos, it was worth it. Even almost dying.

“It was awfully brave, for you to come to investigate,” he said, not realizing you were the one who cut this thing in half. “Are you injured? You look to be in pain.”

Your face flushed, and you strained to stand up. “Ah!” You fell down just as quickly as you stood up. “I’m fine, my transformation does this to me sometimes.” You send him a smile. “I’m Amé, the local “freak”,” you introduce yourself.

He sticks out his hand and thinking it a handshake, you squeak in surprise when he helps pull you up. “Genos, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to me you too…” You balance yourself, almost standing entirely on one foot.

“It appears as if you sprained an ankle, do you need help getting anywhere?”

“Oh no!” You wave your hands. “I’m fine, I can walk to a CVS or something and get an ankle brace.” You go to walk away but putting so much weight on that foot hurts like a bitch, granted, the adrenaline was helping a bit.

He walks up and wraps an arm right around your floating ribs, and moves the closer arm to around his shoulder. “Let me help you.” He looks down and you feel like you can see the sun in his eyes. But just for a moment. You understood why your friend Emily like him so much.

“Seriously though, I have it handled.” You insist.

“You need help, I can tell.” He stops walking with you for a moment. “You want to be strong. So do I…” He breathes out and remembers what the Dr. told him. “But sometimes you need to ask for help. And sometimes you need to accept it.”

Those were wise words. “Ok, but only because you have a point.” You two walk-in silence until you get to the rite-aid around the corner.

“Miss. Would it be too invasive to ask what you were doing there?”

“No!” You flushed, feeling a bit too loud. “I mean, I saw the monster and how it phased through the building, and how the other hero’s punches just went through, and I thought that maybe an energy based attack would work better.”

“That was unsafe.” He says blandly. “You’re a civilian, maybe you should train a bit before trying something like that. You’re very lucky that the winged hero was able to kill it before you got too close.”

“I mean, not necessarily.” He looks back at you for a moment, shocked by your words. “I was the winged hero.”

His eyes scanned you for a moment. “Then where did your wings go?” He seemed skeptic.

“I grow them when I need them…” You sigh. Everyone asks you that.

“And your hair is shorter.”

“It grows out when I transform…” You also got asked that a lot.

He seemed to see the annoyance on your face. “Forgive me. It was rude to doubt you.”

You looked at him, and he seemed sincere. “Nobody apologizes after asking me questions like that. You’re fine. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” You smile at him, and he smiles back softly. Once again his eyes were like the sun, and just as quickly, that feeling faded.

“Let's get that brace for your ankle.” He said. You both begin to move forward again, and he sits you down on a bench by the pharmacy. “I’ll buy it for you. Just wait here.”

“It’s fine. I can pay fo-”

“I insist.” And he walks into a nearby isle, that had ace-bandages and such.

“At least let me pay you back!” You shout in his general direction.

“Do not fight this, allow me to help you.” He walks through and purchases it at a nearby self-checkout.

“You’re not even responsible for my injury! I can handle myself!”

He pops back to beside you and kneels at your feet. “If I had been there earlier, I could have helped you, and you wouldn’t have gotten injured.” And once again, his eyes look like suns. “Your foot, allow me to wrap it.”

“Fine.” You stick out your foot. “I could wrap it myself, y’ know.”

He takes off your shoe. “I think it’s better than I do it.” He begins to wrap it around your ankle.

“At least let me pay you back for the wrap.” You look away.

“The cash wouldn’t mean anything to me,” he says. “Money doesn’t mean anything to me anyway. You need it more than I do.”

You think for a moment. “Then let me take you to dinner.”

“Maybe once you feel better.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. “In the meantime, just put your number in.”

You do so. “How does next week sound? There’s a nice Italian place in city B that’s fairly quiet.”

He looks up. “That sounds lovely, Amé.”

“Oh, by the way, that’s my hero name.” You look away. “I put my civilian name in your contacts, it’s (f/n).”

He helps you up off the bench. “(F/n),” he drawls the name out, slowly, carefully, delicately. “That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks.” You feel your cheeks warm up.

“May I walk you home.”

“That’s asking way too much of you,” you say, “I couldn’t make you do that.”

He just smiles. “Consider your debt repaid if you let me.”

You huff. “Fine.”

His eyes glisten like the sun once more. But for longer than a moment. “You still have to take me to dinner.”

Chapter Text

You groan and roll on your side, the futon soft under your body. You rest your head on your boyfriend's chest and listen to his heartbeat. It almost lulls you to sleep. His hand wraps around you and pulls you closer to him.



