Work Header

Oh, My Hero!

Chapter Text

The doctor had told you about him. The boy he found, the man he fixed, and how that man was now an S-class hero. Doc had said he was an impulsive boy, but he had a good heart. Doc said that he was powerful, but he’d never hurt an innocent. Doc said he was a nice boy, a good boy, just a bit rash sometimes.
Those reassurances were the reason you weren’t panicking at the laser fist pointed at your head.
Coming out from the operating room with blood on your hands likely was an incriminating act, but you didn’t kill the Doc, like the man probably thought.
“Doctor Stench is still in the operating room.” You said, trying to calm your heart. You jerked a thumb over your shoulder and added: “He’s still working on the optic attachments, but he probably wouldn’t mind a visit from you.”
At your calm tone and unruffled appearance, the cyborg lowered his weapons, and you heard the core powering down. A shudder ran through you at the thought of the power this man held in his body. You’d seen Doc’s blueprints of course: as an apprentice, he didn’t mind sharing his secret with you. The power that man packed within his body was incredible; the mere thought of it had kicked your heart rate up a notch.
“And you are?” he asked, his voice smooth as cream, with only the barest hint of a robotic voice box.
You were already moving to the sink to wash your hands. “No one important.” You said, removing the apron you had on during the operation. “Just Doc’s apprentice.”
With a grimace, you notice the blood that had sprayed on your normal coveralls. With a sigh, you kick off your shoes and begin to unbutton the top, forgetting about Genos and his existence as you run the operation in your head again. You’re running through the initial stages of the operation when you drop the coveralls, stepping out of them easily and tossing them into the sink.
“What’re you-!”
Oh, right, Genos.
“Apologies.” You say, turning and searching for the lockers that hold the extra coveralls.
“Put your clothes back on!” Genos demands, face blank despite the desperation he speaks with. Interesting, that.
You stand still, pausing in your coverall search to question him.
“Are you embarrassed?” you ask, “According to Doc’s notes, you haven’t exhibited that emotion since you were human.” He wasn’t blushing due to his carbon-fiber face plate (which you totally needed to study later) but his eyes flickered from the walls and to your body before returning to the wall.
“You- don’t you know what you’re wearing?” he asks, a stutter in his voice. You frown. Of course you know what you’re wearing: it’s the lingerie that your friends had gotten you for your birthday. It was a see-through black lace bra and a lace string thong. The only reason you had worn it was because the rest of your clothes were dirty.
“It’s because of this, right?” You ask, snapping the elastic on your hip and thinking it worth the sting when Genos flinched at the sound. Oh, that was too amusing. It wouldn’t hurt to tease him a little more, would it? You stalk closer, locking your hands behind your back and pushing out your chest. His eyes flickered to your cleavage and you resisted the urge to laugh. So not even robotics could tame male libido? How incredible.
“Just- put on some clothes. If you ple-”
“Do you not still experience sexual urges, Genos? According to the doctor’s notes, he left you well endowed.” Your gaze travels down his form and you feel you panties get a bit slick. Which was. Not your intention. But. Looking at Genos objectively, he is quite handsome.
“I came for a check up.” He said stiffly, not moving an inch when you lightly trail your fingers up his bicep.
“Yes, to make sure all your systems are working, right?” you say coyly and Genos couldn’t hide the flicker of interest in his eyes. You grin, deciding that trying it once with him couldn’t hurt.
Turning on your heel, you maneuver your way to your office, a private room that Doc had given you when you first arrived. A couple of seconds later, you hear Genos following.
You grin.
This would turn out to be quite the experiment indeed.

With a metal body, physical stimulation had never worked for Genos. The last time he got off was before the attack on his town. There were good points though, about having nearly endless stamina when it came to sex. The little vixen that seduced him before lay on her desk, chest heaving as she came down from the high of her third orgasm. Her papers were scattered all across the floor and who knew where her nice lace lingerie was; Genos didn’t quite remember tearing it off, so hopefully they were still intact somewhere.
“G-Genos.” She panted out and if he could get an erection, it would definitely be at that sight: her laying debauched on her desk, face flushed and breasts heaving with each breath.
“Do you have enough data, little miss apprentice?” Genos asked instead, drawing cold metal fingers down her navel barely hovering over her clit.
“Not nearly.” She gasps, shuddering when Genos plunges two fingers into her heat, all loose and wet after the first three times. He rubs his thumb over her clit in slow, hard circles as she presses the back of her hand to her mouth. Genos makes no move to stop her, knowing that she’ll be crying out for him soon enough. His fingers move slowly too, stroking her inside walls as she moans her approval underneath him.
“How much data do you need?” Genos asks, not able to keep the smile off of his face when she can’t do anything but sob at his agonizingly slow pace. “Two times the amount? Six? Ten?” He punctuates the last word by pushing another finger inside her, sliding in easily due to the previous ministrations.
She glares at him, the effect ruined by the tears of frustration in her eyes.
An idea occurs to him. “Want to see if my tongue works as well as my fingers, miss apprentice?” Genos asks and he ceases his movements, waiting until she nods.
“Yes, you asshole.” She growls, “Eat me out.”
Genos smirks and slides down to his knees.

Chapter Text

“Stinger?” you ask, knocking at the door to his hospital room.
“Come in!” came a cheerful response. You slipped into the room, sliding a pen from your breast pocket. “You don’t need to knock at the door, you know.” Stinger said cheerfully, “You’re a nurse here after all.”
You ignore him for a moment in favor of writing down the numbers his IV machine read, and adjusting the machine to calculate a change in the next couple of hours.
“I’d rather not have a run-in like last time.” You say giving him a glance with a raised eyebrow. He grin grew wider, not abashed at all that you had walked in on him as another male nurse gave him a sponge bath. Not that Stinger had much reason to be embarrassed; his body was so solid it might as well have been carved from marble. Despite the injuries and multiple bruises, he looked like a modern Adonis, with a cute baby face and an insufferably confidant attitude.
The other nurse seemed more embarrassed than the two of you combined.
(Not true, you were just superb at hiding it.)
“I wouldn't mind too much.” Stinger said, smirking at you in a way that was supposed to look flirtatious. That baby face made it impossible for you to take him seriously. You chuckle a bit and check the IV in his arm, making a note to replace the tape.
“Okay, I’ll have Hana-san come in to replace your IV and tape in an hour or so. Rest well.” You smile and slip the pen back into your pocket and turn to walk away.
He smacks your ass.
You stop, and turn around slowly, raising one eyebrow in a perfect look of condemnation and disappointment. The smile melts off of his face and he seems to physically shrink back.
“Emiko-san can help with your IV instead.” You say, assigning him the least coordinated nurse-in-training who was in constant, jittery amazement with heroes and thus ensuring Stinger’s discomfort both physically and mentally.
You stride out of the room, refusing to blush until the door shuts behind you.

Six seconds after you left, Stinger yanked his magazine out from under his pillows, paging through it rapidly to see where he went wrong. The magazine was a second-rate thing, full of articles on how to seduce a woman to your bed and was abundant with pictures of scantily dressed models. Stopping at the article ‘Six Easy Ways to Flirt’ Stinger mentally crossed out the methods he used to get your attention.
“Innuendos, skin contact, confidence . . . What am I missing?!” Stinger asked, fruitlessly trying to find another instruction manual to help him. With a sigh, he let the magazine flop onto his face, sighing out dramatically as his failure.
When he was first admitted to the hospital, he was hardly conscious after the fight with the sea creatures. As he came to, one nurse was always by his side. She was always worried about him, taking superb care of him and, you know, nurse outfits.
Anyways, before he knew it, he was half in love and half hard and it was only getting worse as time went on. It didn’t help that you were exactly his type and that – well, that nurse outfit was not loose in any place on you.
Point was, he wanted you, and relatively soon. You seemed immune to his charm which, first of all, is impossible, but also . . . well, something had to work! He simply hadn’t found it yet!
No use worrying about it; being direct was always his strong point!

Just as you threatened, you sent him Emiko and she came back just as jittery as she left. He must have treated her nicely, but that excitement lasted all day and messed up your schedule something fierce when she dropped a tray of medicine. You wondered if it would be too cruel to go to the director and ask for her to be removed from your team . . . that might be a bit much. As you wrapped up the end of your shift, your thoughts wandered over a certain patient who happened to be a hero.
You really should check on him, and make sure Emiko didn’t hurt him too much.
That thought in mind, you made your way to his room, intent to take a quick peek before leaving. You knocked quietly, and hearing no response, were about to leave before you noticed that the light was still on. Shifting on your feet, you debated if you wanted to go in there or not.
Just to turn off the light, you promised yourself and walked in a quietly as you could.
Stinger was asleep, a book face down on his chest and the light above his headboard on. You removed the book, placing on his bedside table, and then stretched over him to turn off the light.
The moment you flicked it off, an arm wound it’s way around your waist and yanked you down.
Seconds later, Stinger was kissing you.
Shocked, you couldn’t do anything in reaction for a couple of seconds. Then you took control.
Twisting your hands in his hair, you held his head in place and used your leverage to tilt his head back and expose his throat. You pulled a bit as his hair, making him gasp and in that moment, you slid your tongue into his mouth. He moaned, quite loudly, as you traced the inside of his mouth, taking your sweet time. You pulled away slowly, catching his lower lip in your teeth as you separated.
Underneath you, Stinger was a gasping mess. He didn’t expect the turn around you pulled, but if the look on his face was any indication, he was more than willing to go along with it.
“Was that meant to impress me?” you asked, unable to resist teasing him more. You stood, straightening your uniform, purposefully running your hands down the curves of your body and watching the pitifully thin hospital sheet rise in about the place where Stinger’s pelvis was. You smirk despite yourself; this confirmed you still had game at least.
You headed towards the door, but couldn’t help one last quip.
“Thanks for the – hard work, Stinger.” You say, “See you tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

He comes unannounced, like normal, leaning next to your apartment door like some loitering yankee. You’ve given up trying to make him contact you before arriving, he never listens anyways.
“Bad day?” you ask, a rude barb but you can’t help it. His stand-offish attitude irritates you often. If he hadn’t been your friend with benefits for so long, you’d probably have dropped him ages ago. Your heart hurt just thinking of the loss of his talented hands and his sweet lips. Besides, training a new lover would take too long.
He’s uncharacteristically silent as he follows you into your place, waiting nicely as you take off your shoes and put your bag down. The silent thing is not a good sign. You don’t make a comment about his short hair, instead telling him to kick off his shoes and come in. He does so and makes his way to your couch. Also abnormal behavior. Retreating to your room, you slip out of your work clothes and into a babydoll, similar to the one he ripped a week or so ago.
He’s sitting silently when you come back out, not having made a move since he sat down. You take a deep breath in, already calculating how to cheer him up.
Two fingers under his chin, and you’re tilting his head up, kissing him gently on the lips before straddling his lap and proceeding to lick your way into his mouth. His hands trace up your sides, caressing gently, so so gently. It’s too sweet: the way he kisses down your neck, laying feather light touches on your skin as you sigh out compliments and encouragement.
“Perfect, that’s perfect Sonic, right there-” You suck in a sharp breath when his tongue slowly laves over a nipple through the babydoll fabric, leaving it wet with saliva and tingling at the sensation. “So good, you’re so good at this babe, keep going.” His long fingers travel down to between your thighs, languidly playing with your clit, making your heart beat in over time.
But as much as it feels good, he’s not the same; he’s not the same Sonic you know.
You slip out of his grip and sink to your knees in front of him, grabbing at his pants. You can see his eyes widen in surprise; after all, giving blowjobs wasn’t normally what you did. A quick two or three rounds and he was off to do whatever again and you tried to go back to a normal lifestyle.
When you finally manage to wrest his leather pants down, he’s only half hard. Lightly dragging your fingertips on the underside of his dick helps remedy that, and a couple of strokes more has him leaking precome. You take a deep breath and tug a strand of hair behind your ear before gently licking at the head. You aren’t so foolish as to swallow it down completely, though you file the thought away for later to practice at.
You move slowly, knowing how much he hates the pace, but loves the teasing. You measure your ministrations so that he’s panting and tugging at your hair before you’ve even taken half of him into your mouth. That’s more like it, you think after a particularly loud curse word when you licked a stripe atop the head of his dick. You swallow him down again, going as deep as you can stand. You speed up, hand pumping the rest your mouth couldn’t cover and saliva dripping out of your mouth and lubricating his dick so your hand slides smoothly. Your other hand, braced on his hipbone, can feel his muscles tense and suddenly your mouth is filled with the sticky-bitter taste of cum.
Surprised, you pull away quickly, forgetting to even swallow and allowing the cum to drip slowly from your mouth, staining your new bought babydoll. You lick your lips and look up at Sonic, judging his reaction.
He’s blushing.
He never blushes.
Not when you made him wear women’s lingerie, not when the old lady from next door told you to shut up because you were too loud during one night, not even when you had used the handcuffs for the first time and had to call the police because you couldn’t find the keys.
But you, sitting with cum dripping out of your mouth, were making him blush.
The smile that uncurls on your face in unbearably smug and Sonic covers his face with one hand when he realizes that you’ve found another one of his weaknesses.
“Someone had a kink~!” You sing song, licking your lips again and relishing in the way his eyes trace the motion. You grin again and he rolls his eyes. You stand and grab his hand, pulling him towards your bathroom so you can clean off.
“Ready for round 2?” you ask coyly, and he shakes his head, smiling faintly. You grin, pulling him down for another kiss, feeling victorious in a way you couldn’t name.
Ah, thoughts for another day, you think as he strips you down for Round 2.

Chapter Text

Calpico. That’s all you wanted: just a small, measly bottle of Calpico. A quick trip to the konbini on the corner and back with an itsy bitty shortcut through an alley between two buildings and-
Instinct kicks in and you’re hardly even aware of the commotion before you’re gliding back, away from the disturbance, eyes moving rapidly to take things in. A man on the ground (wearing one of those stupid tank tops) cushioned by two knocked over trashcans and another clad all in tight fitting black standing over him (with a wild hair style that looks like two horns and probably used up a lot of gel). Wearing sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt, you’re hardly in the position to be fighting a villain who had downed one of the tank top men.
“Who . . . are you? . . .” Tank Top Dude moaned out. You begin to shuffle back as their little conversation continues, hoping to be out of the way before the villain takes notice of you.
Then there’s a clatter and you realize Tank Top Dude has fainted.
Also, Wild Hair Guy is nowhere to be seen.
There’s a prickling feeling on your neck and you throw yourself forward in a somersault, rolling and swinging around to see the man standing where you just were.
“Oh.” He says, almost pleased despite the frown and the nigh overwhelming murderous intention rolling off him in waves. “A bit slow, but not bad.” He nods his head at the fainted Tank Top Dude, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of him. “Better than him at least.”
“Why, thanks.” You say, with no small amount sarcasm in your voice. “Nice to know I can properly react to your standards.” That elicits a smirk from him as he chuckles and rolls his shoulders a bit and oh, wow, he actually has quite the nice frame.
“You look like a pretty young flower; what could you have possibly have to do in this dangerous area?” he asks, all innocence and not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is. ‘Pretty young flower’? Really?
As if he doesn’t know.
Well, the whip clues him in, when you reach down and unwind it from your leg with a snap of your wrist.
“Kinky.” He grins.
That earns him a sweet smile from you and a promise: “Well ain’t that lucky for you, you little bastard? Cuz I’m going to fuck you up.”

It had been about a year since you disappeared from the hero scene, retreating back into normal human society to take care of your sick mother, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t trained. You kept in top shape, though lacking in sparring partners, and made sure to always have your whip on you in case of stray villains and a lack of heroes about. Even so, either you had fallen far your previous A-rank skill or this guy was good, beyond good.
“You’re not so bad.” He says, wiping blood from his bottom lip where you had struck him. Throwing away the whip he managed to get from you, you scowled at the loss of your weapon. Reaching for your back, you gasp when you see him spinning your knives through his fingers. “I do like a resourceful woman.” The small smirk sends shivers down your back.
Not that you were afraid! Just- well, for a bad guy he was pretty hot and it had been awhile since you had been able to go on a date, let alone have sex.
Focus, you told yourself, watching his movements before the police sirens disrupted your staring contest. Wild Hair Guy sighed, rolling his eyes.
“I don’t want to deal with them.” He says conversationally, “It’s been fun babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.” You snap, irritated. He looks at you, a bit surprised, then he flashed out of your view and the next thing you know, your back is to the brick wall of the alleyway and his hands are around your waist. With a gasp, your hands grip his well-muscled forearms, intent on stopping him until you realize he’s sheathing the knives he had taken earlier.
“There’s a good girl.” He chuckles, pecking you on the cheek. You blush in response, just barely managing to avoid sputtering in protest, but he just smiles wider at the rosy hue that’s spread over your cheeks. It was quite the endearing look on a woman as pretty as you were.
“You bastard.” You growl, digging your fingers into his forearms with the clear intention of leaving painful bruises. His eyes darken with arousal at the realization and you felt a tremble of excitement run through your body at the look in his eyes.
“The name’s Garou.” He says, voice suddenly rough, and when he wets his lips with his tongue, your eyes trace the movement, heart beating faster at the action. The sirens are closer now, the screech of the tires heralding the arrival of the police. He glares down the alleyway, but pulls away from you. Unclenching your hands, you let him.
He flashes one last smile at you, then: “Later babe.”
And he’s gone.

It’s two days later, the same alleyway shortcut, when you hear it.
“Hey babe. It’s been a while.”

Chapter Text


Someone stole your bike
Someone STOLE your bike.
Who even does that anymore? Bus tickets are dirt cheap and your bike was an ugly old thing anyways but still, some asshole stole your fucking bike!

But that leaves you standing on the street, shaking with rage and the grocery bag in your hand weighing too much for just a bar of chocolate and pads.

Don't cry, you think, don't you dare fucking cry-

The first sob is quiet, a hiccup more than anything, and soon you're biting down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming your frustration. Stumbling away from the pharmacy, you resign yourself to walking back home. You get a good five steps in before there's a loud screech and someone rides up to your side.

A person, great. Someone to witness your misery and probably to make fun of you. The anger that washes over you at the thought stops your tears and you lift your head to glare at the newcomer.

His back is turned towards you, as he fastens his bike chains and takes off his helmet and goggles.

Wait, goggles? 

It hits you a split second before he turns around.

That's the Licenseless Rider. You think, followed up by: oh shit he's hot.

He's not drop dead gorgeous, but that only makes him more approachable in your eyes. You experience a good 30 seconds of panic, thinking of how ugly you look after crying, but then he's offering you a handkerchief and it's such a sweet gesture you almost start crying again.

"Thanks." You mumble, dabbing your face lightly.

He chuckles at your hesitancy, grabbing the cloth (and your hand around it) and dragging it to your nose.

"Just dabbing isn't going to help. Come on, blow your nose." He says, hints of a grin emerging on his face.

Red-faced, streaked with tears and with a snotty nose, you still can't help but smile back.

~ * ~ * ~ 


You pause at the memory, unsure of where it came from, but amused none the less.

"Do you remember how we met?" you ask him, your dear Licenseless Rider, and he grunts in return, arms straining against the handcuffs you locked him in at the beginning of this little sexual escapade. You laugh, entertained and very turned on by the growing look of desperation on his face. Makes sense, consider you had kept him here all day and haven't let him cum. His dick was a veritable metal rod, albeit bright red and much more fun.

"Patience my dear, patience." You say, reaching over languidly to grab a condom from the side table. He mouths wordless at the gag, saliva saturating the bright red fabric. "Hush." You soothe, dragging your fingertips up his dick. His hips buck in return, seeking more friction that you withhold. Ripping open the condom packet, you smile sweetly at him. "I'll give you what you want." You murmur, leaning down to use your mouth to slide the condom on. It was a good thing your hands were already locked down on his hips, or the jolt that went through him would have choked you.

As it stands, you've barely aligned yourself over him before he's already thrusting into your warmth, desperate for release. With a devious grin, you sink down abruptly, sheathing him inside you in one fatal swoop. His eyes roll back, the sudden sensation almost too much and then you're moving, little waves of your body that brings you up, only to slip back down again. Each time you rest again, you contract your core muscles, clenching hard around his dick when you felt him fully within you.

For someone denied an orgasm for such a long time, you're surprised and a little insulted he doesn't cum immediately. But that's easy to fix, you think, leaning down to lick at his nipple. He makes a keening sound in his throat and you grin before ever-so-gently biting down on the little nub.

His hips buck violently, almost displacing you from your seat and he's coming so hard it's almost a concern. You milk him through the orgasm, noting from his face that it's both painful and pleasurable. He's trembling by the time you undue his bonds and take out the gag.

Seeing how bad he's shaken, you begin to regret it immediately. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry-" His choked off laugh stops you.

"Don't be." He says, "That was the best orgasm I've had in my entire goddamn life." He's leaning in, kissing your neck and you can feel his trembling ebb. "You've set the bar pretty high." He says, conversationally, distracting you with his ministrations at your neck.

The moment you feel the cold metal around your wrists and the following click, you give a full body shudder in anticipation.

"Unfortunately," he says, eyes darkening with lust, "you're under arrest for inappropriate behavior."

"Oh?" You ask.

"Mmhmm, and I'm going to have to do a full body inspection." He bites gently at your ear, the sensation going straight to your core.

"Inspect away Mr. Hero, for I've been a very bad girl." You like the way his eyes darken at the playful banter, but don't have long to appreciate it before he gets you to cry only his name.

Chapter Text

"Welcome master~" you croon sweetly at the customers entering the cafe. The frilly apron tied around your waist flounces as you skip (yes, skip, your manager always demands you skip because certain places also flounce). Your eyes sharpen as you take in their appearance. Three men; one unassuming in appreance, one who had a ridiculously waxed mustache and one built like one of those very attractive American football players. Heroes, you think, and smile brighter at them, with your best attempt at bedroom eyes.

"Happy Valentines Day~" you singsong, tone saccharine sweet and perfected with long hours of practice. From your skirt's hidden pockets you pull out three lollipops and present them to each of the heroes. 

"Please follow me masters~" you say and grab menus before leading them to a table.

"King's brought me here before." The unassuming one was saying. "Genos didn't like it because of all the attention he got, but their food is actually very good . . ." You can't linger and listen to them, because you had other customers to serve, but you made sure to pay extra special attention.

The tip jar was looking lonely after all.

~ * ~ * ~ 

You nearly forget the trio by the time next week starts, the mundane daily life distracting you. So seeing the linebacker again surprised you.

"Welcome back master~" you say, giving a natural crack of a grin instead of your normal 1000 watt man-slayer smile.

"Hi." He says, looking shy despite his well-built body and slightly slovenly look. It rattles you, the difference, and your heart melts for him and his embarassment. You want to reassure him, that it's okay to like maid cafes, that his interests are invalid for being scorned by common society. 

You blink, realizing that you had been staring at him for much too long. The blush that rises to your cheeks is highly unprofessional, but when he smiles at you . . . Well, who couldn't smile back? 

~ * ~ * ~

He becomes a regular and it's terribly selfish to think it's because of you, but- as your coworkers assure you- it really is because that shy hero is coming just for you. It could be construed as creepy, yes, but he never does anything inappropriate or untoward.

He doesn't do anything at all.

And it's really, really getting on your nerves.

"I mean, why doesn't he just make a move already? I'm adorable!" you exclaim in the break room as you change into your work clothes with your shift's coworkers.

Mai, bless her heart, nods sympathetically. Satsuki, however, looks bewildered.

"You aren't the easiest to approach, you know." Satsuki says. "Like, your persona is so bright and bubbly, you can be a bit overwhelming." It's then you start cursing your past self for contriving your character. It was doing it's job, being so adorable it was hard to approach, but at this moment, towards Kin- you didn't want it to.

"Kin, huh?" Mai says, pursing her lips in a smothered smile.

You blush, unaware you were speaking out loud. "Yes, Kin! We know each other's names at least."

"But not much else." Satsuki chimes in.

You groan, slamming your forehead against the lockers.

"That's it!" you say, straightening your back. "I'll ask him out!" Slapping your cheeks to pump yourself up, you stride out the room determined to finally ask that man out.

~ * ~ * ~ 

He never arrives.

~ * ~ * ~ 

You move on, as well as you can. It was the weird cusp of a relationship and it hurts more than it should. The reason your cried that night was definitely because the movie was sad and the ice cream, well, it was on sale. It takes a couple of weeks, but the drone of the mundane washes it away.


~ * ~ * ~ 

Three months.

Three months and you've only thought of him- countless times, if you're being honest. Setting down a tray by the kitchens, you pick up a couple glasses of water before delving back onto the floor.

The door chimes open and you're chiming back at it: "Welcome home ma-" You turned to smile at whomever it is, and freeze.

It's him, of course it's him, and he's bruised and sheepish and holding flowers. You don't register the glasses slipping from your grip, but you do notice when tears slip from your eyes.

"Sorry I'm late." He says, and hold out the flowers like a peace offering. Dazed, speechless, you take them . . .

. . . And immediately throw them aside.

He has two seconds of shock and hurt before you're throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him as fiercely as you should have been months ago.

"Kin, you idiot!" You say as soon as you pull away. "Stupid! Dummy!" You kiss him again, a vertiable attack on his lips. "Don't you ever leave me like that again!"

Kin laughs, breathless with the same sort of elation that's settling into your own bones. 

"Never." he says, "I'll never leave your side again."

"Good." You sniff, and kiss him once more, ignoring your audience and merely reveling in feeling of his arms around you.

It's a place you can see yourself in forever.

Chapter Text

"I can't be with you anymore." He says. You freeze, wondering why today - of all days - he would say that. It was normal, nothing special about the Tuesday morning you awoke on. It was routine, climbing out of bed to wash your face and head to the kitchen to make toast. It was fucking domestic, when you set coffee to brew and then made your way back to the bedroom to rouse your sleeping lover from his rest. Zombieman sits up slowly, and you call him a sleepyhead, and he grabs your hand and you expected morning cuddles not this.

It doesn't feel real.

You feel disjointed from your body, an observer, not someone who's experiencing this. A slow shatter of your heart, the nail pressed lightly against it and he just took a hammer to it, driving the point deep, deep into your heart. Pieces fall off, like chips of ice, and the numbness in your chest is the only thing that keeps you from crying.

"Why?" you ask, voice smooth and even despite the ache of in your throat, heralding tears that would soon fall.

"I can't-" he starts, looking down. He lifts his head, his eyes sad but resigned. "I'm immortal, I can't love you. One day you'll-" he swallows, "you'll die and I can't deal with that. I won't be able to-" His words say goodbye and yet his hand reminds around your wrist, rubbing slow circles in what's supposed to be a soothing manner, the motion begging you to stay.

You jerk your hand away.

"You can't love me?" you repeat, your voice sounding distant to your own ears. "Then what have the past couple of months been? Mild affection? Not dislike?" He winces at your tone of voice, though he knows he deserves it.

He stands, reaching out to you: "I'm sor-"

You jolt away, as if his touch revolts you, as if you're scared of him."No! Fuck- just-" you take a deep breath in. "Don't touch me." You say, "just- leave. Please. I-" It's hard to form words when reality begins to sink in. Zombieman nods, dressing in silence and leaving the apartment with a stony countenance.

The door slamming behind him sounds awful like condemnation.

~ * ~ * ~ 

You had gone through break-ups before. They were painful, yes, but a gallon of ice cream, a network of friends, and two months as a psuedo-mourning period has you recovered and ready to take on the world.

But for this . . . two weeks in has you downing alochol just to sleep. You can't go into the bedroom, too afraid of the memories you don't want to deal with. Hell, even being in the goddamn apartment has you struggling to breath. 

You leave, eventually, and crash at Aki's, your best friend since who knows how long. She feeds you ice cream and cookies and you watch terrible American Westerns with her and she has you do menail labor for "rent". It helps, a bit, but you go home and his scent is everywhere and his clothes are still in the laundry and you- lose it. Tearing apart his clothes helps, scissors shredding through them feels like you're cutting the bonds between you for good.

And when you stop at that thought, you have to face it then: you want him back.

The others- they weren't like he was. It was fun with them, about light laughter and exhiliration. But he was different. He was a hero, you had buried secrets and it was oh-so easy to let the darkness in your hearts pour out. It was so much easier to face your demons when he was beside you and you thought he felt the same.

"Obviously not." You mutter, and retreat to the alcohol cabinent for more booze. There's none there, of course. And you grumble about it before pulling on a coat and some shoes and jogging your way over to the 24 hour supermarket.

~ * ~ * ~ 

"You broke up with her?!?" Atomic Samurai was almost unbearably astonished at the information. The discreet bar they sat in was (thankfully) almost empty, only them and some passed out old men in the place.

"Yes." Zombieman grit out. "I did."

Atomic Samurai whistled lowly, ordering another round of drinks. "I can't believe it." He said, drinking the sake from the bottle and not pouring it into a cup. "You were always happier with her. Your recent mood makes so much more sense now!"

Zombieman represses the urge to growl. It wasn't uncommon that Atomic Samurai would drag S-ranked heroes out for a drink (mostly to pay his tab) but Zombieman wasn't one of the normal victims; he should have known they'd talk about feelings.

Feelings, he thought, that he didn't think he had until after he met you.

"You're doing it again." Atomic Samurai said, referring to how Zombieman would randomly still and - for lack of a better term - wilt whenever he thought of his now lost love. "Bet you regret that now, don't you?" Atomic Samurai could be a real dick sometimes.

Nevertheless, the truth niggled it's way out of his mouth: "Yes." Zombieman hissed, mouth tasting bitter, but heart feeling lighter at the admission.

Atomic Samurai shoves him out of his chair. "You've had enough liquid courage." he says "Now go get your girl back."

Zombieman nods, and moves as swift as the wind, on his way to you.

~ * ~ * ~ 

"Hey little girl, how about you give the adults that thing you're holding?" A drunk on the street calls out, preening while his friends laugh.

You, however, are in no mood for his bullshit. "Fuck off." You say in response, striding quickly down the road. You just want to get home at this point and damn the consequences.

"Hey bitch." The drunk's voice is right behind you and you turn around just in time to feel the impact of a fist on the side of your face. You don't cry out, but you do grunt and drop your bottle of sake to cover the injured side with a hand. His fist swings low and hits you in the stomach, the air pushed out of your lungs and leaving you breathless and in pain. You collapse on your knees, bending double as you try to force air into your lungs. He grabs you by the hair and drags you back up again, forcing your hands from protecting your middle to clawing at the hand ripping your hair out.

The man grins, a maniac look in his eye. "Bet you're gonna regret that line now, huh you little bitch?" He asks, drawing a knife, watching the fear grow in your eyes at the glint.

Being stabbed is hot and cold at the same time.

There's a moment of suspended disbelief, where the knife feels as cold as ice and your body seems to freeze in shock. Then terror floods your veins, hotter than lava, and blood pours out from you like a popped water balloon. 

It burns and yet you feel as cold as ice.

"Let her go." A voice growls out and you can't find it in you to laugh at the cliche, that heroes always come too late.

The grip on your hair loosens and you fall like a rag doll onto the cold asphalt. There's a thud, a scream, the sound of shattering glass, but you barely pay attention, your mind focused on holy crap that's blood and motherfuck I'm bleeding

And, dimly, am I going to die? 

By the time he kneels by you, there's a darkening at the edge of your vision.

"Hey there." You say, forgetting for a second that he left you, that he broke your heart, that you're dying.

"Are you al- oh god." Zombieman notices the blood, too little too late, pressing naturally cold hands against your warm, slick blood.

"Oh? That? I've had periods worse." You try to joke, the gravity of oh god i'm dying blurring with the amount of blood loss.

Zombieman's fumbling through your pockets, searching for the phone you stupidly left at home. He's cursing, loudly, with desperation, with tears in his eyes. So late at night, there's no one out to borrow a phone from, the drunks he foolishly let off having made their escape.

"The nearest hospital is a kilometer away." He says, because reciting facts helps him think, helps him keep his head. He scoops his arms under you, clutching you close to his chest and he begins to run.

~ * ~ * ~ 

"1:36 am." they write on the report, shaking their heads sadly, tongues clucking sympathetically.

"Dead on arrival."

~ * ~ * ~ 

She looks asleep, calm like he's rarely seen her. Pale as the hospital sheets she's nestled in.

She says nothing to his whispers, ("I'm sorry" "I love you" "don't leave me"), but it's fine, he tells himself: she's sleeping.

(He won't let the coroners take her away, not when she's just sleeping)

It takes three S-class members and a syringe full of drugs to make him leave.

When he wakes (it's cold, without her by his side), he nestles his head in his hands

And he cries

Chapter Text

The blaze of the forge was scorching hot, and despite Master’s continuous reminders of how dangerous it was to work without proper protection, you were in miniscule shorts and a loose white tank top while working away, determined to get the project done.

The steady slam of the hammer on the heated metal rang in tandem to your words: “Stupid Iaian and stupid aliens, this is all so stupid . . .” Plunging the white-hot sword into the water bucket beside you, the weapon hissed and spat in a way you could relate with.

“Stupid summer and stupid heat and THIS IS REALLY ALL SO STUPID!” Half-tempted to throw the incomplete blade away, you managed to reign in your temper and stick the now-cool metal back into the blaze. Sitting down on your work bench, you took a swig of water and glared out of the window, trying to intimidate the sun into cooling off so it’d be easier to work.

“I never knew you hated me that much.” Oh you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

You wrinkled your nose at the sight of Iaian standing in the doorway (he was in casual clothes, cargo shorts and a tight black tank top, muscles exposed and moving sinuously with each step- did he want to kill you?).

“You’re going to kill me.” You say in response. “Making me forge a new sword, during the summer! If I hate you then it’s definitely because you hate me more.” He grinned despite your sour words and the small fire of rage inside you spluttered out in an instant. You couldn’t stay mad at him for long . . . the stupidly adorable man how dare he-

“I brought you this.” Iaian hefted up a bag, and you could practically feel the coolness radiating from it, despite being a good couple of meters away from it.

“Is that ice cream?” you ask, mouth already watering with anticipation. You reach both hands out, making grabby hands at it. “Gimme.”

“Well now, someone’s being impolite today.” He gives a tiny smirk, one that goes unnoticed by you as your eyes fix on the bag containing a literal wet dream. He doesn’t anticipate the power of your pout when he says that though: watching pink lips turn down in a pert frown and eyes taking on a begging look that combines into an expression that shoots straight toward his dick. He coughs, feeling his face flush and moves forward to hand you the popsicle, suddenly regretting the phallic shape of the fruity treat.

You rip the plastic covering off, oblivious to Iaian’s turmoil, and lick a stripe up the succulent treat. Iaian can’t help but stare at the way you eat the popsicle, fixated on your mouth and the way it moves over the treat, the way your tongue pressed flat against the sides as you lick, and the way you sigh when you remove it from your mouth. Lips stained cherry red from the treat, you pull away from it to stare at Iaian in confusion, the eye contact dragging him away from his fixation.

“Hey, if you don’t eat it’s gonna-” Plop! Too late.

Despite the popsicle falling to pieces around his hand, Iaian’s grateful that the sticky substance on his pants in caused from sugar and not from him.

His chuckle is forced and awkward as he tries to mop up the mess with the napkins he’d swiped from the store.

“You missed a spot-” you begin, and Iaian sees a napkin in your hand and jerks when it makes contact with his crotch. He flushes a bright red when your hand presses over his hard on, unspeakably embarrassed but also horribly turned on.

The silence is deafening when a smirk curls across your lips and you pull away. Iaian winces, expecting scorn or disgust or something, but not quite you slowly crossing your legs. His eyes are drawn down the gentle curve of your leg, travelling from the calf all the way up to the hem of your short which just barely cover your ass.

“It sure is hot out today.” You comment, before swallowing down half of the popsicle, making consistent eye-contact with Iaian.

“Y-yeah, it is.” He stutters out, eyes cutting away to look at the ground. You let the silence stretch on, enjoying the way he squirms underneath your scrutiny.

“But I do have a feeling that it’s going to get much hotter.” His head snaps up are your words and you grin at him, taking a bite out of the popsicle. “It’d be much easier to bear if someone was with me, you know?”

His wolfish smirk sends shudders through your body.

“My pleasure.”

Chapter Text

“Hey little miss how about you and I-”
You type away on your phone, ignoring the asshole trying to flirt with you.
“Hey now, I’m trying to be nice-”
You turn your eyes away from the screen and glare at him. He flinches, then scrambles trying to recover, obviously trying to show that he wasn’t fazed. “There’s no need to be so cold-”
Phone balanced in one hand, you lash out with the other, striking him in the nose and in the sternum in two quick flashes. You lift your foot and give a harsh nudge to his knee, making him collapse in the middle of the sidewalk, curled in fetal position with a bleeding nose.
You scan the crowd quickly, and gasp when you see him approaching, moving quickly away from the site of your takedown and closer to him.
“Cha-kun!” you shout over the crowd and even in the busy station he hears you. With a bright smile Charanko waves at you to affirm he heard you and you practically collide with him when you meet. “Hi!” you say breathlessly, clinging to him among the sea of people.
“Did you trip?” he asked and you flush, realizing how close you’re actually plastered to his body.
“No!” You maneuver out of his grip, suddenly embarrassed.
“Ready for the movie?” Charanko is chuckling as you struggle to regain your previous footing. He holds his hand out and you take it with a bright smile. “Let’s go.”