You smile softly and lean down, resting your forehead against yours. You peck his lips and dive your head back down to the pillow and between his neck. “Morning darling.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I love you.” His other hand comes up and weaves itself into your hair.

“Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“Tell me that every morning, for the rest of our lives, will you?”

“Only if you say you love me back,” he teases.

You bite his neck, “I love you too baby.” You poke the spot with your tongue. “I love you so much, you big cheesy baby.”


He kisses the top of your head again. “What are you doing?” He knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Giving you a kiss.”

“You mean a hickey.”

You shoot your head up. “And?”

“We need to match.” He counters. He grabs your hips and scoots you down a little bit. “And now I think about it, last night wasn’t the most satisfying, now was it?”


“Saitama!” You shift around a little, effectively straddling him. “I wanna top.”

“You gotta beat me at sparring first.” He flips you over and sneaks a hand under the hoodie your wearing.

“I hate you sometimes.” You prop yourself on your elbows and kiss him.

“You didn’t say that last night,” he says, “and you said the opposite two minutes ago.” He pulls the hoodie up a little bit before placing a kiss on your belly button.

“Correction. I hate you most of the time.”

He smiles before shoving his entire head under the hoodie. “God woman, make up your mind.”


Chapter Text

Living in an apartment with two S-class heroes was a mess for you. Especially because you were dating both of them. But you dealt with it because you loved both of them. And love is about sacrifices. Sometimes. But other times love could be fun and games. Like when your family thought you were in a normal straight relationship with a normal, straight guy. Ha! Like you’d stop being gay.


Perhaps your mother had hope for you and your anti-church ways.

Perhaps she thought it was just a phase.

Oh, how wrong she was.


It was mail day, and everyone was opening letters, whether it was fan mail or bills, the three of you sat around the Kotatsu, feet tucked under and the blanket and letters stacked in front of you. There were two piles so far: burn and keep. Otherwise known as fan-mail and bills or coupons or sale fliers. What? We’re talking about Saitama here.

“How’s your fan-mail coming along Genos-kun?” You say, cutting open a letter. You didn’t check who it was from. You didn’t care who was sending you the electric bill. The company changed every two weeks anyway.

“I’ve just learned three new words for ‘penis’.” He informs. “Only one of them I would dare say out loud.”

Saitama just shakes his head. “So have I.”

You look over at him. “Finally getting some not-hate-mail?” You chuckle and say, “I’m glad you have some fangirls.”

“Not in that context, but I’m sure I have at least one.”

“What makes you say that?”

He goes deadpan for a moment. “So you’re not my biggest fan…” He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that it was a joke, the way his hand slid over yours.

“No, not really Saitama, I really like Puri-Puri-Prisoner-chan.” You hold the envelope for another unopened letter and realize that this one is in fact, not from an electric or waterworks company. “Hey, guys!” You said.

Genos waited no time at all to respond, “yes (f/n)-chan).”

“Maybe I’ll listen if you say I’m your favorite,” Saitama says.


“Am I your favorite now?” He slides his feet to touch yours under the Kotatsu.

You squeak. “Stop it! My feet or cold!”

“Only if you say it.”

You lean over to Saitama and kiss his cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite.”

“There we go.” He gives you a peck back before looking at your letter. “Oh, it’s from your mom.”

“Stroking an ego is a way to an eggs heart, after all.” You mutter.  Genos nodded in agreement and stroked his thumb over the ridges of Saitama’s knuckles.

“What did your mom say?” Genos asks.

“I don’t know.” You mutter. You open the envelope with your thumbnail, completely forgetting about the letter-opener. You unfold the letter and read out loud:

“Dear (f-n)-chan,

I heard you have a boyfriend! I’m really excited you got over that phase with girls. I’m really happy for you to see the ways of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ have finally left an impression on you. Please tell me you will get married to this man soon-”


Genos coughed.

“Oh gosh! Are you okay?” You asked, pausing the letter reading.

“No, not at all, (f/n)-chan,” he says. You let out a sigh of relief, but the toaster opens his mouth again. “However, I really think you should marry this man she speaks about.” He smiles, "you know, for bringing you into the heart of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ."


Saitama just snorts as your face turns tomato red. You just mutter, “buy me a ring first and I’ll think about it.” You go back to the letter.


“At first, I was going to write you a letter asking who he is, but then I realized: you should introduce him to us at the Christmas dinner!-”


“No,” Saitama said.