People often wondered why you decided to date Charanko. “He’s weak!” They said, “and you’re the top black belt in the nation!” But he buys both the tickets and the snacks when you get to the movies, and offers his jacket when you start shivering and you think it should be obvious.
He’s a gentleman.
When every other guy feared and hated you for being so strong, Charanko treated you like a lady. He paid for dinner and held doors open for you and complimented you when you wore a dress instead of making fun of you.
Unbidden, old memories rise up and you squeeze Charanko’s hand tighter. He squeezes back and when you look up at him, he smiles, melting your heart and erasing the previous bad thoughts. In the light of the setting sun, he looks unspeakably handsome and a shiver runs down your spine.
“Are you still cold?” he asks, peering curiously into your face. You flush, turning your face away, and mumble out some excuse, words you don’t even process. Though he doesn’t look reassured, Charanko doesn’t push, letting your excuse pass by without comment. He was too good for you.
He kisses you goodnight and leaves you on your doorstep and you drink the entire case of Kansai beer your roommate bought.
“Stupid, so stupid.” You mumble to yourself, only slightly aware of how drunk you are. “I should’ve-” you hiccup- “I should have told him.” You whine to the empty apartment. Your roommate had gone to the mountains for the weekend and damn you need someone to complain to.
“I should tell him now.” You say offhandedly and once the thought’s in your mind, you’re reaching for you phone and dialing his number.
It rings.
“Hello?” his voice is a bit static-y but it’s undoubtedly him and rush of affections runs through you at the sound of his voice.
“Cha-ran-ko~!” you singsong lightly, giggling into the phone’s speaking. “I loooooooooove you. Love you soooooo much. Charankooooo~!”
He splutters on the other end and there’s the dull sound of something dropping on the floor before he responds.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, disbelieving.
“On love.” You respond back with equal seriousness before bursting into giggles again.
“Your roommate’s gone for the weekend right? That means you’re drinking alone. Shit (“Saying bad words is a no-no Cha-kun.”) I’ll be right over, okay?”
“Noooooo.” you whine, the thought of losing your contact with Charanko almost too much to bear. “You can’t hang up, Charankoooooo.”
“I won’t! I won’t!” he reassures.
The fact he’s not there with you hurts, a heavy weight pressing on your chest and you sniffle. “Cha-kun, hurry up and come to me.” You say and there’s a long pause.
“I’ll always come when you call me.” He says and his voice is so full of love that you smile.
He’s hardly knocked on the door before you’re opening the wooden obstruction and kissing him full on the lips. He’s bewildered, but responds appropriately: that is, kissing back. Breaking away from the kiss, you tug him inside the apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.
“Let’s have sex.” You announced and Charanko trips in the entrance of the place and falls flat on his face. You stare at him for a bit but then shrug, casually moving him onto his back and straddling his hips. You smile and kiss his nose. “I was thinking the bedroom, but we can do it in the entryway if you want.” You kindly offer and are graced with Charanko’s bright red face before you’re kissing him again.
“No- we can’t- you’re drunk-” his protests are silenced with your lips and he groans into your mouth as you rock down on him from above.
And suddenly you’re on your back.
Charanko’s body is hot and heavy on yours, trapping you in the cage of his body as his tongue slips into your mouth. By the time the kiss ends, you’re dazed. You never knew he could kiss this well. The smidge of jealousy you feel is chased away by hot, burning desire.
“That was-” you breathe in, “amazing.”
Charanko smiles down on you. “Thank you.” He says impishly.
You reach up to kiss him again before you stomach heaves.
“Bathroom.” You gasp out and a flash of panic races across Charanko’s face before he’s rushing you over to the bathroom.
Suffice to say, your plans didn’t turn out quite the way you wanted them to that night.
But it was worth it to hear Charanko recite the tale to you the next morning, blushing as he asked to take up that offer some other night.

Chapter Text

She lies in her bed, sprawled out like a queen in her sheets. Her naked body is unabashedly on display, any hesitation she had before this endeavor now gone in the semi-dark of the room. She had agreed to wear cuffs (how, Garou will never know, but he’ll send thanks to the gods he doesn’t believe in everyday if they can do this again) and despite this she has the look of cool confidence, a smugness that manifested not in a smirk, but in the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts. She’s in a completely submissive position, bound in leather to the bed, and yet she acts like she’s in charge.

It sent shivers down Garou’s spine.

“Well?” she asks, and slides one leg up the other, the motion drawing him in. Almost against his will, he strode forward, climbing slowly on to the bed and kneeling in front of her. He slowly licks his lips as she spreads her legs, baring her innermost place to him as she settles the crooks of her knees over his thighs. He’s aroused, painfully so, but he waits. Garou’s relatively patient . . . but so is she and in this game he’s not going to be the one who caves first.

“Will you beg for it?” he asks her and she chuckles, sliding down a bit on the pillows so she can bring her leg up, tracing the outline of his side with the instep of her foot. She just barely touches him and yet the fire in him builds even more.

“Will you?” she returns, tilting her head at the perfect angle to expose her neck. He tries, to resist, he does (he doesn’t) and leans in, intending to go slow.
He presses a kiss at the juncture where her shoulder and neck meet and she breathes out a sigh.

And- he freezes. It was nothing but a sound, the type of thing you could hear any day, but the way she did it- so gentle and relaxed like she-

He didn’t dare think the word.

He bites her instead and she groans and that’s more like it, he thinks.

Garou bites his way up her neck, moving in closer to position his cock against her entrance, just short of sliding in. Each time he kisses, her body writhes underneath his, and the head of his cock brushes tantalizingly close against the wetness of her folds. It drives him mad, but he forces himself to calm down, to wait, to savor this.

“Come on.” She groans, body twitching as he glides his palms over her ribs, thumbs tracing the under curve of her breasts before moving up to rub the stiff nubs of her nipples. He massages them with barely there touches, and she trembles breathlessly each time he does press his hands into her skin. And yet he doesn’t enter her.

“Do it, or I will.” She growls at him, tears in her eyes from the drawn out foreplay.

Well, it wasn’t begging, but Garou’s reached his limit too. “As my queen commands.” He says, and lifts her hips with his hands before sliding himself in.

She’s so wet, and so ready for him that he slides in easily. It’s slick and hot and he already feels like spilling his load inside of her; he wonders if that would turn her on as much as it did him. He sets a steady pace, keeping a thin semblance of control that unravels each time she calls out his name.

“Garou, right there, right there- You’re so good, Garou.” she arched her back, trying to find an angle to let him in more, to let him go deeper. He knows it’s impossible, but he thinks he gets a bit harder at the action. “Harder, so much harder, I can take it, you know I can.” She gives him permission and he does just that.

He picks up the pace, holding her in place with one hand and massaging her clitoris with the other. She keens and the sound is so rewarding that he presses hard on her button again, moving over it with his thumb in random patterns she apparently approves of. “Make me come.” She pants out, and that’s an order, not begging, and Garou can’t help but obey.

He fucks her through her orgasm and pulls out before he comes inside of her. It’s a near thing, but that sort of indulgent release would have to wait. She trusted him to fuck her without a condom, so he wasn’t going to do something stupid like impregnate her for some foolish reason.

She, a hero, trusting him, a villain.

What a strange concept.

She had somehow unhooked herself from the bonds that held her and had settled into the bed while he cleaned himself up. He takes a wet cloth to her skin, wiping her of sweat and cum. He throws the cloth into the bathroom and makes to gather his clothes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, voice drowsy yet somehow sharp.

“Uh- leaving?” He’s already in his boxers and half-way into his pants already, but she pats the space of the bed behind her and he’s already moving towards her side. His pants remain abandoned on the floor and he slots his front to her back, fitting himself to her like a puzzle piece.

“You’re supposed to sleep together after sex.” She said, drawing his arm around her waist placing his hand on her warm stomach, interlacing their fingers together gently. Despite himself, Garou relaxes against her body, curling in to her warmth. He’s still unsure of this, unsure of her intentions and what it could all mean but perhaps-

“Besides,” she says, “if you leave now, you miss the morning sex.”

Well . . . it’s not what he was thinking, but there’s nothing wrong with her reason either.

Chapter Text

Whereas most people hate Mondays, you hate Fridays. Now, granted, you hated Mondays too, but every Friday morning took the cake when it came to royally pissing you off. For starters, you had the morning shift at the coffee place that you worked at. It required coming in at 4 am to prep for the day and opening at 4:30 am for customers. For a college student, those times were only manageable when dicking around, not for work of all things. The other thing that pissed you off was the fact that Thursday night’s baristas sucked at clean-up. It’s honestly ridiculous. You had to clean up everything they fucked up and you weren’t even given a free coffee for it.
The only redeemable thing about the whole situation was your coworker and best friend, Rui. She was the most adorable, hard working girl you had ever met and just looking at her stirred within you the mama bear protective instincts you had thought you lacked. You had been friends since preschool, going through life together and forming an unbreakable bond of friendship and other mushy stuff.
This was, however, the crux of the issue.
Rui was cute and adorable and absolutely perfect in nearly every way. You couldn’t be mad at her, it wasn’t her fault she was insanely popular, but goddamn did it piss you off having weirdos approach her all the time. Normally you’d do what you always did when that happened: pulled the pro-wrestling move and clothesline them before dumping their ass on the curb.
Then he came.
The first day you didn’t care. He was in, made his order, he was out. Easy peasy. Most polite customer you had to date and you smiled brilliantly at him for being civil (which was, in retrospect, pretty sad). He had given you a look and the smile slipped slowly off your face because wow that a look of shocked derision if you had ever seen one. Nevertheless, he was gone and you resolved to pretend that the hot guy’s look of derision didn’t affect you and continued to work as per usual.
Soon after he left, there was a mob of girls in his wake and you learned who he was.
The A-class rank 1 superhero, Handsomely Masked Sweet Mask.
You felt a shiver go down your spine and no, it wasn’t attraction or any such bullshit.
It was a bad premonition.
Next Friday, lo and behold, he entered the scene again.
And you knew what he was here for. More specifically, who.

The pattern continued for the next couple of weeks: he’d arrive, followed by his masses of fans, and would order and ridiculously complicated drink, the instructions becoming more warped and convoluted each time. You had messed up more than once on his drink.
Strangely enough, he only seemed to order these ridiculous drinks whenever you were stationed in the kitchen.
What a jerk, he probably wanted to flirt with Rui without your intervention.
When you told Rui, she had laughed for a good 30 minutes before wiping her eyes for legitimate tears.
“You have no idea do you?” she had chuckled out. “Oh, you’re so adorable.”
You spluttered at the compliment-insult combo and quickly changed the subject. Compliments you could dole out, but you could never receive them gracefully.

“Don’t talk to him anymore than necessary Rui.” You warned your friend as she took off her apron in order to work the register. Conversely, you were tying yours on. “He’s weird and gives me the willies.”
Rui laughed at your words. “Willies? Really?” she smiled brightly at you, “He’s a hero, he can’t be that bad.” She said, moving to leave the worker’s room. Over her shoulder, she called: “He’s actually kinda cute, don’t ya think?”
Rushing to tie your apron, you were fast on her heels. “Associating with him is a bad idea!” you hissed but she merely waved you off to your station. Grumbling, you not-so-sneakily listen to their conversation. Not even a word of greeting and he was ordering his drink already.
“A caramel macchiato with soy milk instead of dairy, two shots of espresso, a drizzle of honey on the top and a chocolate on the sides of the cup with a pump of hazelnut- oh, and extra ice.” He paused, as if his drink order wasn’t ludicrous enough. “And a heated breakfast sandwich.”
You made no attempt to hide your dropped jaw at the order. Who the fuck would actually order that? It sounded heinous to drink.
But Rui slid you the marked cup and he was already paying so you had to make the atrocity into reality. By the time you finished, Sweet Mask was leaning against the wall near the finished drinks counter, watching you closely. Already irritated, you couldn’t help but snap at him.
“You don’t have to watch me like that.” You said, “I’m not going to poison it or anything.” Saying so, you set the drink on the counter, which he immediately grabbed.
He smiled, the asshole, and said, “Just checking.” He took a long drag from his straw and licked his lips in a way you told yourself quite sternly was not seductive.
“Perfect.” He said and you couldn’t help the cocky half-smirk that materialized on your face. Of course it was perfect, you made it after all.
“Please come again, sir.” You said, saccharine sweet with a definite edge of salt in your words.
“Oh I will.” He said, before sliding on sunglasses and leaving with a swirl of nice cologne and less-nice fangirls.

“I hate that guy.” You told Rui, as your shift finished up.
“Really?” she asked, her eyes twinkling in mirth. “I don’t think the feeling’s mutual though.”

Chapter Text

The shopping areas in Z-city were grouped together in six neat little buildings. The largest one, three stories tall, was a home goods store. The first floor held furniture, the second had numerous interior design stores, and the third was a giant food court. Right across from it was the supermarket, it used to be four stories, but then a monster had smashed the top two and rendered the second floor unusable, leaving it one story that was crammed with all the food the owners could fit in it.
Because of the small space and it being the only grocery store for about ten miles, sales days were complete hell.
Well, living in Z city it was a given you were poor as fuck, but you had never seen yourself as poor enough to fight an old woman for a 49 yen pack of toilet paper and yet here you were.
The old lady jabbed one of her pointy elbows into your stomach, the breath whooshing out of you in a way that would be comedic if it wasn’t so painful. The old lady tucks the pack under her arm, hunching over it like some sort of evil witch and making off to the checkout line, bowling you over in the process.
Ah shit, you think, waiting for the inevitable crash to the floor and subsequent death by stampede.
Then you stop.
It takes a bit for you to place the sensation: your back curled into a warm chest, padded with a jacket, yet you could rock solid chest underneath that. The hand gripping your upper arm gentle, but firm.
“Are you alright?” You could feel his voice rumble through his chest and couldn’t help the shudder than ran down your back at the feel of it.
Getting aroused by a random guy in a supermarket, great.
You needed to find a hobby or something.
Looking up and behind you, the face that greeted you was completely focused on the mayhem going on around. And oh shit he was hot the look of concentration on his face both intimidating and alluring.
You chuckle nervously, offering a small smile when he looks at you.
“Oh, my hero! You saved me.” You make sure to wink at him, like all those magazines said to do.
To your intense relief, he grins back.
“I’m only a hero for hobby though.” He says, “I’m not a hero right now.”
The frank response to your sad attempt at flirting made you snort in laughter, the unexpected move incredibly refreshing. Normally you’d get shot down or creepy flirting back, so his reaction was quite the change.
“Well thanks anyways.” You finally manage to get out, straightening from where you were nestled against his back. “That granny was vicious with her elbows.”
You make to leave, making a grand total of two steps, when his hand closes around your wrist. And that- that’s surprising, and it’s because of surprise that your heart skips a beat of course, not anything else. The man frowns at the place where he touches you, as if he couldn’t believe that his hand had the nerve to move without his permission.
The silence stretches.
“Yes?” you prompt, thoroughly amused when he jolts at your voice.
“Um, I’m Saitama.” He says, and looks anywhere but you, as if trying to find something else to talk about. It’s such an innocent reaction that your heart melts a bit. “If you’re having a hard time with shopping during sales, I could help you. Since I’m a hero after all.”
You grin, the curve of your lips a little less sweet and a little more mischievous as you nod.
“I’d be honored.” You say, and link your arm through his. “We should keep close together then, don’t you think?” You peer up at him through your eyelashes and watching avidly as his throat bobs from a heavy swallow. His cheeks begin to flush as the jostling crowds push you closer together.
“Yeah, let’s.”

And what a bargain deal you made that day!
A hero that cost you your heart.
(You’d never paid so fast)

Chapter Text

You glare at him with the chilliest aura you can muster, channeling your inner Blizzard from Hell to try and convey how much this guy was pissing you off.
He smiled and you felt the overwhelming urge to leap over the counter and strangle him, and fuck the consequences.
He knew what he was doing, drawing crowds with his frequent visits to the coffee shop and making you and Rui deal with all the weird orders that came after. His fangirls followed him at such an astonishing and accurate speed you’d be impressed if it didn’t cause you so much trouble.
“Your order will be ready in a minute, sir.” You say, smiling tightly. “Thank you for your patronage.”
“Thank you for your services.” He says in response and you wonder how he can sound that hot and like such a douche with such a polite sentence.
He hasn’t even moved from his place in line and Rui has his order ready in what feels like moments, calling out his name before rushing back to her station in preparation for all the copy cat fangirls who’d soon order the same thing.
As per usual, Sweet Mask took a sip of the beverage, winked at you, and left, leaving only that tantalizing scent of his cologne behind him.

You began picking up night shifts when you branched into the next semester of college because you had apparently lost your mind when you scheduled 8 am classes everyday of the week.
And that – tragically – meant that you and Rui only had one morning shift together: bright and early Friday morning.
The only day you had off and you were going to have to work the entire day because Takeru just had to get the flu didn’t he?
“Sweet Mask has been asking after you in the mornings.” Rui says brightly, looking impossibly chipper for 4 o’clock in the morning. You make a disgusted face and answer in a groan. You did not want to hear about that man first thing in the morning.
“I think he’s missed you.” She says, tone dipping into mild concern, a change you don’t notice due to exhaustion from gaming all night studying.
You grumble. “Yeah, well, the 80s miss his stupid hairstyle so whatever.”
Knowing better than to pursue the subject, Rui drops it and you prepare to open up shop.

By the time 10 pm approaches, you’re almost obnoxiously cheerful.
Sweet Mask hadn’t come in that morning and sure, perhaps-maybe-possibly you were a bit concerned at first, but no Sweet Mask meant no fangirls and no fangirls meant no stupidly long and complicated orders done over and over!
The day was a good one in your book.
Hana, the other night shift girl, checks in to tell you she’s taken out the trash and all that’s left is to stack the chairs and mop.
“You go ahead.” You tell her, “I got this.”
The pre-med student gives you such a look of relief you feel your heart ache a bit. She’s probably forgotten what relaxing feels like by now.
You’re just beginning to stack the chairs when a knock sounds on the glass doors. It scares you, of course, and you nearly knock a table over before you see who it is.
Sweet Mask stands by the glass doors, head bowed and shoulders slumped, idly scuffing the ground outside with his shoe.
The sight tugs at your heart strings and against your better judgment, you go to the door.
“We’re closed, you know.” You say, grinning a bit as you open up the door.
“I know.” He says, sounding tired and – dare you say it? – defeated. “I just wanted to-” He looks up and meets your eyes. A bit confused, you hold his gaze, wondering what’s wrong with him now. Suddenly, he averts his eyes and stands in silence.
You heave out a sigh.
“Come in then.” You say and prop the door open as you go into the kitchens to grab a couple of mugs and the hot chocolate mix you know the manager swipes from the store. Making two mugs is quick and easy and soon you’re setting the two mugs down at the one table you hadn’t stacked chairs on yet.
Sweet Mask takes one of the mugs and slowly wraps his long fingers around it, as if absorbing the warmth. With just as glacial movements he takes a sip from it, blinking in surprise as he pulls away.
“This has alcohol in it?” he asks and you grin.
“Peppermint schnapps.” You say, taking a sip of yours and relishing in the warmth that both the drink and the alcohol provided. “The manager keeps all this in his office and he thinks we don’t know about it.”
Sweet Mask’s lips twitch in what could almost be a smile before his face fell flat again.
“You don’t have to talk.” You say and you can see the miniscule jolt of surprise he gives. “Just relax and just be for a bit.”
No words are spoken from then on, but despite that, you feel as if you learned one of his darkest secrets.
By the time you finish it’s completely dark out, nearing 11 o’clock.
“I’ll walk you home.” Sweet Mask says, in a way that prevents any argument. You shrug and finish cleaning as he waits outside.
It’s completely silent when you head off home, Sweet Mask’s footsteps even beside you, and god though you hate him – he’s not a bad guy.

You really hope Rui never finds out about this, she’d have a field day.

Chapter Text

So you might not have had what was considered a “respectable” job.
Who cares? It pays well, it’s more or less entertaining considering the diversity of patrons, and half the clothes you own are both ludicrously expensive and gifts from the people you’ve serviced.
You were an escort and you were a damn good one too.
Operating from a small, nondescript bar, your place was rather hard to recognize and even harder to get into, but that was just the way you liked it. The girls you hired and trained were top notch, and you’d as soon die than let them associate with the scum that glided across the seedier red light district like mosquitoes over swamp water. You had a certain respect for those girls who did work the less enviable shifts in the less savory shops, but it was simply business that prevented you from letting your girls mingle with them. It wouldn’t due to let your diamonds sit in that mud.
The bar’s door opened and you were waiting with a coy smile for the potential customer.
Catching sight of the classic hakama and haori, your business smile melted into a real one.
“Hey Mama.” Atomic Samurai greeted, using your unofficial title as a greeting. “You look absolutely delectable tonight.”
“Welcome back.” You say back, “And thank you very much.” You pour him a drink instantly, knowing his preference by now. “So what brings you here so quickly?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward onto the bar, breasts pushed together to create an enticing sight. You can’t help the grin that forms on your face as the Atomic Samurai glances as your chest, swallowing down his sake roughly before clearing his throat.
“I’ll need to hire all your girls.” He said, knowing it was useless to dance around such a large request.
Even you were taken aback at the statement, straightening from your lean to give the S-class hero a critically appraising look. It took significant skill to keep your voice and face blank of judgment.
“If you wanted all of them at once,” you say, “I’m sure it’d be cheaper to go somewhere else.”
The hero waves his hand in front of his face.
“No, not like that, please. You and your girls are skilled but paying for that would kill me.” Atomic Samurai shook his head. “No, I’ll need you to attend the Gala.”
You blinked in surprise, a small smirk curling your lips. “You mean the grand Heroes Association Annual Charity Gala? The oft-spoke of event of the year?” You laughed straight in his face, reaching over to pat his hand in a condescending way. “My dear, how in the world would you be able to secure 20 invitations to escorts of all people? We’re the plus one and a quickie in the elevator, not guests.”
“Hear me out.” He said, “I need you to make sure none of those other jokers embarrass themselves. You know how public this event is and though the S-class heroes may all be strong, they’re idiots.”
“I’m flattered you think my girls could hold the world’s top heroes in place.”
“I know they can.” He insisted, “They have to or our reputation goes down the drain.”
You sigh, pressing the knuckles of one hand against your mouth.
“It’s asking a lot.” You say, already thinking of the new dresses and accessories you’d need you purchase. And then the makeup and jewelry and the limousine transportations . . . It would be a mess.
“I’ll make sure you’re paid, I swear on my sword.”
You tilt your head at him, face aimed down but eyes shyly peeking up at him between your lashes in a classic coy move that instantly swayed most men.
“Well, it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, my dear.” You said, and let a feral grin curl across your face.

Your girls were predictably excited when they heard the news, quickly latching onto the offer from the Atomic Samurai that their dresses would be paid for in full by the association. You laughed at his offer, tongue-tied around the flock of pretty girls that surrounded him in a lovely cyclone of perfume and feminine wiles.
“You’ll regret that.” You had promised and oh how he did.
(Didn’t he know that a Ralph and Russo dress cost at least $500,000? The poor fool.)
You got the names from Atomic Samurai as soon as you could, demanding to meet them as soon as possible and quickly overwhelming the poor men with your insistences on fashion, bombarding them with technical terms until they caved under your expertise. By the time you had left the Heroes Association you already had several of your best tailors on the phone, giving iron-clad orders about what the heroes would wear.
If they were giving you free reign, well – the world would have to deal with it.
They were a sight.
Your girls were achingly gorgeous, as long as you didn’t look too hard at their companions. Their dresses matched their assigned heroes perfectly. You were quite proud of how polished and suave they looked. As the mama of the escorts, you were expecting to be on the arm of S-class Rank 1 hero Blast, but – to the surprise of absolutely no one – he didn’t show. That left you standing around the banquet halls, cradling a glass of champagne, and letting your eyes roam the people there, quietly looking for your next victim. With so many old farts around, you could surely manage a small conversation with them, a little hint of something, a business card slipped into their pockets . . . Who cares if it was devious, you had a business to run.
“You’re the escort Atomic Samurai was talking about, aren’t you?” The woman’s voice was pleasing to the ear, but harsh with judgment and when you turned to her you gave her your most blatant once-over.
It was the Blizzard of Hell.
She wore her usual outfit, though tailored to match an evening’s occasion. It was a black dress, cut low and almost to her belly button, a thin gold chain keeping the two slits close enough to cover her breasts. It was floor length, with heavy enough material to cause minimal draping, and she wore a white fur shawl, pulled tight around her shoulders.
She was beautiful and your previously cold look quickly turned to one of interest.
Gender didn’t really matter to you when it came to loving, but looks did and oh did she meet your standards.
You smiled, made a light comment, and bided your time.
The bathroom was abandoned when you both tumbled inside. It was one of those stupidly fancy ones, with a sitting room decorated like something out of pre-Revolutionary France. Normally you laughed at them, but in the moment you were grateful, pushing down the esteemed B-rank hero onto one of the cushions before kissing her senseless again.
She gasped so adorably underneath you, forgetting how to breathe while kissing, and that innocence just made you even giddier. Her face was flushed a bright red, and though the color was normally unattractive on most people, the sight of her blushing was turning you on. But, alas, there was no time to make love to her as you wanted, laid out on a bed surrounded in roses and what-have-you. Maybe later, but now you just had to hear her cry out.
You slid to your knees, bunching up her skirts and pushing them up her hips before dragging her towards the edge of the cushions. Her underwear was lacy, scandalously thin, and practically dripping wet. You had never been more turned on. The panties were off next and you set to work, thrusting your tongue in her entrance – and relishing her startled gasp – before you lave your tongue over her clit, stimulating the little nub with the heat and the rough texture of your tongue.
With your face buried between the Blizzard of Hell’s thighs, you listen closely to her gasps and moans, letting the way she tugs on your hair and digs her nails into your shoulder guide your ministrations. You move faster, lapping at her clit as your hand moves to slowly insert a finger inside of her. Her wet warmth practically sucks your finger in and you groan, wishing you had more time to fuck her properly.
The Blizzard of Hell cries out, back arching as she comes, and spilling her come all over the nice settee and it’s so dirty you tremble in desire, just barely tamping down on your own desire to come.
Her chest heaves as she struggles to find her breath. “That- that was-”
“My pleasure.” You said, taking a napkin from your purse and wiping at your mouth. You grin at her, handing her your card. “We should do it again sometime.”
She blinks in surprise, taking the card absently, and you lean in close.
“I’d love to see you properly and thoroughly fucked in my bed.” You whisper, pulling away in time to see her face flush even darker than it was before. You can’t help the light chuckle that escapes you.
“See you then.” You say, and saunter out of the bathroom, elated at the thought of seeing her again . . . and soon.

Chapter Text

Casual hookups were things you were more or less accustomed to. You’d have a hard day, you’d go to a bar, you’d drink until someone looked pretty and you’d fuck them in whatever hotel they paid for. You were still responsible about it of course, making sure to carry condoms – for both male and female – on you at all times and having turned down sex multiple times if your partner refused to wear them. It wasn’t a habit you endorsed exactly, but it was a habit you wouldn’t shame, unlike some assholes out there.
But that was neither here nor there, and you drag your attention back to the man you’re trying to undress.
You had your hands underneath his sweatshirt, running your fingers across rock-hard abs as you kissed him hard, twining your tongue around his and mapping out his mouth. Another pair of hands settled on your waist, the cold metal pressure of the other man’s palms pulling you away from the one with the nice abs.

“Rude Genos.” The other man said, a little out of breath, but devoid of any real anger.

“Sorry Master Saitama.” The robot answered, the cold from his palms sinking through your shirt to your skin, making goosebumps rise. His fingers found your shirt’s hem, tugging it up and over your head, the fabric barely separating from your skin before his hands are unhooking your bra, sliding the support off and quickly moving to knead at your breasts. Your eyes slip shut for a moment. The feeling of his hard body pressed against your back, with his hands rather skillfully pinching you nipples, you give a full body shiver, letting out a sigh of pleasure before you can stop yourself.
By the time you open your eyes again, the one called Master Saitama has completely stripped, sitting on the edge of the king-sized love hotel mattress with an amused look on his face as he watched Genos’s ministrations on your chest. You let your gaze travel down his body, drinking in the impressive sight of his well-muscled body and . . . you smirk, licking your lips when your eyes find his cock.
Genos’s hands – warmed by your body – move away from your breasts, resuming undressing you as you watch Saitama wrap a palm around his length, slowly pumping to bring himself to full staff. You’re soon left only in your black panties and heels and you step out of the skirt Genos had pulled down to step forward and slide to your knees in front of Saitama, your hand taking the place of his as you lean your face down to lick at the head of his dick, tongue pressing flat on the tip. The man lets out a hiss at the contact, tangling his fingers in your hair, encouraging your actions. You’ve barely let your mouth close over the head when you feel Genos at your back again, gently nudging your body around until your elbows are resting on Saitama’s thighs and your ass is sticking out for Genos to rub his dick between. Though the motion is pleasant, sending tremors of pleasure down your spine, you pull away from Saitama to speak.

“I don’t do anal.” You murmur, voice husky but not worn.

“Oh, if we wanted to do anal, you wouldn’t be here.” Saitama assures and you can’t help the surprised chuckle that escapes.

“You wanted to fuck a girl?” you tease, “Bury your cocks into a wet puss-ah!”

Genos found your clit with alarming accuracy, pressing down on the nub with his pointer finger, rubbing slow, hard circles and using his other hand to lightly trace the fabric stretched across your entrance, the pressure so light it almost wasn’t there. The teasing touch had you wet in seconds.
Saitama’s hand guided you back to his cock and you resume sucking him off as the pressure Genos applies grows more and more. Your underwear is soaked by the time he pulls it down, the fabric left around your knees as Genos slowly inserts a finger. At the feeling of something finally inside you, you moan around Saitama’s dick and the man grunts, beginning shallow thrusts into your mouth that you allow, uncharacteristically docile. In contrast to Saitama’s fast but shallow thrusts, Genos moves his finger in and out of you slowly, adding another finger and allowing you to feel fuller while still being unfulfilled.

“It’s so slick.” Genos murmurs, “Sucking my fingers in so hard you’d think she hasn’t been fucked for weeks.” A pause, then: “She’d take my cock so well.”

His fingers withdraw and suddenly a hard tip is nudging at your entrance. Beyond ready for him, you spread your knees more, stretching the fabric of your panties as much as you dare. You’re so wet that he slides in completely with no trouble, ramming his cock so deep in you that you can feel his hips flush against your ass. Genos starts shallow thrusts, hands around your hips and not on your clit and you wrench your attention from him to Saitama again, determined to make him cum.
Alternating between long flat licks and teasing flickers across the head of his dick, you lick a strips from the base to tip before swallowing him down as much as you could. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and you barely manage not to gag before hallowing your cheeks and slowly dragging your mouth back up, pressing your tongue against the underside of his dick as you did so.
He tugs your head off just as he comes, the semen just barely missing your mouth and face. You smile up at Saitama for a moment and then Genos slides out of you completely, the resulting emptiness making you yelp.

“I didn’t even cum yet!” you groused, as the cyborg lifts you up to your feet with no struggle and stripping your ruined panties from you before tossing you on the bed and into Saitama’s arms.

“It’ll be fine.” Genos says, climbing onto the bed as Saitama pulls you into his lap and spreads your thighs. “We have all night after all.”

As Saitama’s hands cup your breasts and Genos buries his face between your thighs, you can’t imagine a better night to have.

Chapter Text

There are several things you learn when you’re a foreign dignitary’s daughter. One is to smile prettily and speak politely in seven languages. Another is how to coordinate clothes and put on makeup that would put a professional to shame. Another thing you learn is how to escape bodyguards.

Okay, maybe that last one is specific only to you, but whatever.

“Now darling,” your father says, a strange mix of exasperation and hope on his face – a common expression lately. “This is your new bodyguard.”
Your father continues the introduction as you cast a critical eye over the man, slowly dragging your gaze over his body in blatant evaluation.
His hair was black and long, some drawn up into a bun-ponytail hybrid but his bangs hanging in his face, framing it perfectly. The purple slashes on his cheeks highlighted his features and you briefly noted his grey eyes before moving downward. The purple scarf was heinous and you ignored it’s presence to continue on.
His body is lean with muscle, slender but toned, and you’re attracted despite yourself. The skin-tight black outfit and metal bands around his torso, shins and forearms seemed like they’d make his already slight build seem smaller but you could see the bulge of muscle and couldn’t help but lick your lips in appreciation.
You look at his face and smirk, only to see him looking at your body with just as much intensity as you were gazing at his with.
A shudder ran down your spine when his gaze flicked to yours, pupils already blown wide, making the gorgeous grey of his eyes a thin circle around the black.
“Now she has a habit of slipping away.” Your father said, oblivious to the tension. “Try not to lose her.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on her.” Sonic said, and you couldn’t help but grin.

Your father left you two to get acquainted and you had barely opened your mouth before he was in front of you, grabbing your hips with unforgiving force and pulling you towards him. Pleased he read your intentions right, you quickly tangled your fingers in his hair, forcing him to angle his head as you kissed him hard. It was the first time you had succumbed so quickly to your libido, but with the way his hands glided down your sides, you couldn’t be bothered to contemplate it.
It was rough: the way he ripped you out of your clothes, the way he kissed, the way he grinded his pelvis against yours.
You gave as good as you got: clawing rips in his clothes in your fervor, tugging his hair to make him groan, biting into the skin of his shoulder when he shoved his fingers into you dripping wetness.

It was a wordless, primal worshiping, the oldest game you knew; falling prey to your instincts had never felt so good.

He moved you into a wall, pressing his body flush against yours as you let his tongue into your mouth, letting him plunder his way and make his claim. He slipped down his pants and you absently noted your surprise; the outfit looked so seamless you thought it was a leotard. His cock rubbed between your tights and you groaned, every other thought escaping your head as desire flooded you instead.
Hands dug into your ass, lifting you enough so you could wrap your legs around his waist, and he gave no warning before the head of his cock slipped past your entrance and he buried himself to the hilt with one slow thrust.
The ecstasy of being filled made your back arch, pressing as much into him as you possibly could. A scream worked it’s way up your throat, but all that emerged was a choked off sob.
The two of you slowly slid to the floor, too trapped in the overwhelming pleasure of being joined to notice your back sliding down the wall and his knees hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud.
“So good.” You heard him murmur, as he pressed small kisses into your neck. “So hot and wet for me.”
You keened softly, rolling your hips to encourage him to move. He shushed you instead.
“Don’t be so impatient.” He scolded biting hard on your collarbone as if it were a punishment instead of a gift. “Don’t worry baby I’ll take care of you.” He jerked his hips up to accentuate his words. “I’ll fuck you until you can taste me in the back of your throat.”
He set a steady pace, ramming into you hard enough to make the walls thud with the impact of your bodies against it. Your arms were wrapped tight around his neck, hanging onto him to keep yourself grounded in the overwhelming rush of pleasure. You panted out compliments, telling him how good his cock felt in you, how much you wanted him to cum in you, and other absently muttered, truthfully said things.
Bracing one forearm against the wall, his other hand wandered down to where you two were joined, pressing a thumb against your clit, beginning an agonizingly wonderful pattern by rubbing over and around it.
It seemed like no time at all before you were cumming, clenching hard around his cock with a bitten off cry, teeth clenched so hard around your lip that it bled. He followed soon after, releasing his load in you with a groan, the sensation almost making you want to cum again.
There’s a stilted silence as he pulls out, but with the way his eyes watch how his seed spills out of you, a grin splits your face nonetheless.
“I think we’ll get along just fine.” you say as he stands and in response to his raised eyebrow, you hold a hand out, a prim gesture so out of place after the rough fucking that just occurred. He rolls his eyes but takes your hand, lifting you to your feet. Standing again, you wrap your arms around his neck and peck him on the lips.
“You had a wonderful first impression after all.”

Chapter Text

Your parents started the flower shop just before you were born, and you grew up surrounded by blooms for as long as you could remember. Memories of childhood were filled with your father telling you the scientific names of the different flowers and plants and with your mother showing you how to tie a perfect bow around a bouquet. As you grew up, breezing through your school years cheerfully, you helped out in the store more and more, enjoying the times you spent trimming the flowers and helping customers find the perfect bouquet to take home.
You remember the time your mother was commissioned to make flower arrangements for a wedding. Sixteen year old you was so excited to help, though you mother didn’t allow you to do more than cut the stems to the perfect length and to arrange them in straight lines to allow her to grab them easier. You recalled taking the stray blossoms, the ones your mother didn’t use, and pulling them into a bouquet like you were taught to do so many years ago.
Peonies first, the large pink blooms acting as the main flower for your bouquet, and symbolize prosperity and romance. Small pink roses next, the ones your mother didn’t want to use, to represent thankfulness, admiration and happiness. The tiny white blooms of Queen Anne’s lace filled in all the spaces left between the larger flowers. You had tied the stems together, wrapping a long white ribbon around the green before contemplating it. It was missing something . . . Abandoning the newly made bouquet, you slipped from your mother’s eye to pluck branches off the cherry trees outside, the new flower buds a gorgeous light pink and their addition to your bouquet was the perfect final touch.
You remember the bride had seen it and had decided to use it as her wedding bouquet.
It was the proudest moment of your life.

Tragedy struck soon after. A monster attacked your city and your parents were among the body count. Studies consumed you soon after, having to balance school and a job to pay for school and living expenses. You were forced to sell the flower shop, the last tangible tie between you and your parents ripped from you.
That was probably why you took the route you did in college.
Studying business was a pain in the ass, but you did it, and despite lucrative offers from other companies, you immediately opened a flower shop. For your parents, or for your own closure, you sometimes couldn’t tell. But you were satisfied with this life.
This is good, you thought, clipping the stems to a dozen red roses, when the bell at the door rang, signaling a new customer.

“Welcome!” you called out, quickly tying up the roses and slotting them into a vase before moving to the front cash register, fixing a placid smile on your face.
At the sight of the person standing among your flowers, the smile turned into a wince.
It was the same man that had been to your shop three times already.
Not that you didn’t mind the patronage, of course, but each time he arrived he bought a potted cacti and left without a word.
It wasn’t irritating per se, but come on the guy could at least say hello or something right?
Your eyes tracked his movement through the store (muscles bunching underneath his shirt, moving so fluidly it made your throat tighten just a bit with how obscene it was-) and lo’ and behold he moved straight towards the potted plants, squatting down by the display and squinting suspiciously at all the cacti there.
And that. Was. It.
You were a florist and you could have such rampant plant-murdering happen right under your nose.

“Excuse me?” you asked, smiling sweetly at the man as you approached. “Hi, I’m the head florist here and I was wondering if you needed help-”
The man smiled at you and your heart stuttered a bit at the small quirking of his lips.

“Oh, yeah, help would be nice.” he said, standing back up and (oh dear lord he was taller than you; you always had a thing for taller guys-) scratched the back of his bald head absently. “I’m Saitama and well, my plant keeps dying.”

“Well, Saitama-san, do you know the proper care of cacti?”
The look of confusion on his face is supposed to be annoying but really, it’s just cute.

"You just water it right?”

That should be annoying damn it!

“Not quite.” You say, giggling despite yourself, then a thought occurs to you. “Um, Saitama-san, how many times have you been watering it?”

“Twice a day.” He answers and at that point you can help but slam your palm into your forehead.

“Okay, come on.” You said, and pushed him out the door of the shop, closing it behind you before locking up and flipping the sign so it read ‘Closed’. Then you turned on him again, hooking your arm through his and dragging him down the street. “You and I are going to get a coffee and I’m going to tell you all about the proper care of cacti.” You said and he opened his mouth, as if to argue- “No arguments! Coffee, now.”

Saitama’s mouth snapped shut and you grinned.

“Good.” You said, “Now, for the type of cacti you have . . .”