“It’s all the way outside the province,” you said, “like we could afford a trip like that anyways.”


“But then I realized that your father wouldn't let you come into the house. He is still convinced that you are an atrocity in the eyes of our merciful God.” You took a breath and kept reading, trying not to laugh at your mother. You loved her. You did, but she was delusional and her obsession with the church was such a source of amusement for you. “Perhaps you should send us a Christmas card, so your father can see how much you’ve grown and how you’ve accepted Jesus. I’ll send you a gift this year!

With love,

Mother Dearest.”


The three of you promptly burst into laughter. You’re full own slapping the table with tears running down your eyes. Genos is leaking steam from the joints of his plates and covering his face and shaking shoulders. Saitama is full on leaning on you and chuckling with a smirk. You figure he’s doing it more for the physical affection then he actually needs to lean on you, but you don’t mind.


“What do you want to do for the Christmas cards?” Genos asked.


“Something my Mom wouldn’t like,” you ponder. You lean your head on Saitama’s shoulder from around the table and smile deviously. “We should do, a kinky one…”


“How kinky?” Saitama pondered.

“BDSM?” You threw in.

“It’s an appealing thought,” Genos said. “I had recently received a paddle from that fan package, perhaps we can incorporate that.”


Saitama jumped three feet in the air. “You mean you have a paddle and you haven’t let me use it on you yet?!” He seemed to wither away for a moment. It was almost like his soul left his body.


“Perhaps I kept it to myself so I could use it on (f/n)-chan,” Genos said.

“Make it communal. Communal spankings for whenever we miss behave. Dished out by me!” You point to yourself.


“Well it has pink ribbons on one side, I thought it would be more appropriate to have it be yours specifically.” He said and pulled the paddle out. To which you just started laughing again, because (oh lord) you thought he was joking.


“It needs to be festive though...” Saitama mutters.

“We should dress up!” You exclaim. “I need ideas…” and you with that, you run over to the comic shelf. You flipped through mangas and comics of all sorts. “Kimonos… no…” Before you grab one from the bottom shelf. The hentai shelf. “Aha!” You exclaim.


“What idea do you have?” Genos asked.

“We should dress up as school girls.”

Saitama snorts. “I’ll need a wig to look like a convincing one.”

“We aren’t trying to look convincing. Though. We’re trying to look sexy.” You send him a wink.

“We save the uniforms after for later uses,” Genos adds.

“Of course, darling.” Oh did your family have a storm coming? Yes. Yes, it did.


It was two days later, in late November, when the Amazon package came in. Three girls uniforms, two large sized and a medium, accordingly. Genos got the jump-skirt, Saitama got one with a cardigan and you got a sailor styled one. Needless to say. You all looked cute once you changed. And then you realized: who the heck was going to photograph you guys?


“Hey guys,” you say softly. You looked a bit nervous.


“(f/n), are you sure you’re okay with this?” Genos asked.

“I mean for the most part,” you said. “But who’s taking the picture?”

Saitama didn’t even stutter. “King is going to take it for us.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god you actually thought ahead.”


King had come and was ready to take the pictures. He already knew the whole situation, and had even suggested poses! He also looked like he was going to have a nose bleed and burst out laughing at the same time. And as such, making it a personal goal to never make eye-contact with you for the entire week. Which was a shame, because how else are you supposed to beat him at his Love Live! themed chess set.


“I like the idea of replicating the Christmas card from Tobias and Satan.” You say, “adds an extra layer of fuck you, and we get to incorporate the weird paddle someone sent Genos.”


King nodded. “If I pass out from blood loss, it’s from my nose.” He gave an intimidating look for a moment and then he moved behind the camera. Who knew he had a thing for photography?


Genos sat on a stool and held the paddle, which he had crappily hot-glued a holly wreath on. You bent over his lap. Saitama gave it a joking slap before standing where your head was and covering it with his skirt. Your face was right next to his crotch. You would say too close for comfort but honestly, you’ve enjoyed being closer, so you didn’t mind that much. Genos flipped up your skirt and pulled your underwear down. The strawberry pattern was visible, but not any genitalia.


“This is the most aggressive, passive-aggressive "fuck you" I’ve seen in a while,” king comments. His voice is quiet and gruff. His face is red. This probably the most intimate thing he’s ever shot. For a moment you felt bad about this, and then you remembered what your dad said three years ago. This was sweet, sweet, gay revenge.


“What do you want the caption to be?” King asked, looking away. His face was red around his scar.