(You had never really been the aggressive type,
but you were glad for the change today)

Chapter Text

“The orders aren’t in yet?” You dragged a hand over your face, grateful for the privacy of your store’s office as you made faces in exasperation. “I need those gardenias immediately. What were your people doing six weeks ago?” A pause. “Yes, I know they take a while to ship- oh my god, I don’t care what excuses you have, just get me the shipment.”
It is very, very satisfying to slam down your office phone into the receiver.
Burying your face in your hands, you utter out several creative curse words followed by a long drawn out groan.
“Bad day already?”
Head snapping up at the familiar voice and the heavenly smell of coffee, your first true grin of the day stretches out across your face at the sight of your one true love. Oh, and Saitama.
“Coffee.” You say, making grabby hands at the white cup secured in your boyfriend’s hands.
He chuckles and relinquishes his hold on what is arguably the best invention of man-kind. You take a sip gratefully, ignoring how it scalds your tongue and relishing how it floods your insides with warmth.
“Thank you.” You tell Saitama, remembering your manners at the last moment.
“Happy to help.” Saitama said, taking a seat in once of your office’s guest chairs and taking a slow sip of his own coffee, hiding his grin at your childish eagerness for caffeine. “What was that call about?” he asked, settling back into the faux leather cushions.
You groan again. “Those assholes at the greenhouse say that my order date was later than it actually was. They were gonna try and cheat me by charging me extra to get the shipment in sooner.”
“Want me to beat them up for you?” Saitama offered, a teasing grin on his face.
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your face despite yourself. “I want my gardenias, not dead bodies.” You said, “But I appreciate the offer.”
“The wedding is what, in three days?” he asked.
You rubbed your face. “Yeah, and the bride is being such a control freak about the flowers. The sooner this commission is over, the happier I’ll be.”
“And less stressed.”
There was a comfortable silence and you and Saitama leisurely sipped at the coffee.
Memories of your first ‘date’ surface in your head and you can’t help the chuckle that rolls it’s way out of your throat. Saitama had been so shocked when you dragged him to your favorite coffee joint in order to scold him and give him an hour long lecture about the proper care of cacti.
As embarrassed as you were sometimes when thinking about that day, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. It resulted in no more dead cacti owned by Saitama and a boyfriend of what was coming close to being seven months.
Saitama’s phone beeped and you smothered a giggle at his ancient Nokia phone. He tossed a playful glare at your anyways, obviously remembering your teasing of the man for being too strong for any of the latest smart phones.
“That’s Genos.” He said, finishing the last of his coffee. “There’s a demon ranked threat in City H.” Saitama walked around your desk, leaning over to kiss your forehead, you leaning in to make the contact easier.
“Be careful.” You say, out of habit more than anything. When you had learned Saitama was a C-class hero, you had initially been worried. You knew that he could likely hold his own, but anything could happen on the battlefield.
Then he lifted your car from the street when you dropped your keys under it and that had quickly erased any doubts you had about his prowess.
“I always am.” He said in response, leaving with a jaunty wave.
Allowing yourself one moment to rest, you quickly returned to work, trying to get the rest of the orders in before the wedding.

The day of the wedding arrived and while everyone else seemed to be idling about, you were barely suppressing the urge to scream. The gardenias had barely arrived in the nick of time and your carnations were still missing. Your stargazer lilies were already here, which was the only positive thing about the whole situation. 
Dialing your last ray of hope, you put the phone to your ear and hoped for the best.
“Genos? Yeah, it’s me. Could you do me a little favor?”

“You could have asked Sensei.” Genos said, placing your industrial sized box of white carnations on the ground beside you.
“He has the A-class interview today.” You mutter, scissors flashing silver in the summertime sunlight as you clip orange rose stems down to size. “Open the box for me, will you?”
There’s a loud snapping sound and you whirl around to see Genos grasping the wooden lid of the box in his hands, a vague expression of shock on his face at the splintered remains of the box’s walls.
“It was nailed on Genos.”

By the time the wedding finishes, the bride and the groom have cried at least twice, a bridesmaid has gotten drunk, the best man nearly face-planted in the cake and you had almost caved into the desire to screaming like a banshee.
You didn’t . . . though it was a close thing.
Saitama’s waiting outside the venue when you finally manage to escape the bride’s tearful thanks at the beautiful flowers and how perfect you made her wedding.
He opens his arms to you when you emerge from the building and despite how cheesy it is, you do indeed drop your bag and fly straight into his arms, holding him close and tight.
“I fucking hate weddings.” You grumble into his neck, where your face in pressed close enough that your lips brush against the tendons there.
“That’s a shame.” He says, rubbing a hand up and down your back.
“Fucking hate them.” You repeat.
“No you don’t.”
“Okay, fine, I don’t.” You spend another glorious minute in his arms before you sigh, pulling away from his embrace and going back for your purse.
You turn back . . . to see him kneeling on one knee, a small black box in his hands and a sheepish grin on his face.


In the months afterward, when he kisses you beneath an arch full of white flowers and ivy, he smiles into your tear-filled eyes and rests his forehead against yours.
“Weddings aren’t so bad now, are they?” he asks and you can’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

It’s not as if you LIKED skipping out on hero meetings-
Okay that was a giant lie, you loved skipping out on those stupid meetings. They were just so boring and no one talked about anything interesting and worse – even worse! – there was no food. Earlier that day you had gotten a message on your phone that requested your presence for a meeting.
You – as per usual – ignored it.
After paying for your strawberry crepe, you made your way across A City, maneuvering through the crowds with a technique that only those who grew up in the city could manage. You paused when the Heroes Association building came in sight and thought hard about if you wanted to go or not, idly licking the last taste of the crepe from your fingers. Tossing the paper wrapped from the treat into the trash, you turned your back resolutely on the black building and headed for the subway.
You might hate the meetings but they were still your employers after all.
You might as well do your job in the meantime.

The subway brought you all the way to Z City with only two changeovers. There were reports of a horde of monsters in the hilly areas 20 or so miles out. According to other reports, that was also where a cult’s laboratory called House of Evolution was as well. Unwrapping a lollipop and checking the time, you decided that you’d take them out too once you were done with the monster horde.

The monster horde took even less time that you thought and you sighed at the mound of corpses in front of you. Hearing it was a horde of over a hundred boar-like creatures, you had gotten your hopes up, prematurely, it seems. The hike to the House of Evolution took only a couple of minutes but your arrival was notable.
Where a large building had stood, there was only blackened rubble and the gouged out side of the mountain. The Association was on speed dial and took only a few seconds before they answered.
“Hey guys, sorry for my radio silence.” You greeted, as you waited for them to adjust to their shock.
“Where have you been?” You recognized the voice, but couldn’t have placed a voice to it if your life depended on it.
“Here and there.” You answered vaguely, kicking a clump of concrete away and wincing when it soared into the forest and landed with a large crash. “I was just wondering what happened to the House of Evolution. Cuz I’m here now and there’s like, rubble, if that.”
You hear typing on the other end. “The House of Evolution was destroyed by Genos.”
“Ah, um, he’s the new S-rank.”
You grin, “We have a new S-rank?” The man spoke more but it was lost in your glee. A new S-rank! Maybe you should go challenge this guy; he’ll probably give a good fight before you crush him.
“And if you could report back in-” the man was saying before you hung up on him.

You had just began to head back to the city when you heard the explosion. Curiosity piqued, it took a small detour before you arrived at an abandoned mining complex. It seemed as if a cyborg and a bald man were fighting. They seemed pretty powerful, but the robot was very sloppy, wasting energy and time trying to aim for the bald man.
You wondered who they were and if they were with the Association, if not you decided you would try and recruit them. Decision made, you backed up a few steps, took a running start, and jumped.
Slamming into the ground a couple of feet away from two, you rise from your crouched position almost immediately with a cheery grin on your face.
The heat of the metal and the sound of wind against clothes warn you and you’re flipping backwards and out of range of the duo’s punch, both of which would have hit you in the chest if you didn’t react in time.
“Nice speed there guys!” You compliment with a cheery laugh. “Kinda useless if you don’t hit the target though.”
The cyborg glares at you, still in a combat position, while the bald man scratches his cheek in confusion.
“Who are you?”
“I’m just here to have a blast.” You joke. “Since I heard the explosions, get it? Say, are you guys with the Heroes Association? You should really join up, since you seem to be pretty powerful and all that, if lacking in skill.”
The cyborg’s eyes narrow even more. “Excuse me?”
Oh, he was getting offended.
You just had to take advantage of that; how you were supposed to get your fight otherwise?
“Yeah, I mean, no offense, but you guys could use a lot of refinement since your technique sucks and all, but I’m sure the Association would be willing to train you guys up a little bit. Why, you guys could even make C rank if you tried hard enough!”
The cyborg took the bait. “You dare-”
The bald man sighed. “Don’t take the bait man. She’s just testing you Genos.”
Now that name was familiar.
“Genos?” you asked, excitement growing even more. “The new S-class Genos?” You step forward in a flash, his metal hands encased in yours as you shake them eagerly. “Wow, how lucky am I to meet you straight off? Oh, I have a wonderful idea: let’s fight!”
They look uneasy at the sudden proposition, which makes sense.
After all, you don’t really look like someone who fought S-class heroes.
You grin at the doubtful look on their faces. “Come on, it’ll be a fun.”

Genos still looks uneasy as you take your places, 100 meters apart from each other, but he settles into a combat position easily enough.
“Saitama will be the judge.” You say, nodding to the bald man, whom you had learned was actually a C-class hero. “And the fight’s over when you’re incapacitated.”
Genos glares at your wording. “Or if you’re incapacitated.”
A feral grin stretched across your face.
“I won’t be.”
“Start!” Saitama calls out, and Genos attacks.
His first punch was easy to dodge . . . as was the second, and the third and ducking under his kick was child play. His metal exterior was burning up and you jumped a few paces away. He followed in a furious whirlwind of fire and martial arts, but you merely kept retreating.
“You know,” you began, dodging yet another punch, “You’re much weaker than I was expecting.”
To prove your point, you caught the arm Genos had punched with and threw him across the clearing and into the sheer cliff on the opposite side of compound. The move was so fast that he didn’t get a chance to react, slamming into the cliff face and splintering the rocks behind him.
“That was quick.” Saitama said, right behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Since when had he gotten there? Oh, that reminded you:
“How did you manage to get so strong?” you asked and listened with only the slightest of bits of surprise when he detailed his work-out routine to you.
Genos launched into you again as Saitama was talking. You ducked under the cyborg’s blow, sliding underneath the trajectory of his body before you grabbed him by the shirt and threw him to the other side of the compound, all while listening to Saitama’s story.
“And that’s why Genos wants to fight me.” He said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I don’t know what to tell the kid.”
“I do.” You said, sighing at them. “Honestly, it’s a surprise how you guys haven’t figured it out.”
When Genos launched at you again, this time trying to blast you and Saitama in an overwhelmingly powerful concentrated fire, both you and the other hero dodged it, and while Saitama dodged to circle around the cyborg’s back, you leapt back several paces, far enough to put yourself out of range but close enough to see what would happen next.
Saitama tapped Genos’s shoulder, making the boy whirl around and poke his cheek on Saitama’s index finger. Genos swung at the caped man before proceeding to lecture him about rules.
Absently, you noticed your presence had been forgotten.
Genos kicked out at Saitama and the bald man dodged again.
A tremor ran down your spine before Saitama punched.
You saw the shockwaves ripple, contorting the already weakened ground in a highly localized earthquake, causing the earth that Genos had already torn up to collapse again, forcing debris into the air. You covered your mouth and nose with your sleeve in distaste.
Well, it looked like the newbies were powerful after all.
As they walked off for udon, you turned back to the forest while dialing your phone.
“We’ve identified your location.” The man said immediately, “We’re sending a chopper to pick you up.”
“No need.” You said, “Ah, but I fought Genos just now!”
“You what?!” There was frantic typing in the background, shouts to send paramedics to your location. “Is he okay? Is he in one piece?” he asked.
“Sure, sure.” You said, rather unconvincingly. “He left on his own two feet. He was rather good, nice call in making him S-class immediately. But you totally skipped over one diamond in the rough.”
“Excuse me?” the man asked in confusion, but you ignored it.
“It actually might be better to have him work his way up.” you muttered absently.
Looking back at the carnage caused by the battle, you grinned. The dust had cleared away and what was left in it’s place was a wonderful scene of utter destruction, bespeaking of the power the two newest heroes had. Even if Saitama did have to work his way up, you knew he’d do it in no time.
“The chopper is on it’s way.” The man said, ripping you from your reverie.
“No need.” You chirped, “I’ll be going off on my own for a bit.”
“Again? But Blast-sama-”
You snapped the phone shut.
“Now,” you said, “Where to head next?”

Chapter Text

It was a routine check that revealed the fucking spaceship.
You were the unlucky fucker who was checking the specs on the brand-spanking new long-range telescope. You had peeked through the viewing piece to check the visual and all you saw was a space ship. A very large, very ominous, very dangerous looking spaceship.

“Fuck.” You said, the height of eloquence and dived for your cell phone. The Heroes Association would need to know about this.There was the brief feeling of all the air getting sucked from the room and suddenly you weren’t in the observatory anymore. If the strange surroundings and odd looking beings were to be believed, then it was only to follow that you had somehow been teleported to the space ship you were just about to call in on.

Which was – just fucking fantastic.

Why the fuck not?

Kidnapped by goddamned aliens.

Maybe if you put this on your post-graduate applications you would actually get a decent scholarship.

If Earth survived, that was.

“Human.” A voice growled out and you glared at the owner of the voice before your mind caught up with your body and said ‘hey, you know, maybe we shouldn’t antagonize the guy with sway over our life’ and of course, your mouth went off without listening to the grey matter in your skull.

“Fuck off.” You snapped, “I’m having a crisis here.”
You pale at the sudden realization that you had spoken and the ominous silence that had fallen over the strange throne room-esque area only assured you in your assumption of your fate.

I’m gonna die. This is it. Dead before I could live.

The man-shaped cyclops person sitting in his throne smirks and that kinda pisses you off more. Honestly, fear does wild things to a person, like, say stripping them of all self-preservation instincts.

“Put. Me. Back.” You snarled, trying to look intimidating and likely failing.

“No.” the alien said, and then waves his hand at the room, an unspoken signal, and in a few seconds the throne room was empty but for the two of you.

“What do you want?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Information.” He answers easily, standing from his throne and it’s honestly not your fault that you flinch back because he was MUCH taller than you expected.

“I just an astronomer.” You say, and you’re not even that really: you’re just an intern. “I don’t know anything that you don’t know already.”
He gives a gesture to follow him and for the life of you, you can’t remember taking a step forward, but suddenly you’re trailing absently after him like a puppy.

“I want information about humans.”

And how the hell were you supposed to take that?

“Uh – what type? And why?”

“You shall become a colony of mine.” The alien announces, “I wish to know about my future citizens.”

You can’t help it: you laugh.

“Aw, that’s precious.” You say, wiping a tear from your eye in an exaggerated manner.

The alien turns back to you and tilts his head – not in confusion, but in query.

“You think the humans are just gonna let you waltz in and make them a colony? They’d rather be six feet under than be under the heel of someone they didn’t even pretend to elect.”

The alien gives a quirk of a smile.

“You think any of them could stand up to the might of me, Boros, the Dominator of the Universe?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Duh?”

He was about a yard or two in front of you, but you blink and he’s right in front of you. The shriek is halfway out of your mouth, before you bite your tongue on it, holding perfectly still as he glides the back of his hand on your cheek.

“So soft.” He murmurs, and it just goes to tell how touch-starved you are that you shiver under his touch. That or fear. At this point it’s a fifty-fifty chance. “Aren’t all your kind like this? You cannot stand against me.”

A nervous laugh stutters it’s way out of your chest because he’s still right in front you, practically plastered to the front of your body. You can feel your breasts brush against his chest with each breath in. Holy hell, you can feel the heat of his – skin? Scales? Shit, was that armor?
His hand is still on your skin, now trailing it’s way from your cheek, down the slope of your neck before brushing stray strands of hair behind your ear and you turn your head away from the caress . . . to give him more access or to avoid him, you couldn’t tell.

The heat is almost unbearable.

“I can smell it on you.” He says, and you risk a glance at his face, knowing with acute mortification what he was talking about. Your ill-timed arousal. Fantastic. He could smell it on you. Still, you can’t help but give him a once-over. The one-eye thing was kind of freaking you out, but rest of his face – and body – wasn’t bad.

Wait, no, bad, do not think of aliens and sex together, that was a bad porno waiting to happen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say instead, stubbornly clinging to what shreds of dignity you had left that to acknowledge that you were (more than) a little attracted to an alien.

Shit, that’s such a bad trope you feel like punching yourself.

“There’s no need to be ashamed.” Boros says, letting his fingers trace down your arm and plot the way your ribs curved into a waist and back out again.

You snort, a flush rising to your face. “There are so many reasons to be ashamed I couldn’t list them all.”

“You could try.” He says, hand settling confidently on your hip, lightly tugging you down the hall again. “I know a perfect place where you could begin.”

“Such an endeavor would take quite the long time.” You say, “Surely I could take breaks.”

You fell into the banter dammit, you didn’t mean to do that.

“That can be arranged.” He smirks, “I’ll even bring you water, in case you lose your voice.”

“How kind.” You demure, surprised to find your hands on his chest, tracing over the ridges of his armor, and you hadn’t even noticed when they got there.

At that point, something in your head clicked and you huffed out a resigned sigh, rolling your eyes at the situation you were now confronted with.

“Problem?” Boros asks, stilling his hands where they were resting on your hips, and it’s heart-wrenching that he’s more courteous that half the guys you interact with on Earth. That’s just pathetic.

“Just never expected my life to take such a turn.” You answer, waving off his concerns to ask him what you were truly curious about. “Now, how’s this gonna work exactly?”

He grins. “Let me show you.”

Chapter Text

It’s always unspeakably awkward when police and heroes run into each other.
When an S-class ranked hero suddenly appears before you in the dark alley behind a club where you tripped and fell, facing off the three men who were pursuing you, you’re torn between admiration and irritation.

Admiration because that’s a fucking S-class hero!

Irritation because those fools are your assignment and you need to bring them into custody and if Metal Bat defeats them it’ll ruin all your hard work.

Fuck, Chief is gonna be so pissed when he finds out you butchered the mission.

“What the hell d’ya think yer doin’?” Metal Bat asks the three grunts and it’s actually pretty admirable that they only show a slight hesitation at the appearance of an S-class hero before they attack.  Metal Bat has them all on the floor in literally one swing, and you’re gaping in amazement at the move. It was so quick you didn’t even see his arm move until after he completed the swing. He holds a hand out for you to take, and it’s a conscious effort to shut your mouth.

“You okay?” he asks, averting his eyes from you. At first you’re offended, and then you realize he had a fantastic view of what’s down your shirt and the lacy bra that you’re wearing covers practically nothing.

You take his hand, letting him haul you to your feet.

“I’m fine.” You say then nod towards the unconscious men on the ground, “Are they?”

He looks surprised at your question, but answers with a hesitant ‘yeah?’ nonetheless.

Pressing two fingers to your ear to activate the small radio nestled right at the front of your ear canal, you speak the minute you hear it connect.

“Reporting in: three men unconscious behind the club. Immediate removal requested. Pursuit of the boss still in motion, can you shut down the block?” Your eyes meet Metal Bat’s and his look of shock almost makes you start laughing. “Also, S-class Hero Metal Bat is on scene.”

Copy that agent.” Your partner, Kazuki, answers and you can hear him call out the orders to the rest of your police team. “Chief says to come back to base.

“Copy that.” You parrot and your tone of voice must be indicative of something because Kazuki begins to speak again.

Don’t you fucking dare-” You shut off the radio before he completes the threat, taking out the little nub and tucking it into your bra, mildly enjoying the way Metal Bat flushes and looks away.

“You’re with the police?” Metal Bat eventually asks, cheeks still flushed, as you lean against the concrete wall of the alley and take off the wedge part of your heel, pulling a small gun from where it was hidden inside the shoe.

“Yup. Special forces, if you must know.” He didn’t, but you’re rather proud of having made special forces in just two years.
You do the same to your other shoe, leaving you with make-shift sandals and two small handhelds, and you check the magazines before nodding at the hero.

“Duty calls.” You say with a grin and begin to run the opposite way down the alley, determined to get Hasegawa, the leader of the drug smuggling ring, before he could escape again. It takes you a good six seconds before you realize Metal Bat is following you, easily keeping pace as you try to make it to the underground escape tunnel that the intel division had warned you might be used if your cover was blown.

“Go back.” You order, using your ‘I’m-a-police-officer-so-do-as-I-say’ voice.

“Rather not.” He said, leaping over a stack of boxes that you had dodged around.

Taking a harsh turn around a corner, you repeat your order. “Go. Back.”

“I’ll be good backup, I promise.”

Irritation finally trumps admiration.

“Metal Bat, I swear to god-”

You didn’t have a chance to finish the threat, since the two of your literally ran into Hasegawa and the rest of his men.


Honestly, it was a miracle that you survived the fire fight with only one gunshot wound to show for it.


Kazuki was sooooo pissed.

You look churlishly to the side as he scolds you for being impatient and irresponsible and making illogical decision and whatever other words starting with ‘i’ that he could think of. Being scolded like this was degrading and it didn’t help that Metal Bat was right fucking there witnessing it.

There wasn’t even any room to avoid him because you were all shoved into the same EMV together. What puzzled you about the whole situation was why Metal Bat was still here. Kazuki, you understood, since the stick-up-the-ass partner of yours practically got off from scolding people, but there was no reason for the hero to be there.
Eventually, Kazuki rambled off into silence, pulling out his laptop to begin his reports and effectively isolating you and the hero together.

“First time in an ambulance?” you ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Metal Bat gives you a quirk of a smile. “No, actually.”

You decide to go for the kill because dancing around the issue – while something you were trained to do – is not something you have the patience for at the moment.
“So why are you here? You’ve already seen the inside of an ambulance, so there’s nothing here for you.”

He looks up at you, gazing straight into your eyes before speaking, “There’s you.”

You feel your cheeks flush, noting with some amusement that Metal Bat’s flood with color as well, so at least you didn’t have to suffer being alone on the awkward train. Or ambulance. Or whatever.

“Thank you?” you say, clutching at the gurney as the vehicle screeches to a stop. Metal Bat looks vaguely panicked, settling his large warm palms over your white-knuckled grip on the bed, taking a deep breath in as if to prepare himself.

The driver’s doors close.

“Wouldyouliketogooutwithmesometime?” He said it all in a rush and as it was you could barely understand normal speaking, let alone the veritable rush of words he coughed out.

“Excuse me?”

The ambulance doors opened; there’s another hospital gurney ready for transfer.

He takes another steadying breath, and you let him lift your hand and cradle it between the two of his.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” he repeated.

Kazuki jumped out, still looking at his tablet.

You can’t help the bright grin from your face. “Glad you finally asked.” You said, a wry grin on your face, as the bright yellow emergency gurney is being tugged out of the ambulance and you’re whisked off into the hospital.


Metal Bat is left by the emergency vehicle with no solid answer, awkward heart palpitations, and the police partner of the girl he had just developed the hugest crush on.

The guy – Kazuki? – was typing in something on his tablet. “Get your phone out.” He said.

Still dazed and more than a little confused (her hands were so soft and small in his, how could she hold a gun in such lovely hands, it was sexy as all hell when she did but the question remained), Metal Bat’s highly intelligent answer was: “What?”

Kazuki sighed, “Get out your phone.” He repeated, “I’ll give you her contact information while I still feel like it.”

It’s a struggle not to grab the man’s hand and shake it vigorously. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kazuki says, holding up the screen with her contact information on it, as Metal Bat types it down. “Treat her right okay?”

Metal Bat feels a smile tugging at his face. “If I don’t, will you come after me with a shot gun?” he jokes.

Kazuki raises an eyebrow, and the look on his face is downright chilling.

“You say that as if you’ll be alive long enough to run away.”

Kazuki claps a hand on Metal Bat’s shoulder companionably, as if he didn't just imply that his younger partner could kill Metal Bat if he made one wrong step.

“She likes chocolate.” is all he says before walking away.

Metal Bat is left with the distinct feeling he’s getting involved with something wonderful.

Chapter Text

The club music was loud, drowning out all thought in your head as you used another shot of liquor to try and burn any leftover feelings out as well.
You never did well with breakups.
Raising your hand at the bartender for another shot, you sighed, closing your eyes and trying to recall all the shitty things your now ex-boyfriend ever did.

“That’s no way for a lady to look.”

Your eyes snap open and fix on the man beside of you. He seemed vaguely familiar, but your brain was fuzzy with alcohol and you didn’t really feel like recalling to mind who he was or might be.

“Don’t even think about using a line.” You say, taking the small shot glass the bartender sets in front of you, turning it slowly in your hand. The man sits next to you, a small smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He says, “But I might dream of you.”

You groan at that.

He laughs at that, a small chuckle and runs his hand through his fluffy black hair. “Drinking away your problems?” he asks, nodding at the liquid amber in the glass.

You nod sagely. “Everyone knows drinking is replacing one problem with another.”

“I could be that new problem.”

That was so cheesy and it’s almost embarrassing that it’s working on you.

“Will you?” you ask, throwing him a smile and turning the bar stool to face him before crossing your legs. His eyes follow the movement and a hot rush of something goes through your system. It had been a long time since someone had looked at you with such obvious desire and it was actually a bit flattering, coming from such a hot guy. You drag the toe of your shoe up the guy’s calf and chuckle when he gulps.

“Name’s Stinger.” He says, obviously trying to recover his suave persona.

“We don’t need to bring names into this.” You say, tossing back the drink and standing.

“Now let’s get out of here.”


You’ve barely taken off your heels before he pushes you right up against the door, kissing you harshly. You return the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his digs his fingers into your ass and gropes, already grinding his hips into yours.

From his posturing attitude at the club, you were expecting a rather passive partner when you finally got to a hotel, but this worked too.
You’re panting as his lips leave yours.

“Are you - ?” he begins to ask.

“Pill.” You answer, tugging his shirt off so you could run your hands over his chest, as he’s kissing down the curve of your neck. It was gentle, sweet –  then he bites. The cry is ripped from you – part shock and part arousal as you feel your panties begin to slick.

God that shouldn’t have been so hot.

He drops to his knees, pushing up the edge of your shirt up to run his hands over the skin of your hips and waist, hands pressing almost-bruises into your skin as if he were trying to commit the way it felt to his memory. You pull your shirt off to give him better access and – pleased at the action – he smiles at you before leaning in to pepper kisses along the curve of your hipbone, before gliding his teeth along the skin there and leaving another series of bites, enough to make it red without leaving bruises. You hiss at the action and he nips lower, just above the line of your skirt, before carefully sliding the article of clothing off, letting them pool around your ankles as he litters more kisses on the tops of your thighs, getting agonizingly close to where you want him to go.

When he presses the flat of his tongue against the fabric covering your entrance – soaking the material with his saliva and your subsequent wetness – you groan at the feeling. He laps his tongue over your clit through your panties, using the thin material to stimulate you even more. He draws his tongue one more time over you before dragging your panties off with his hands and doesn’t hesitate to thrust his tongue inside of you, so close that you can feel his teeth against your clit and -

Your back arches off the door – hands digging into his hair, pushing his face closer – when his drags his teeth against your clit, moving his tongue in and out of you before pulling out to lick gently at your button and then thrusting his tongue back in. You moan loudly, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He pulls away, biting a line of bruises into your thigh as his fingers brush against you, circling your clitoris before he rolls the ball of nerves under his thumb while the tip of his middle finger pushes into your warmth, pumping slowly.

Heat builds in your stomach, and your thighs tremble with the strain of staying standing when he’s determined to bring you to your knees. You don’t realize when Stinger stands, but he’s keeping his fingers busy – one hand working your warmth and other unclasping your bra.

The moment it loosens, Stinger’s hand it already cupping your right breast, drawing a thumb back and forth across the nipple as he kisses you deeply and you can taste yourself on him.

He pulls away and you whine for a moment before you realize he’s unbuttoning his own pants. Your hands dart forward, eager to get the offending piece of clothing off, and it results in a tangle of hands that has you giggling at the clumsiness of it.

Stinger grins as well, bright and amused, before his eyes focus on your lips and he’s grabbing both your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head while he uses the other to work his jeans open. He leans into kiss you again, biting at your bottom lip before tracing it over with his tongue, gently coaxing your mouth open so he could map the way it felt underneath his tongue.

When Stinger finally releases your hands, you wind them instinctively around his neck, pulling at his now-tousled black hair as his hands dig into your ass, lifting you enough to that you can wrap your legs around his waist.

He gives you feather light kisses on the neck, going over the bruises he left, before guiding his tip into you, and you both groan in synchronization. The stretch of someone filling you up after so long was glorious, if a bit painful.

“Slowly.” You mutter, your fingers digging deep into Stinger’s forearms as he does as your request, supporting your entire weight with his arms as he lets you sink down onto his cock, trapped between the hotel door and his body.

“You feel so good around me.” He mutters, leaving kisses along your collarbone as he fully sheathes himself inside of you. You let out a shuddering sigh at the feeling of being stretched full, hardly paying attention to the words Stinger is murmuring against your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin and making your flesh pebble at the sensation.

“Move already.” You say.

“Slow down, move already – you’re quite demanding, aren’t you?” Stinger said, rolling his hips and grinning when you shudder in pleasure underneath him.

You huff out a laugh. “Don’t lie to yourself.” You say, giving his hair a harsh tug in admonishment, grinning wickedly when his hips stutter into you. “You like it.”

“I do.” He answers, before locking his lips on yours, as he sets a steady pace, ramming into you over and over again, and tilting his hips at just the right angle to make starbursts dance across the back of your eyes. Heat coils in your lower stomach and your nails dig long scores in Stinger’s back without you noticing.

Stinger swallows the moan that rips its way out of your throat as the orgasm builds, your skin tingling and hot and your core clenching around his shaft. He pulls away, taking in a strangled breath when you contract your muscles around him, giving you a heatless glare to your vicious grin. You tug his hair again playfully and he groans so deeply, you can feel it rumble through him.

“Losing energy already?” you tease, “That’s no good.”

He shifts his position, leaving one arm wrapped around your waist as he fucks you, the other reaching down to rub slow, steady swirls over you clit. He smirks when you let out a keening sound, nails digging into his shoulders again, scrambling for purchase when heat floods down your spine like a wildfire.

You scream as you come, skin pricking and oversensitive from the sudden wash of hormones, tears gathering in your eyes at the rush it gave.

Stinger sinks his teeth into your shoulder as his hips stutter their last into yours and he spills his seed into you. He pulls out almost immediately, catching you in his arms as he carried you bridal style to the bed, your panties and skirt finally slipping off from where they caught on your ankles.

He throws you on the bed with a grin and you laugh as you’re caught in the soft padding of the mattress and comforter alike, not noticing the bed dipping again as Stinger climbs on to it.

Stinger lets his hand glide up your calf, a light touch that sends sparks of something up your spine again.

“I hope you aren’t losing energy.” He says, setting on his knees between your legs, littering small kisses on the inside of your knee. “That’s no good.”

You hum in agreement. “We have this room for an entire night.” You agree, “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Stinger traces his index finger in random patterns on the back of your thigh and while it tickles, the look on his face steals whatever breath you would have used to laugh.

“Let’s make good use of it, shall we?” he suggests with a smirk and you crook a finger at him, ready to do exactly as he said.

Chapter Text

Some asshole had pulled the fire alarm.
Either that or there was an actual fire.
You didn’t really care, you were just angry and panicked because holy shit how were you supposed to get everything out of your apartment this shit cost a fortune to a university student.
You rushed around your apartment, a bathrobe thrown on haphazardly and flip flops nigh falling off your feet. Wrapping your laptop in some dry clothing, you stuffed the precious machine into a backpack, grabbing important trinkets from around your apartment while trying to dodge the water from the sprinklers. A doomed endeavor, but you tried. Having gathered as much as you could carry in your school bag, you rushed out of your apartment, seeing all of your neighbors in different stages of evacuation. Skirting around one or two people, you made it to the stairwell with little trouble and were soon out on the street. The bright red of the fire trucks drew your eyes first, and soon a yellow-clad fireman came up to you and asked if you were alright, et cetera, et cetera. He finally escorted you to a group of other residents and you found out you were all to wait until they could fix the sprinkler system.
You couldn’t believe it. You had a full day of classes tomorrow and no sleep would wreck your studies.
You sighed, clutching your backpack close as you watched the people mill about. Being a reclusive, ever busy university student, you had never really gotten to know your fellow apartment residents. This opportunity was a rare one so you took the chance to get a look at everyone.
Okay, well, it was just one person your eyes were drawn too, and that was because he was wearing only boxers and fuzzy slippers. There seemed to be a never-ending expanse of smooth skin, thinly covering muscles so well defined you almost swooned. The mystery man had luscious, thick hair (it was nicer than yours, if you were being honest with yourself) and the water dripping down that finely muscled back was . . . hypnotizing, to say the least.
Snap out of it, you thought, wiping your face dry. From drool or from water, you couldn’t tell.
In hindsight, the only reason you had approached him was because you were sleep deprived. Really, really sleep deprived. Maybe having a full class schedule wasn’t your best move.
“Hey, are you alright?” you asked as you got close, watching him shiver. It was a rather chilly night, and being soaked to the bone and practically naked was no help – not to him anyways. “Didn’t the firemen give you a blanket?”
He turned around and sweet baby jesus those were the prettiest eyes you had ever seen. He smiled brilliantly, near blinding you with how pure it was.
“Oh no, I don’t need it. I gave it to the family over there; the kids were crying.”
Oh no was right, he was hot and he was nice. You were half in love already.
“Well, that won’t do. Here,” you set down your back pack and shrugged off your bathrobe, thanking any and all deities that you had actually worn semi-decent pajamas tonight. “Take this. It’s a bit wet on the outside, but it’s still pretty dry on the inside.” You pressed the bathrobe into his chest.
“I couldn’t!” he protested, hands up and trembling with cold. “It’s yours, so you should use it.”
“But you need it more than I do. I can’t let my neighbor freeze out here.” He opened his mouth to protest again. “Either you wear it or hold it, because I’m certainly not putting it back on again.” His mouth shut with an audible clack and he smiled warmly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling and someone just shoot me in the face he’s so cute! Your thoughts whirled around in more or less the same pattern, eyes drinking up the sight of him shrugging on your bathrobe, muscles gliding smoothly and the glistening of the water did ridiculous things to you.
“So . . .” he said, and your eyes snapped back up to meet his laughing eyes. Blushing fiercely at being caught staring, you elected to ignore your lapse in attention and gave him a bright smile, trying to regain your proverbial footing.
“So . . .” you echoed, “What floor are you?” you asked. “I’m Room 420 and - don’t you laugh.”Everyone always laughed when they heard your room number.
“I’m sorry.” He said, trying to stifle a grin and look properly ashamed. “I live in 314. One floor below you.”
“Ah.” You sighed, although it meant nothing to you. “Must be really easy to carry groceries upstairs.”
He snickered, “I guess? I had never really thought about it.”
You snorted. “At least there’s an elevator. I went up the stairs once and my arms still hurt just thinking about it.”
“Four stories does seem exhausting.” He says, rubbing his arms through your bathrobe.
“And for a malnourished university student? Forget it.” You scoffed, and a particularly sharp wind swept through the area. You shivered. “Hey, look, I think they’re done. Oh man, I hope my clothes are still alright.” You gasped, startling the man beside you. “I forgot my phone charger!” You yelled and shot off like a rocket.
“Wait miss! Your bag-!”
But you were gone, leaving the beautiful alone with your bathrobe and your backpack. He heaved a sigh, running his hand through his wet hair.
“I didn’t even get her name.” he huffed, picking up the backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. A small smile made it’s way onto his face. “Room 420, was it?”
He headed back to the building.

Chapter Text

Sneaking into the high security building was laughably easy. The hired security company had sealed off the outside access to the air ducts, but had left only one security guard at the service entrance. It required a different outfit from your normal uniform, but the sinfully tight dress worked wonders on hot blooded males.

And so did a washcloth drenched in chloroform, when you had shoved it over his mouth after kissing him to breathlessness.

You felt a bit bad for it, honestly. The guard was young and kinda cute, but you had a target and failing at a job was not something you did. Period.

Getting to the top of the high rise wasn’t easy, but those fools of security guards left the inside air ducts wide open. It was suspicious of course, but it was too convenient to pass up. Kicking the metal guard off the air duct, you slid into the room with well-practiced ease. And there, sitting primly on a pedestal shrouded in glass, was your prize.
A beautifully wrought necklace of gold and diamonds sat, illuminated by painfully bright LED lights. The person who commissioned you to steal the necklace had paid you more than the damn thing was worth, but you took the money and the challenge. Besides, you thought, trailing gloved fingers on the pillar to search for a weakness, you might be able to see your playmate in these little games.

The S-rank hero Zombieman had been assigned to stop you and so far it was going badly.

For him.

He was averse to going full out on a defenseless female and you were averse to going to jail; the combination of which normally resulting in you being able to escape custody with little if any injuries and whatever object your target was. Though his interference had impeded your work, you had to admire him for being able to shrug off the criticisms and still endeavor to capture you.

Prying open the side of the pillar, you quickly disconnected two wires, hearing the hiss and click of the glass releasing, before you allowed yourself a grin in victory. Carefully lifting the necklace out of the box, you clipped the heavy thing on – to keep it safe, of course – before reinstalling the wires.

THEN the alarm went off.

“Damn.” You said, before throwing yourself forward, barely missing the metal spikes the shot suddenly up from the ground, creating a cage around the pillar and the place you were just in. There was shouting at the door, the footsteps of guards rushing for the door painfully obvious.

“Damn!” You slid into the air ducts again, scrambling through the tight maze of metal before kicking the grate out in a random hallway, dropping from the ceiling onto the floor

. . . Aaaand in front of the hero you were trying to avoid.

Upon noticing him – fucking attractive heroes everywhere – your mind raced to figure out the best reaction to his appearance.

You couldn’t best him in a physical fight, but neither could you just give up escaping him. You need to keep him distracted, to wait for a chance to slip away. If you could draw out the encounter until the other guards arrived, you could use the chaos to escape, but it would be risky.

Well, the job was risky anyways. Might as well chance it.

“Why Zombieman dearest.” You say, saccharine sweet, while standing and smoothing the fabric of your dress. “What a coincidence to meet you here.”

“Thief.” He greeted, nodding at you while frowning sternly. “We need to talk about this- occupation of yours.” You tried your best to look innocent – a futile gesture with the evidence of your crime literally hanging around your neck.

“Who, little old me?” You sauntered up to him, fluttering your lashes in a truly sloppy move of seduction before grabbing onto his well-muscled forearm to peer up at him through your lashes. “Think you could let it go this one time?”

Was it a trick of the light, or was that a blush?