“We can do that in Paint!” You said, still under the skirt, even though the photo was over.

“Merry Christmas Sempai,” Saitama said without a moment's hesitation.

King just picks up his stuff and heads to the door. “I’ll just…” He clears his throat. “I’ll just go.”


When the second week of January rolled around, you three gave up on getting a response from your mother. While it was great that the fiasco of a Christmas card finally gave her the message “hey, I don’t like you, leave me alone,” it was also upsetting not to get her reaction. You had been looking forward to that.


You opened your phone and checked the popularity polls for heroes. Genos was at number one. You shouted that. “Genos-kun you’re at number one in the popularity polls!” He beat Sweet Mask. He beat The Fucking Sweet Mask. 


He ran over to you. “I don’t believe you.”


“Look.” You showed him, and he read the comments out loud.


I’ve always wanted him to be at number one!

I love his Christmas card! I wish I was her :(

Genos with a school girl kink… sign me up.

He’s so handsome in a jump-skirt! Embrace your femininity Demon Cyborg!


“How do they know about that?” Saitama asked, having heard the whole mess from the couch.

You went silent before clicking on a link in of the comments. “My mom sold the Christmas card to the paparazzi.” You shrug. “Good luck explaining this to the media, Genos-kun.” You gave him a peck on the check before flopping onto Saitama’s lap.


“You up for something worse?”


“A porn tape?”

Genos slams his cup on the table. “No!”

Chapter Text

The small apartment was cold and even though the heater was going full blast. Mumen Rider was fast asleep, beside you, his arms wrapped around you. He wasn’t wearing spectacularly juicy and fan-service worth pajamas, seeing as it was the middle of winter. He was still comfy to sleep with though. The little baby fat he had, despite riding his bike constantly, rose and fell against your stomach as he slept. It was subtle, but with his heartbeat, it was enough to lull you to sleep, back when things were normal at least.


But things aren’t normal anymore. Were they ever normal? Your fingers drum gently against the small of Mumen’s back. He was so peaceful. For a moment, you took it in. And then you slowly wiggled out. You needed to. You needed something.


You tiptoe to the kitchenette and open a small cabinet, it held painkillers, cold medicines and the like. In the back, the prescription was there. The Xanax. The bottle let in a little bit through it and tinted the back of the cabinet with orange-tinted moonlight. You reach for it.


Should I do this?

I have to do this.

Mumen would be disappointed…

He doesn’t need to know.


You open the bottle, pressing down on the white lid, and slowly twisting it. You look in the bottle for a moment. And you ask yourself again if it’s worth it. And you decide no. It’s not. But you don’t close the lid and climb back into bed with him.



It’s time to end this addiction.


So you run the water in the sink and turn on the garbage disposal. And you watch the pills go down the drain. One by one. Into a powder mixed with water. Down to sink. Down the pipes. To somewhere. You’re not really sure. It’s away from you.


And for a moment you regret it.

And then for a moment, you don’t.


You put the kettle on the stove, and set it to boil. You breathe for a moment and listen to the soft mutter of socks against wood floorboards as Mumen Rider comes to the room where you are.


“Morning babe,” you joke.

“It’s not even two.” He responds, walking over to you. “You need tea this early in the morning.”

“Yeah.” You lean your head on his shoulder as he hugs you from behind. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should come back to bed.” He whispers against your neck. “It’s cold without you.”


“Let me have some tea first.” You groan. “Do you want a cup.” He sighs against your neck, and all the hairs stand on the edge for a moment. It’s ticklish, and in a way that’s pleasurable, in the way that when lips touch the skin, you are reminded about each and every reason you fell in love with the man chastely kissing it. You could list them in your head.


“I’ll get the-” He pauses for a moment. “Why is the bottle of Xanax empty on the counter?”

You feel the guilt of something you didn’t do rush to your cheeks.

“Please tell me you didn’t.” He comes picks up the bottle, and sees a pill in the sink, he nudges down the drain.


“I sent all the pills down the garbage disposal.” You say, and despite being a twitchy, agitated mess whose simultaneously tired and energized and ready to jump off a bridge and live life, you feel a weight lifted off your chest with the words.

He sighs with relief, before throwing the empty bottle in the trash. “Thank god, I thought you snorted them or something.” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet.


“Have more faith in me. I love you more than an addiction anyway.” You say, and turn of the stove.

“You should do this for yourself.” Mumen pulls out two bags chamomile tea and places them in the mugs. “It’s your body and your decision.”