“You must stop this stealing of yours.” Zombieman said, forging on, a stern expression on his face that would make a lesser person cower. “I do not wish to arrest you, but I will if you do not cease your actions immediately.”

You took a step back, smiling slightly at him. “No can do, dearie.” You said, “A girl’s gotta make a living somehow, right?”

“You can do so legally.” He insisted.

You laughed, “Yeah, I should become a banker. Then I can steal money from people legally.”

Zombieman was not amused.

The clattering of footsteps – god, what were they wearing, riot gear? – interrupted you. It was the chance you were waiting for. Turning on your heel, you tensed your muscles for the jump back into the air ducts when an arm wound it’s way around your waist and the world spun and went from light to dark. By the time your regain your sense of balance (how could that man move so fast?), you were pressed almost completely against Zombieman’s body, trapped between his body and the wall of a janitor’s closet.

There was silence as the guards tramped past the door, shouting orders and exclaiming over the knocked out grate before leaving.

You couldn’t help making the quip: “Most guys buy me dinner before we reach this stage.”

It was too dark to make out the more definite features of the hero, but you were suitably certain that Zombieman had smiled.

“I had not finished trying to convince you.” He muttered, voice low in case of stragglers.

The giggle rippled it’s way out before you could stop it. “So your solution was to squeeze into a closet?” With every breath you took, you could feel your chest press against his – soft fat meeting hard muscle. It was intimate, arousing, and the narrow quarters only heightened the tension.

“There were . . . extenuating circumstances.” He said, trying to shift away as if trying to physically move away from the blame. His legs brushed yours and you pulled one away, gently brushing against his groin – quite on accident – but the way he jolted gave you a wicked idea.

“How about this?” you said, reaching out for him to gently trail your fingers up his impressive arms. “You’ll let me go without a lecture and with my prize.” You draw your free leg up the side of his and can feel the tremble that goes through him. “And I’ll give you a reward, hm?”Leaning forward, you wound your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips against his pulse.

He breathed in sharply and you knew you had won.

It was too dark to see what you were doing and had to operate by touch alone. It was almost more arousing that way. The darkness, the almost anonymity, the raw sensation of skin against skin . . . it was stimulating, to say the least. You felt his hands press bruises into your hips, pushing the dress up to your waist and tugging on the elastic of your underwear before it literally snapped from his tugging. You were just as bad, yanking at the buttons on his pants to tug them off, eager to wrap your fingers around his length. When your hands found their goal, the following groan from him rumbled in his chest, so loud that you could feel it shake your bones. His forehead met your collarbone, and you could feel his hot breath fanning across your flesh, feeling the slick between your thighs increase with each tortured breath drawn in. He trailed a hand down to your entrance, drawing a finger through the gathering slick, rubbing a steady motion before circling suddenly around your clit and making you bite down on your lip to muffle your moan. Lightning raced up your spine as he continued to massage the ball of nerves, and your hands stuttered from where they were stroking Zombieman’s cock to fullness. He pulled his hand away and you couldn’t have stopped the whimper if you had tried.

“Shhh . . .” he murmured, pressing kisses to the curve of your neck. “We have to be quiet.”

“Bite me.” You whispered back, giving a gentle squeeze to his dick in retaliation.

“If you insist.” He said, nipping at your skin playfully, drawing chuckles from you again at the tickling sensation, before he caught your lips with his. Licking his way into your mouth, you let him take the lead and graciously allow him to memorize the feel of your mouth.

Zombieman let both of his hands wander down the curve of your ass, before his fingers dug into the skin and lifted you. It was instinct to let your arms come up and wrap again around his shoulders, to fold your legs over the curve of his hipbones and hold yourself there as he guided his tip into you.

The first feel of him entering you was nothing short of heavenly.

Zombieman muffled your groan with his kiss as he continued to slide into you, as if he were trying to keep the sound to himself. He gave you a brief moment to adjust before he rocked his hips, drawing out slightly only to push back in. As he builds speed, it’s a struggle to remember to keep quiet, especially with the way he angles his hips just so to make stars burst before your eyes.

It doesn’t surprise you that he comes first – when he pulls out suddenly and you hear him groan it’s painfully obvious that he’s finished – and you don’t really begrudge him that he doesn’t get you off too. It was a deal anyways: his pleasure for your release.

You straighten your dress, getting ready to leave, when you feel his hands on your hips again.

“Sorry.” He mutters, “I didn’t mean to come first.”

“It’s alright.” You smile at him, though it’s so dark he probably couldn’t see it. “I don’t mind-” Your words cut off into a moan when his fingers find your clit again and begin a ruthless attack, rubbing circles and senseless patterns around it, sending sparks through your body. With his other hand, he massages one breast while his tongue gives attention to the nipple of the other. The combined stimulation sends shudders down your spine, the heat from the fucking before returning to you and making you tremble with the intensity of it.

The orgasm breaks over you in a tidal wave of endorphins and you don’t realize your knees have given out until Zombieman helps right you again.

“That good?” he asked, no small amount of pride tingeing his voice.

You feel the blush rise to your cheeks, but you refuse to respond. He chuckles at the silence and peppers more kisses on your collarbone, letting the moment linger as his hands resume tracing up your side.

“I need to go.” You say, interrupting his explorations as you grip his wrists.

He hums in response, pulling away (and you don’t miss the loss of his body on yours, no way) to crack the janitor’s door open and peek out.

“It’s clear.” He says, and exits and you follow, stretching from the cramped quarters and the physical activity you had indulged in. You can practically feel Zombieman’s eyes on you as he falls silent, tracing your form with his gaze.

“I can take the air ducts out right?” you ask, looking up at the ceiling you had dropped in from.

“Yes, they probably think you’re gone now.” He steps up from behind you, kneeling with his hands braced to propel you up, an unexpected but sweet gesture.

“What a gentleman.” You say, more mocking than anything, but you smile and he seems not to notice the tone. You take his offer before he could rescind it, using him as a jumping board to get back into the air ducts.

“I’ll really arrest you next time.” He says, before you begin your tedious journey through the air ducts.

You can’t help leaning over the entrance to look at him. “With handcuffs and everything?”

His brow wrinkles at the question. “Presumably, yes.” He answers.

You smirk, “Kinky.”

His jaw drops and you begin your trek before he can respond.



What do you know? You think, finally exiting the building. Seems like the guy can blush after all.

Chapter Text

It starts – as most things do with him – with a fight.

You strode out onto the flat field that Metal Bat had scouted out years ago as the setting for your annual tradition of beating the shit out of each other. Or wait, “testing the other’s current skill level”, yeah, that was the more PC term. You breathed in the scent of trampled grass and dry ground, stretching out your arms as far as you could, as if you were getting ready to hug the sky.

“Knock off that shoujo shit.” Metal Bat growled from behind you. Turning around, you faced your long time friend and rival, shooting him a grin. He scowled back at you, wrapping a length of bandage around his hands and knuckles in a mirror image of what covered your own hands.

“Come on Batty boy.” You teased, “What’s taking so long?”

“Unlike some people-” the S-class hero growled, “I’m not used to stripping and dressing so easily.”

The jab was paltry and overused and you made an exaggerated shrug to cover the fact it stung a bit.

“It’s part of the job.” You say as Metal Bat finally puts on the padded gloves.

“As per usual, the first who’s pinned, knocked out, or yields loses.” You say, taking a ready stance.

“Prepare to lose then.” Metal Bat snapped and immediately lunged.

As someone who was used to a mid range weapon, he vastly misjudged the power he needed to hit and you were able to dodge around his punch easily, hopping backwards and out of range while keeping your guard up. Metal Bat lunched forward again, swinging his fist in a right hook, then a left hook, trying to catch the side of your face.

It was too easy to tease him, letting the strands of your hair brush against his glove as you just barely avoided his hits.

“Wow, I can’t believe you got worse over the year.” You teased, “I thought it was impossible for you to get worse-!”

The unexpected flash of Metal Bat’s leg caught you in the side of the head and you went flying. Rolling with the movement when you landed, you glared at the S-class hero now giving you a cocky smirk.

“Wow,” he said, “I can’t believe you got worse over the year.” He sneered, settling back into a guard position.

You flexed your jaw, hesitantly testing it for a break, before spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“Seems like old dogs can learn new tricks.” Metal Bat had never used a kick so efficiently before. He must had been training in hand to hand combat instead of using that god awful bat all the time.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“Guess it’s time to get serious, huh?”

As Metal Bat charges, you slide forward, bringing your arm up to deflect Metal Bat’s wild right hook while using your other hand to jab him in the solar plexus. Hearing the wind rush out of his lungs, you give him no time to recover before smashing the back of your fist into his side, just under his ribs. You sense the punch before it hits you and spin around Metal Bat before his fist makes contact. Unbalanced, it’s easy to shove him over.

You giggle as he hits the ground and he glares at you in turn, though the effect is ruined at the bright blush spreading across his features.

Skipping back a few steps, you resume a ready position, crooking a finger at Metal Bat, challenging him.

Come at me

He stands, brushing himself off and mirrors your position, not moving an inch.

You grin.

Dashing forward, you dodge under Metal Bat’s jab, sliding like a baseball player to skid on the ground, hitting his back ankle with your foot to stop your movement and hooking your other foot behind his knee, yanking him down to the ground with you.

He fell in a chaotic windmill of limbs, something that you added to as you moved to pin him down. Sitting squarely on his stomach with a hand around his neck, you spared an elated grin at your apparent victory, just waiting for him to yield.

He grinned back.

You had just enough time to register suspicion when he jerked his hips, using the motion to displace you and flip it around so you were pinned against the ground, back aching in pain from the impact, with his body pinning yours down easily. His shins pinned your thighs down, knees on either side of your hips, and while one hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other hand was laid gently on your throat.

“Dammit!” you muttered and wiggled underneath him for any give. There was none. He grinned at you.

“Looks like it’s my win.” He said, keeping his balance as your strained your muscles for any sort of loosening of his grip.

“You wish.” You arch your back, pulling your arms in while yanking your legs open. The little upset was all you needed. Heaving all your weight to the side, you managed to rock him off, quickly scrambling on top of him.

Panting heavily, you sit on his torso, as you pin his arms with your hands and knees – finally having fully pinned him down despite the way he throws his weight from side to side, futilely trying to throw you as you keep adjusting with the motion to keep him pinned.

He settles, an embarrassed flush rising to his face again.

“Looks like it’s my win.” You grin cheekily.

Metal Bat struggled for a few more seconds then – “Fine. I’ll give up, but only if you kiss me first.” The look in his eye says it all: he didn’t think you would actually do it.

Well, looks like this asshole didn’t know you as well as he thought he did.

You lean in, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and softly prying his lips apart with your own. Shocked as he was, it was almost laughable how quickly he began to whimper as your traced his mouth with your tongue. You pull away, greatly entertained to hear him whine at the loss.

At the sudden flush in his face, it was obviously a sound that he didn’t mean to let out.

“Give up now?” you ask sweetly.

He grins back, blushing pink but looking thrilled despite it.

“Kiss me again and I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Text

You hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks.
Not that you minded – shut up Rui! – but it was kind of concerning.
“We should go to the Bronze today.” You suggest to her, trying to distract her from her teasing with the offer of a nightclub. For such an angelic person, Rui was avid about nightclubs and dancing. Rui’s face lights up immediately at the suggestion.
“Really? Yes!” Rui throws her arms around your neck in a hug before pulling away to look at you sternly. “Promise to wear something nice this time.”
You make an expression of mock-offense. “I’ll have you know those were my nicest pair of sweatpants.”
“No one goes to a nightclub in sweatpants, you heathen-” Rui begins and is cut off when your boss glares the two of you into silence.
“Something nice.” Rui hisses at you.

Which is why you’re in the newest nightclub, the Bronze, in a black number nearing the end of it’s days in your closet because goddamn it got tight. For the third time that night, you tug at the hem of the dress, trying to lay it over the bottom half of your thighs, thankful that you decided to wear leggings, albeit the old garter pair you had instead of the pull ons. (“It’s sexier.” Rui insisted, and you had let it slide.)
“Hey Rui, where do you – and she’s gone.”
Folding your arms, you aren’t all too surprised at Rui’s slip. She often disappears into the crowds to dance or to pick up guys – sometimes for her, more often for you. Shrugging off concern, you make your way over to the bar, eager to peruse the selection of alcohol they had.
Fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas here you come.

You’re about two drinks in (three being your normal limit) when Rui finds you, eyes sparking bright when she spots you at the bar, alone.
“I found the perfect guy for you.” She says and the face of a certain hero flashes across your eyes before you snort in laughter at her exclamation.
“More perfect than the last guy you said was perfect for me?” you tease and Rui flashes her own smile and a wink before tugging you out to the dance floor, tugging you the sea of people despite the push and pull of the crowd. She does a strange tug-twist and – already drunken and off balance – you go flying into someone.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” You say, turning around to apologize, glancing swiftly up at his face to see if he was angry. “I didn’t mean-”
That face.
You look back up and feel your jaw drop at the sight of Sweet Mask.
On the dance floor, in the Bronze.
“Are you insane?” hisses out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Someone could recognize you!”
It’s honestly a miracle he can hear you over the loud music and the crush of bodies. As the beat hitches, you latch onto his forearm, trying to keep steady as the crowd sways as one.
Sweet Mask merely grins, tugging you close and tucking you against his chest, practically curling around you to whisper in your ear.
“A little birdy told me that you would be here.”
You twist in his arms, frowning up at him. “Birdy? No one knew I’d be here but-” Realization flashes like lightning. “Rui! She set this up didn’t she? She’s always pulling shit like this, trying to set me up.”
Something dark flashes across Sweet Mask’s face and he pulls you to the side, moving with liquid grace through the crowd like it was nothing. He ushers the two of you into a small corner, where hearing is slightly easier.
“Always trying to set you up?” he asks, and normally you’d clam up about it, embarrassed, but he looks so genuinely curious and perhaps it’s been annoying you for a bit and you had a bit more alcohol than you meant because it all begins to pour from your mouth.
“Yeah, she tries it whenever we go out anywhere.” You say, “Not that it ever works, since most guys she brings up are horribly boring I mean, they don’t really talk about anything interesting and kiss like freaking wet noodles.”
“Kiss like wet noodles?” Sweet Mask echoes and you forge on, ignorant of the dark look on his face.
“I mean, I didn’t expect much but that’s honestly ridiculous. I know I don’t have that much experience with kissing or whatever, but I know how to judge good from bad.”
“Maybe you need more experience.”
“Yeah, maybe I do.”
“I could help.”
“Oh sure- wait, what?”
You had just enough time to see the smirk on his face before he’s kissing you.
It’s wet and bruising and really, really fucking hot.
He pries your mouth open with hardly any effort, plundering your mouth greedily, trying to cover every bit of you available with his own presence.
That includes the way his hands tighten over your hips, dragging your body close enough to him that your front is a firebrand, melting you with the heat.
He slowly pulls away, licking traces of saliva off your lips as you pant at the intensity of the kiss.
“Was that good practice?”
You’re too addled to think of something to say.
He grins. “More seems to be necessary.”
Oh, you know what you want to say to that.
“Yes please.”

You don’t know how in the world you managed to get out of club and into a hotel room without being noticed or caught, but you assume that Sweet Mask has had a while to learn how to evade paparazzi and stalker fans well enough by now.
Plus it’s kind of hard to think about stuff like that when his hands have been tickling the insides of your thighs for a while, brushing against your core without actually entering you.
The door’s barely had time to shut and lock behind you before he’s pushing you down on the bed, climbing over you to kiss down your neck, biting purple bruises into your skin followed by running his tongue over it to soothe – something sharp and erotic followed by something warm and rough and you can feel your core muscles clenching around something not there.
Your eyes slip shut as you whine, desperate and needy, but utterly unrepentant.
“I got you.” Sweet Mask whispers, hips jolting into yours, pressing his bulge right up against your entrance and you can feel the wetness from your underwear slicking against his sinfully tight leather pants. He grinds again and you hiss, back arching off the bed and hands clawing at the blankets in desperation.
“Someone’s needy.” He says and chuckles when you curse at him.
“Clothes off.” You demand and he chuckles.
You glare and it’s rather ineffectual from the slow smirk Sweet Mask gives you that heats you core something fierce. His fingers brush against the garters on your legs.
“I rather like these on you.”
You consider it.
“Keep the leather pants on then.”
Sweet Mask takes off his shirt in one fluid movement and you figure that’s probably the last intelligible thing you’re going to say all night because his muscles- fuck.
Well, that’s the idea anyways.
Sweet Mask undoes the top button to his pants and raises his eyebrows at you, a silent request to strip.
You smile at him and lay still, an open invitation for him to do the honors. He grins back and promptly rips the dress off, leaving the black cloth in shreds.
“Hey!” You begin to sit up in protest, hardly noticing when he unhooks your bra, taking it off before nudging you back down. “What am I supposed to wear after this?”
Sweet Mask kisses his way down your chest and you place your hands on his shoulders to push him away before he grinds again and you promptly forget what you were upset about.
He then rips away your underwear.
You rake your nails up his back in return, though all that does is send a shudder through him.
“Seriously, what the fuck? That was actually a nice pair.”
“I’ll get you something to wear tomorrow morning.” He says, dismissing the topic by reaching into his back pocket to pull out a familiar silver packet. You glance down at his erection, swallowing down the flood of saliva at the sight of it. Made sense that the hottest hero would have just a perfect of a dick to go with him. Noticing you watching, Sweet Mask gives himself a few pumps of the hand, smearing the precum across his dick.
“In me.” You gasp, “Now.”
He slides the condom on in a way that bespoke practice and slides into you as if he belonged there. The stretch was agonizing and wonderful and overfull and perfect and you groan out.
“Patience babe, patience.” He says, thrusting shallowly to allow you to adjust to his girth. “I’ll be fucking you hard enough that your body can’t forget me. I’ll fuck you until you can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t do anything but take my cock, how does that sound?”
You arch your back, taking him in deeper, and hope that that speaks for itself.
He makes a sound between a groan and a laugh and locks his hands around your hips and thrusts.
It’s rough and hard and you feel every single inch of him in your body and he drives himself into you over and over again, rocking the bed with the force of his thrusts. You know you’re moaning with each movement, with each time he sheathes himself so fully inside you that you can taste him in the back of your throat.
He doesn’t even have to touch your clit before you come, so breathless with the intensity of it that you can’t even vocalize the flood of heat that overtakes your body, making your toes curl and your back arc in response to it.
He pulls out slowly and it’s only then you notice the tears streaming down your face.
“This wasn’t part of the plan.” He says, and you feel the roughness of a tongue as he licks the saltwater from your cheeks.
You reach up to wind your arms around his neck, ready to pull him in for a kiss before-
You see his eyes dash to the side and you begin to have an inkling that you might have been played.
“Oh my god, you and Rui teamed up to do this didn’t you?”
He doesn’t look at all guilty or abashed by it, but neither does he deny it.
You growl, “You bastard-”
Sweet Mask brushes a finger across your clit and lightning flashes across your eyes, turning your curse into a gasp. Eye lighting at the weakness, he strokes again.
“This isn’t over asshole.” You say, clutching at the sheets again as he circles a finger around the bundle of nerves.
“It most definitely is not.” He agrees, nudging your legs apart for better access.
And it wasn’t.
(Until the next morning, at least.)

Chapter Text

The post-mission adrenaline was, in your humble opinion, the worst.