“Well,” you say as you pour water in the cups, “you were the motivation, I needed, I guess.” You peck his cheek and pass him his mug. “You’re a hero for the world, this city, and for me.”

Everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

The bed was in the sunlight, it had two people on top of it, cuddling as though their life depended on it, which in a way it did. Mainly, because you and your boyfriend had fifteen minutes before your brother and his apprentice, Genos, came back from shopping.

"I miss back when you had long hair."

"You do?"

You run your hand the locks, now so much shorter. When it was down it used to go down all the way to his shoulders. Now, it barely reached his neck. And yet, for some atrocious reason, he decided to keep the long bangs. "I have to admit though, this looks cute."


"Yeah," you say. You peck his nose with a barely felt Eskimo kiss. "But don't you go up to tie your hair in the morning and go 'oh shit I don't have any more hair because I cut all off'?"

Sonic sighs before holding you a bit closer. "Yeah, and then I remember I don't have to and it's honestly just such a hassle to manage it."

"Like my hair isn't a hassle," you say, rolling your eyes.

"You know whose hair is a hassle?" He has a big grin across his face. Yes, you find it a bit creepy, but also endearing. You try not to stare at his sharp teeth.


"Your brother."

"He's bald!" You think about hitting him. And you do.

He gasps. "My love," he rolls over, letting you go to hold onto his 'wounded' arm. He groans softly. "You've wounded me."

"Sonic? Did I hit you too hard?" You sit up, looking at him for a moment.

And then he tackles you.

"Oh god, you had me worried I got my brother's super strength or something!"

"I hope you don't..."

"I don't want to look like an egg." You whine before violently hiccuping.

You lay back down and hold him close, let your eye-lids flush shut. You are both too busy laughing to hear the door creak open.

It goes quiet for a moment before speed o sound sonic speaks up. "Hey, babe?"


"Does uh..." he trips over his words for a moment before nuzzling into your neck.

Saitama calls your name, but you can't hear it over your own pounding heart, and how your brain does nothing but focuses on the breathing into your neck.

"Does your brother know about us?

The door opens.

"Now I do."

Speed o sound sonic looks at him before saying: "Oh, shit."

He didn't have to open the window to make his escape. He just kinda... ran through it.

"Damn it, he broke my house and he's with my sister," Saitama mutters. He turns to you for a moment. "Mind explaining why he was in our house?"

You also jumped out the window.

Chapter Text

So essentially...

1) I have my computer back. (For those who missed the announcement, My dad pulled the hard drive on my computer cause he thought I was watching porn. (As it turns out, I wasn't so all is well, I don't think he realizes the fact that I have written it but I'll take what I can get.) It was actually my 15-year-old brother. Go figure Dad. Whose watching porn: the basically and adult-year-old weeb whose idea of masochism is three AP classes or the 15-year old horny teenager?


2) That means I can take requests. Throw them at me. I'm going to update on Saturdays and/or Fridays I think. All at once. Like a cram study session, I have planned in like half an hour. Oh god, I'm dreading it.


3) I'm starting a multi-chapter fic starring a female OC, and the premise is a teenage girl who has a magical necklace that gives her super strength is facing impossible odds to get her high school diploma. I just realized this is a border-line crack-fic. Also, her parents are nice to her and alive so hopefully that's a refreshing change of pace. Heres a snippet!

I fall into neither of those categories. So that means school is going to be hell for me. Luckily, I’m in a new school this year, so I get a fresh start. And by a fresh start, I mean, nobody saw me throw up Cheetos in gym class last year.

“Hello, my name is Mistuki Ito,” I say, and give a small bow. I’m standing right in front of the blackboard, facing a crowd of judging high school seniors. I’m nervous, and it radiates off me like heat radiates off the sun or like anger off of the hulk. It makes the atmosphere infinitely more awkward.

The teacher coughs when I walk to go back to my seat. “Is… there anything we should know about, Ms. Ito?”

I turn bright red and play with the gold chain necklace I’m wearing. Nothing, in particular, comes to mind except the insane size of my manga library. Of course! “I… um,” I take a breath, “like to read.”



Chapter Text

Metal Bat:

  • He listens to Stevie Nicks and Pat Benatar. A part of him likes the music they write, and a part of him thinks that by listening to female artists with his little sister, she will be more confident when pursuing her dreams as a musician. It’s working, by the way.


  • He has watched the movie Grease over 60 times with his sister over the course of his life. Yes, the movie may be the reason he sports his iconic pompadour, but he dislikes the movie a lot. And by dislikes, I mean absolutely loathes. He dresses like a greaser because his sister loves the movie. Like has watched the movie 60 times over loves the movie. Like, can play the entire soundtrack on the piano loves the movie.


Amai Mask

  • In the OPM version of the movie grease, Amai Mask plays Danny. This is why Zenko loves the movie. This is also why Metal Bat loathes it. Amai Mask looked terrible with the pompadour, by the way.


  • He owns an entire beauty store’s worth of makeup and can navigate it with his eyes closed and tell you which bottle is half empty or what brand it is just by holding it.

Bang and Bomb

  • Bang was born left-handed. As he grew older and did more martial arts, he became ambidextrous, as most martial arts masters eventually become (to a certain extent). While he can use his right hand to write and things like that, he still prefers his left.


  • Bomb is the older brother. But only by 2 minutes and 31 seconds. Bomb makes sure to rub this in Bang’s face.
    • Bang tells him it’s only 2 minutes and 30 seconds.
    • Bomb corrects him and says it’s 2 minutes and 31 seconds.
  • This only happened when they were young and had that extra energy to be, you know, terrible siblings to each other or if they get raging drunk. And by that I mean, every Saturday evening.

Atomic Samurai

  • He is completely clueless about technology. He still uses a Nokia.


  • Once a “fan” called him middle-aged.
  • He said “I’m only 37, so not really…” the fan replied with, “well you aren’t young either so…” Despite the fact that they got dragged away, he thinks about this interaction all the time. And sometimes, if he’s really zoning out, he’ll whisper “what am I… really?”

Zombie Man

  • He mixes his slang terms up from 30 years ago
    • So he’ll something like “awe sooky sooky spill the tea swigger” and only child emperor can understand him and he wishes he didn’t, in all honesty

Child Emperor

  • He is a walking encyclopedia
  • He has won jeopardy
  • He knows every insult that was or is, and the same goes for curse words.
  • He understands Zombie Man’s slang mix and it literally kills him a little bit at a time. He doesn’t know what worse, that he’s mixing the slang so casually, or the fact that he calls everyone various versions of mother-fucker every other sentence.


  • He used to love eggs as a kid, but now he hates them. I think we all know why though.


  • You can find him browsing in random bookstores. Not just for manga, he’s an avid reader of chapter books as well. He normal loiters as to bring more customers in, stays a little longer and then leaves without a trace. All the bookkeepers know when he will arrive but don’t tell anyone. He’s managed to help small hole-in-the-wall places make a lot of money, and sometimes, if you're wearing some sort of King merchandise, you can get 10% off a purchase. It’s called the King’s tax.


  • This absolute cinnamon roll loves flowers. He has potted plants around his home and almost always has a vase full of some sort of flower. He loves gardening in general, his yard is full of flower beds and such. It looks almost like a castle garden. It’s his happy spot, and he’ll go there and just read a book if he’s feeling upset.
  • This boy has Legolas syndrome. Essentially, he doesn’t have any idea what's going on and he’ll make these ridiculous faces in an attempt to look serious and focused on the task at hand.
  • A lot of his fans think he’s a serious person, however, he expresses his emotions in his own unique way. Atomic samurai and his disciple know how to read his little ‘love language’. He’ll put his hand on someone's shoulder and ask if their okay and Bushidril will jokingly call him a hussy who was practically throwing himself at a civilian. They all think it’s funny, Including Iaian.

Chapter Text

The stadium was quiet. Nobody cheered, just held there breath. You held your sword, high above your head, the sword point disappearing beyond eye-sight. You were much shorter than the behemoth of an opponent you were set up against, but you were confident in yourself and your abilities. After all, this was the one thing you were good at. That trophy might as well have your name on it, and well, this is the final match. The winner would then fight one of the most skilled swordsmen in the world.

It was to the first point. Whoever scored two half points or a full point won. There was no time limit. And the match was seven minutes in already. You inhaled through your mouth, and exhaled through your nose, letting your face fall into a grimace. You thought you looked intimidating, but you weren’t made of anything. No hulking size or muscle. No height, nor long flexible limbs.

But the nice thing about being short is that you have the willpower of a god, compressed to the size of a peanut. The gravity of it draws in success like a star draws in planets. And you, you were a galaxy of monumental achievements.

They charged. Sword pointing towards your neck. Bringing the blade down vertically and pushing it away to your right, you were able to sidestep the reckless charge. This was not a battle of strength, it was a battle of wits. You were much too exhausted to outlast or out show each other, so you must end the match decisively.

You jump back, and bend your arm, pulling the blade behind your shoulder and extending the other arm forward, ready to pounce on a moments notice.

“Attack, I dare you.” The look on your face said. “Attack me and you lose.”

You pulled your fingers back. “Come hither.” Your body language said. “Defeat will be quicker if you cooperate.”

They hold their blade the same as you, and you begin the complicated dance of slowly circling each other, searching for a weakness of some sort. And then you found it.

The lean far too much on their left foot, which happens to be their front foot. It would be a matter of faking them out.

You quickly strike towards the right side of their neck, before drawing the blade back towards their left wrist. They stumble back and it’s a matter of bringing the sword over your head and letting it hover just above the crown of their head before the match is declared yours.

That trophy. Yours.
Victory. Yours.
The match against Atomic Samurai. Yours.

You turn clammy just thinking about it. It was the reason you entered in the first place. You swallow a deep breath of air and look around. Loudness was quiet. All the noise covered out thoughts of insecurity and pride.

You hold your now sheathed sword in your hand, and you feel yourself shaking slightly. Is it fear? Adrenaline? You don’t know, but you look towards where the expensive seats are and you see him. Your role model. Your next opponent. You see a hero that you must fight. Well, you don’t have to, but you want to, very badly.

He’s been analyzing your every move, guessing by how he stared at you. The intensity of his glare is one only reserved for thought, and possibly admiration, but the second one wasn’t as likely.

You look towards your opponent, whose head is hung in defeat. Your shoulders shake a small bit before you force some words out. “You fought valiantly,” you say. You sound cold, calculated. Powerful, like you, knew this would be the outcome.

He sticks out his hand, and you grasp it firmly before shaking it and bowing. He does the same.

“You’re nervous, girlie.” He says it as a statement. It’s not degrading either. He chuckles. “I’m glad you bet me, he scares me too.”

“That’s one less thing for me to worry about.” You laugh softly to yourself. “I was afraid I would be ripping a dream out of your hands.”

“You did that too far too many people to stop now (L/N).” He says. You both walk out of the ring, and into the area just for competitors. People are cheering and laughing and a group of your practice friends comes up screeching and throwing themselves all over you.

It feels suffocating.

“Hey,” you say softly.

The stop their antics for a moment.

“Lemme get some air?” You almost ask. Your voice upturns at the end of your statement. They understand exactly what’s going on. As do you. You nearly run out the back entrance to the building. The few people there don’t know who you are or what happened, but you’re grateful. You lean back up against the brick and focus on your breathing.

You have no idea how much time has passed but, you hear the heavy steel door creak.

“Hi.” Your voice cracks.

His footsteps are deliberately loud. Just enough for you to know where he is, and not enough to overwhelm you.

“Are you okay?” His voice is gruff, rough around the edges but has a certain softness to itself that makes you feel safe.

“Sort of.” You say. You take a big inhale through your nose and slowly push it out of your mouth in a long, drawn-out huff. “Just give me an hour or so… I need to breathe.”

“Ah.” He places a heavy hand on your shoulder. You lean your head on it. “Just stay here. You seem nice.” You keep your eyes closed, and focus on how the sunlight bleeds in through your eyelids and creates waves of colors.

His arm sneaks around your shoulder and holds you to his side. He wears long, loose sleeves, that drape over you in a way that makes you feel shielded from the rest of the world. Of all the problems the world. Of the social anxiety. You take a shaky breath in, and one out.

“Keep breathing. In for six. Hold.” He starts to count slowly to four before he tells me to release. And he counts to six again. “Breathe in for six more. Keeping going. You’re doing great.”

He rubbed small circles on your back. “You were impressive in that match.” He says. You go to look up at him, but he places a hand on your head to keep you eye-level with his chest. “Just breath. You panicked. Most people do.”

The steel door opens again. “Master!” Someone calls. You both turn and see the famous hero Iaian. He called the person holding you ‘master’. It didn’t take an idiot to figure it out. The Atomic Samurai was holding you, comforting you.

You quickly push yourself away and look at him and Iaian. A part of you insists this is a trick of some sort, but you push that idea away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” You look away in shame. He comes up and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“The match is in thirty minutes. Go collect yourself.” He sounds like he does in interviews, pompous and mildly annoyed, not the soft person he was a few minutes ago.

You walk down to a nearby bar and get a glass of water and some fries. You see the final matches you played on T.V., but slower. The people are moving slower, almost sluggishly. Or perhaps it is you that is too fast.

You see every mistake, and every opening you made on the screen. You leave a fat bill and leave. You had the match soon against Atomic Samurai soon.

You meet again in the ring, holding swords against each other, eyes locked.

His mouth opens, and a certain phrase falls out. “I forgot to ask you for your number.” He smirks a little bit.

“Only if you win.”

Chapter Text

                The past week had been hell for Genos. Most of the time, he would use that phrase lightly, to describe a week where he had two or more tests, or if he had a big project due three days after it was assigned, but that was nothing in comparison to what had happened this week.

                He lived near the school he went to, which was fairly nice, until this past week. In fact, he was neighbors with his school. It was convenient until something terribly wrong had happened.

                It started in the boy's locker room during the eighth period, when three juniors thought it would be funny to start a fire in a garbage can. But that wasn’t enough. One threw in gasoline, another threw in a bottle of beer. And then it raged wildly out of control.

                Genos knows this because he saw it happen. He was right there, and he did nothing. He watched as flames engulfed the room, and the sprinklers didn’t come on, and how the alarms didn’t blare.

                By the time most of the students were out of the building, he was well pinned under the wreckage, at the heart of the fire.

                He was comatose for three days and lost all limbs along with basic bodily functions. He missed the rest of his sophomore year in high school, just trying to recover in the hospital. His parents came to visit him twice, and then they got hit by a car because he had to be an orphan too.

                He threw himself back into old hobbies, his legos turned to models, and his models turned into robotics. With the help of his old computer science teacher, Dr. Kuseno, he was able to build amazing things.

                By July, he had functioning robotic limbs. He could walk and run and write again. Dr. Kuseno helped along every step of the way and legally adopted him. It was nice, almost normal. Genos still woke up to the flames of heat wisping at him like before, or to the feeling of a ton on his chest.

                His oxygen mask would come off in his sleep, and occasionally, his pacemaker would act up, but he felt that this was the closest he could get back to his old self.

                September rolled around, and along with an IEP that allowed him to not have a gym (yes!), he didn’t feel ready to go back to school.

                He had to take a train for twenty minutes to get to the high school in city z, but he needed a high school diploma. He wanted to go for a GED, but Dr. Kuseno said it was better to get a normal diploma, so thus, genos went back to school.

                Nobody knew who he was, or what happened to him, so he didn’t get the pitying looks he thought he would, but rather, he made a friend.

                Saitama, genos’s friend, was bald. For some unknown reason, he wore a white cape over his school uniform. It always billowed with him when he walked around the campus, and nobody minded enough to call him out on it.

“Oh, Genos!” Saitama called out.

Genos turns to Saitama, puts down his notebooks and walks over. “Saitama, how are you?” He was still cold and robotic in his tone and speech, but it was better than it was before.

“Good, and you?”

“I’m fine.”

Saitama shrugs like it wasn’t the end of the world that Genos was lying. “Let me know when you feel comfortable sharing how you really feel.”

Genos watched Saitama walk away.

Why can’t I trust anyone anymore?

Genos ended up going home, and staring at his phone, he went to tect his friend.

"How do I tell him how I really feel?"

Dr. Kuseno looks over. "You don't have a crush, do you?" It was teasing, and both of them smiled a little.

"No, but I do have an issue."

"Mind telling me what it is?"

Genos thought about how to phrase it before ultimately saying, "I have a friend, and despite me telling him I'm fine, he refuses to believe me."

Dr. Kuseno looked to be in deep thought. "Well, are you fine?"

Genos was quick to answer with, "not really."

"Well, that's what you should say."


"Yes. Do you want to try with me?"

Genos nods silently.

"Alright, I'll be your friend." Dr. Kuseno smiles. "Hi, genos! How are you today!"

Genos pauses for a moment, to process his thoughts. "I'm okay, I think it's really nice out, but my phantom pains are bothering me too."

Dr. Kuseno claps. "Just like that boy!"


The next day, Genos arrives early to school, so he can try and be open with his friend.

Saitama nods at him.

"How are you today Saitama."

"Nothing is going on really so far, how about you?"

Genos takes a moment to think about how he actually is feeling in that moment. "I'm excited. But also nervous."

Saitama nods, and puts his hand on Genos's shoulder. "Do you wanna go off campus and go to the ramen place you like during lunch break?"

"That's not allowed!"