Your hands would shake for hours after the mission ended, and you trembled like a newborn deer when you tried to walk. At first, you had thought it was anxiety leftover from the pre-mission jitters you still got, three years after becoming a hero. It was only until recently that you realized it was your body telling you that you still had energy to use up.

Which is how you ended up striking your deal with Zombieman.

When you first realized that it was excess energy, you had taken to bringing a vibrator with you for an after mission orgasm. It helped you relax and since you knew which rooms had cameras and which ones didn’t, it made it easy to get away with. Then one day Zombieman entered the room and literally caught you with your pants down. There was a moment of silence before promptly offered his services. You hadn’t really imagined the cool, aloof S-class hero to be a kinky fucker, but that’s exactly what he turned out to be – fond of humiliation and using filthy words and while that didn’t get you going as much as, say, his leather jacket, it was still hot enough for you to enjoy the sessions.

Pondering this and walking deeper into the dark, labyrinthine hallways of HQ, it wasn’t long before you noticed the sound of heavy shoes following you, snapping you of your reminiscing. Grinning, you picked up your pace, keeping your strides long and fluid in a half-hearted attempt to outrun the man following you. It was only a couple of seconds later that you felt a hand close over your arm, drawing you back and practically slamming you into the wall.

You didn’t have a moment to catch your breath before Zombieman was kissing you, merciless as he forced your mouth open with his tongue and drunk in the sound of your moans. Recovering, you wound your arm around his neck, pulling him close and returning the kiss with equal ferocity.

Then you shoved him away.

Shocked, Zombieman staggered a few steps back and growled when he saw your impish smile.

“You slut.” He said, eyes narrowed, and a small thrill of excitement ran through you as he stepped forward again, tangling one hand in your hair while the other worked on the buttons of your pants.

“You left before the meeting ended.” He said, pulling your hair so you had no choice but to expose your neck to his mouth, shuddering as his teeth made bruises there. “You weren’t ready for me when I wanted you.  You fucking left.”

You gasped out a laugh as his fingers made their way into your panties, brushing roughly against your clit as he rolled the ball of nerves underneath his fingers.

“I thought you might like-” it was hard to speak with him doing that “-might like a more private setting before we-”A finger thrust itself into your core and your words were cut short by the starburst of light you saw behind your eyes.

Zombieman snorted, sucking another hickey on your collar bone.

“I don’t care.” He said, “They’d probably enjoy seeing a slut like you take my cock. Watch you beg for it, for me to come in you and claim you as mine.” He pushed another finger in to accentuate his words and you couldn’t manage anything but a desperate gasp, clawing at the leather coat he wore with no effect.  “I think you’d enjoy that too, wouldn’t you?”

You pretended that didn’t turn you on as much as it did, but from the smirk on his face as more slick covered his hand exposed the charade.

Pulling his hand away, he tugged your hair – making your scalp prick with dim pain – before he made you turn to face the wall, ass out and back curved up to compensate for his hand pulling at your hair. Zombieman’s hand curves down your ass, before squeezing.

“Do you wear these pants on purpose?” he asks, kneading the flesh. “Trying to tempt more people to fuck with your ass on display?” He chuckles, warm and low, grinding his erection against you. Your breath catches in your throat, mouth salivating at the thought of him finally driving his cock into you after so long.

“Hurry.” You urge, trying to grind back onto him. The action earns you a harsh tug of the hair and you hiss out your pain.

“We go at my pace, remember?” he says, trying to assert his authority, but you can hear him fumbling for the catches on his own pants.  You smirk.

“Please.” You say, voice straddling the line between begging and teasing. “I need your cock in me. I need you to fill me up and fuck me and come in me, my pussy’s so wet, I need you-”

It gets the reaction you want.

He swears loudly, and yanks the fabric of your pants down to expose your core to the cool air for barely a moment before he begins to push in. You can’t tell who groans – you or him? Probably both, if you think on it.

Zombieman’s hand tightens in your hair, drawing your head back to make your body arch more as he slides in and out of you with building speed.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me. Did you miss my cock that much?”

Yes.” You groan out, as his cock brushes against that sweet spot in you. “There, yes, oh my god, yes-”

You don’t even notice when Zombieman’s free hand snakes it’s way to your front, and the sudden touch on your clit draws a loud cry from you before you can stop it.

“So loud.” He chastises, thrusting in again particularly hard. “It’s almost like you want someone to find us.” He tugs your hair hard enough that your eyes start to water, but the feel of his cock in you is so good you don’t even mind. Zombieman rolls your clit again, alternating in fast, small circles and long, slow lines that drags fire through your very veins.

“So good.” He murmurs, “You feel so good.”

“I’m c-close-!” you pant, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm begins to swell. And then he’s pulling out of you and forcing you onto your knees so quickly your head spins. Already accustomed to the sudden movements he likes to pull during sex, it doesn’t take you long to open your mouth for him. Zombieman groans as he pushes his cock into your mouth and the taste of your own juices on him is kind of weird, but not enough to turn you off. Your hands immediately go to your pants, one to stroke your clit and the other to fill the space his cock left behind. You keep your mouth open and jaw loose, letting him thrust shallowly into your mouth, as you pleasure yourself.

You reach your peak before him, body shuddering as you orgasm overtakes and you moan around his cock as white lights burst behind your eyelids. Your eyes flutter open to see a look of desperation on his face, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip and face flushed.

“Swallow me.” He says, and you press your tongue against the head of his dick and he comes with a strangled shout. You swallow his come quickly enough so you don’t have to taste it, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. By the time you’ve managed to stagger your way to your feet, Zombieman already looks presentable, like he didn’t just have sex in the middle of a hallway. You wince, thinking about how you must look, and concern flashes through his eyes for a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, reaching an arm out to steady you as he begins to straighten out your clothes.

“No, I just can’t- uh- it’s just a little hard to walk.”

Which was code for ‘you fucked me so hard I can barely feel my legs’.

A smug little smirk made its way onto his face and, with no warning, he scooped you up into his arms.

“What the fuck man!” You struggled for moment before giving up and settling into his arms. After all, how many times can a girl say she’s been princess-carried by an S-class hero?

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks suddenly.

You quirk an eyebrow in confusion, but answer him nonetheless. “Yeah, actually, I have the whole weekend free.”


Oh, you know where this is going.

“Your place or mine?” you ask.

“I have some toys at mine that I want to try.” The hungry look in his eyes makes your stomach swoop and you can’t help but lick your lips.

“Can’t wait.” You quipped.

“You won’t have to.”

Chapter Text

"Sonic," you say, adjusting the zoom on the incredibly high tech binoculars you're using, "What the hell are you doing?"

The ninja positioned behind you doesn't feel the need to answer, as he is much more preoccupied with running his hands over your ass in slow, reverent, and incredibly distracting strokes. This mission was a simple stakeout, something that suited you fine, but made Sonic antsy, apparently. You had told him he didn't need to go with you, but he was oddly insistent and you're getting the faint inkling that now you know why. You had set up on the top of a high rise building, the lights of the city and the full moon making your set up easy. From there, you let Sonic do . . . whatever the hell he usually did, as you settled down on your hands and knees to take a peek at that night's target. You're refocusing the binoculars when his finger traces down the curve of your ass, drawing up between the lips of your vulva that makes you draw in a gasp, a jolt racing up your spine at the unexpected touch.

"What the hell!" You pull away from the tech and make to turn around when Sonic's hand on the back of your neck stops you.

"Now, now," he says, his voice low by your ear, "We're still on mission remember?" Irritation flashes quick through you and you snarl with enough fury to make lesser men tremble. Unfortunately for you, this is Speed of Sound Sonic and he is not a lesser man in any way shape of form. In fact, your snarl seems to amuse him, if his chuckle is anything to go by and he presses his hips forward enough that you can feel the outline of his cock press against your ass. What an asshole. There was a reason you didn't take missions with him often and this was precisely why. Now, after a good kill, you weren't averse to a good fuck afterwards, but Sonic always had to do something to make it weird. Last time was - you shuddered - no worth remembering. You don't know why you ever slept with him in the first place. In honestly, whatever the hell he was doing now was rather tame. A brief assessment later and you decided you could deal.

"Whatever," you tell him, "But if you make me drop these binoculars, I'm castrating you."

"I do so love your dirty talk," Sonic says, voice dry as he begins to rub himself between the cleft of your ass. The barrier of clothing is still in the way, so you do you best to ignore him and you focus in on the target. The business man was steadily working his way towards a monopoly and you and Sonic had been hired to make the assassination look like an accident. This meant that you had to keep meticulous track of his daily life which included-

"Fuck!" Sonic pressed hard and sudden against your clit through your clothes, with the pinpoint accuracy and speed he was known for, and you could feel the shiver wrack it's way up your body.

"What the fuck Sonic?"

"You're too tense-" he began.

"Suck a cock!" The interjection went ignored.

"-let me help you relax." There was the sound of a blade unsheathing and the lightest pinpoint of pressure against your clit before it dragged it's way up and up and up and- Cut a hole through your pants. "Commando?" Sonic asked, gloved fingers circling around your now exposed entrance. "Daring."

"I wear skin tight leather dickwad," you pant out, hand locked around your binoculars as a lifeline as you brace yourself on your forearms, trying to ignore the way his touch floods your body with warmth. "There's no room for oh." The breathy moan is drawn from you without your permission as Sonic's ministrations draw enough slick from you body so that two of his gloved fingers can slip their way inside of you. He rubs your front walls with his fore and middle fingers as his thumb goes circles around your clit. Unbidden, you feel your knees slide open more - as much as an invitation he would get from you.

"I knew you'd come around," The cockiness in his voice is nearly enough to make you want to stop this but then his hand removes itself and his mouth replaces it and you cry out before you can stop yourself as his tongue slides into you. Right, here was the reason you slept with him. He ate pussy like no one's business. You moan wantonly as he alternates long, slow licks and short flickers against your clit, taking time every once in a while to fuck his tongue into you. Pressure begins to build in you and you don't resist the urge to rock back onto his face, figuring that since he started it, he could deal with what happened during.

Then he pulls away.

"That's enough for now," he says and you very nearly sob. Pride is the only thing that keeps your mouth locked tight around the embarrassing whine you're tempted to let out.



You were so fucking close.

This was so not fucking fair.

And it would not end like that on your watch.

"Let me cum and I'll let you raw me." you barter, hoping that it doesn't sound like the needy begging you think it does.

The sound of a zipper is all the answer you get and the hot, heavy cock you've felt before pushes into you with no hesitation. Both you and Sonic groan with relief and he doesn't waste a second as he begins to set a fast pace, rocking in and out of you with firm strokes. You gasp, binoculars falling abandoned to the floor as he hauls you up so that you're sitting on his cock with you back pressed against his front. His cock reaches even deeper in you now and you choke on whatever curse you were about to utter as his strong legs support both of you, bouncing you on his cock with ease. One of your hands reaches back to tangle itself in his hair as the other undoes the front zipper on your suit, dragging the metal down so that you can reach your nipples to play with. 

"Faster," you pant, hand gripping his hair tighter as your fingers pinch and rub the nipple you have in hand. "Harder. Sonic. Sonic, make me scream."

Sonic grunts in acknowledgement, one arm securing itself around your middle and the other snaking down to play with your clit as you rock up and down on his lap. His mouth is busy on your neck, leaving hot, wet, sloppy kisses on the soft skin exposed there. You heart begins to thunder in your ears and you tilt you head back onto Sonic's shoulder, breath coming in short pants, feeling heat and lightning rush through your trembling limbs. Sonic's mouth moves to nibble lightly on your earlobe and with a voice low and husky from disuse and rough grunting he says, 

"Cum for me."

Before shooting his own hot load into you. It's so unbelievably dirty and feels like taboo that you cry out as you crest the wave of your orgasm, shuddering in his arms as he continues to pump his hips and rides you through it.

"You asshole," you say, trying to catch your breath. "You were supposed to pull out."

"You love creampies, don't lie to yourself." You find yourself pleased to note that he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You wait a moment, then another, then pull your shaky limbs up and pull yourself up to stand, feeling his semen drip from your thighs in a way you should feel pissed about and not vaguely turned on by. Ignoring it, you zip your suit up again and settle back down on the rooftop, grabbing your abandoned binoculars and refocusing on the target.

Well, that was a nice break but you have a job to do.

And the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can move onto celebrator sex, so that's a plus.

Chapter Text

President What's-his-face has said sorry exactly 78 times and that's before you've even reached the drop off zone.
You shift awkwardly on the leather seat, feeling the material cling to your sweaty skin even through the guazy dress someone demanded you wear. It's uncomfortable, the way it hugs every curve and attempts to be coy in it's inherently revealing nature. For once, no one is leering at you, despite the lingerie you're basically wearing. The only looks you garner now are of pity and disgust. Okay, so volunteering to enter a harem wasn't exactly a common career move, but it was either that or the planet getting destroyed by Lord Boros. It's not like you had much going for you before and at least as a member of a harem life would be easier on you.
You hoped.
The car pulls to a stop and the ringing in your ears begins to sound a lot like the screams you don't dare let out. The drop off zone is a airplane runway, empty save for the plethora of human reprrsentatives from every nation and a group of aliens. From inside the car, they seem to be talking with civility, instead of the barely held back tension from before, when war was still a huge possibility. There were talks about deploying their heroes against the invaders, but apprently no one stepped up to the challenge.
Well, one guy named Genos claimed that his master could beat Boros with no sweat, but when people tried to appeal to him, it turned out the guy was on vacation.
And so, humanity and these aliens had to come up with a deal. You weren't sure about the details, except that their leader had demanded a human to be added to his harem.
Which is where you came in.
The car door opened and you stepped out, panic manifesting in overwhelming numbness. You're escorted to the group of aliens and they chatter to themselves in their language as they look you over. Finally, one says: "This is an acceptable tribute for Lord Boros. We will return after she is settled."
They seem wary about touching you, but eventually manage to hustle you and your leaden feet aboard their ship.
If you're honest, the rest is a blur.
You meet people (other members of the harem, you think) and you smile and nod and think about when your favorite show will renew for season 6 and if they have satellite tv here.
There's some sort of ceremony and you see him.
He's tall, is your first impression. At least seven feet of pure muscle covered in golden armor. His skin is a pale periwinkle which clashes horrendously with his shock of pink hair. His singular eye is teal blue and laser focused on you.
A shiver runs down your spine, but you can't help but maintain eye contact as he strides over to you, ignoring every one else who tries to catch his attention. In the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by what you presume are his subjects, Boros sweeps you up into his arms without a word and leaves the room.
"Uh, what?"
The words fall from your mouth out of shock more than anything, but Boros still looks at you with interest.
"So you finally speak. From reports, I had thought perhaps you did not make sound at all." he says. His eye drifts down your form. "That would have been....disappointing."
The flirting is so unexpected that you forget to hold your tongue.
"Yeah, well, I figured it was either keep my mouth shut or get myself killed by insulting someone and funnily enough I like living, so. Yeah." You wince at the end, wondering if it was at all possible to sound even more awkward than that. Foot, meet mouth.
God. This is exactly why you tried to shut up.
Boros doesn't react at all, which is almost the most concerning thing about this entire situation. Already you can sense he's gonna be a riot.
Your thoughts are scrambled when he walks into another room and scanning it is an unconcious move. There's what looks like a tank full of lava in the corner, and some menagerie of weapons thrown haphazardly basically everywhere, and a desk with too many papers to count. There's a pause and you look up to see Boros scanning the room much like you did - just with less curiousity and more displeasure.
"I will punish the servants later," he says, with the non seqitur of the century before walking over to his desk and swiping all the papers off of it. You yelp at the sudden movement, clinging closer to his armor, and it's at that he chuckles. "Ah, you humans and your prey instincts." He says, as if it's some wonderful joke. A retort is ready on your tongue before you're being deposited on the desk, back flat against it and you realize immediately what's going to happen next.
There's some small, secret part of you that's looking forward to it, that's curious about how sex works between species, that wants to know what's going to happen.
The larger part of you is busy panicking and trying to come up with any plan you have to stop this.
That takes up enough time that Boros has lowered his pants and some part of you feels irrational irritation that he couldn't even be bothered to get naked for you before you watch him coax his dick out.
That's . . . . Different, you think watching two sections of his exoskeleton slide open and three slimy appendages emerge. Two are long and tentacle-like, slick and smooth and basically dripping in what you hope is some sort of alien lube. The third looks exactly like a human dick, but ribbed like a particularly wild dildo. It's big though, bigger than any cock had the right to be, and you wince even as your traitorous pussy starts to get wet.
"I have researched human mating," Boros says and your eyes flicker back up to meet his face before dashing back down again. "I believe you have to engage in this thing called 'foreplay'?"
It's the only thing he says before he graps your legs and pushes them open. The dress you wear bunches at your waist and the tentacles slide against your inner thighs, probing at your entrence through your underwear. You bite back a whine at the teasing and nearly choke on air as one tentacle finally manages to wiggle past the cloth barrier and let your slick mingle. Tentacle one slides easily into you, as if you've been prepare for hours and not seconds. Tentacle two strokes up and down your underwear, as if it's trying to-
Your muscles spasm as it finds your clit and you can see Boros's face light up with smug pleasure at having found it.
"What now?" He asks, voice low and quiet. Tentacle one pulses within you as tentacle two swirls around your clit. You gasp, whine, and think it's half a miracle you don't come right then and there. It's hard to think with pleasure building like a wave inside of you, and you blink dumbly at Boros' question.
"What now?" He asks, again, and pulls away tentacle two. You will later deny whining at the loss.
"T-touch me," you gasp out and scramble at his hands, pulling them up to touch your breasts and teaching him how to roll the nipples between his fingers. You reach up and he leans in at your silent request. You kiss him, sloppily, distracted by his hands and the tenacles and the overwhelming feeling of being touched everywhere. He's a quick study though, and turns your kiss into something more refined in mere seconds. His sharp teeth scrape against your bottom lip before he coaxes your tongue into his mouth and he sucks.
The world goes white hot for an instant and you pull away, shuddering through your orgasm and panting like you just sprinted a mile.
"Interesting," he says and pulls away, his two tentacles slick with your come. He runs a finger over one and licks at the liquid gathered there. "Tastes good as well."
He makes eye contact with you, something dark and heavy in them, and that's all the warning you get before he's ripping your underwear off as the tentacles lash around your legs, pulling your thighs open enough to fit his hips between yours and then he's pushing in.
It should hurt - it does hurt, a bit - but it pales in comparison to the starburts of pleasure you feel as his cock stretches you gloriously full. A cry tears itself from your throat, your back arched into a curve at the intrusion to try and take as much of him in as possible.
Above you, Boros shudders, and you can see the moment pleasure takes over any high mental functions. His pace is driving and relentless, and locked in place, you can do nothing but take him. The overstimulation is almost too much to handle, but you reach down anyways, rubbing your clit with fingers that are immediately coated in slick.
"Amazing," Boros sighs, breath fanning across your collarbone and chest as he hunches over your body and takes. He shudders above you, as if overwhelmed by the stimulation. Heat coils in your stomach just as his pace falters and you hiss in irritation.
"Fucking finish it, you bastard," you say, forgetting yourself in the heat rush persual of pleasure. Your squeeze your core and Boros grunts, body tensing as he comes and you want to scream at him for denying you pleasure, before he's pulling out. His tentacles release you and his hands replace them as he sinks to his knees and laves a tongue over your pussy now dripping with his come. You writhe, hand switching from rubbing your clit to fisting in his hair, and you scream once his lips find where your fingers left. He's a genius, you think, as his tongue circles your clit before his mouth latches on and he sucks lightly.
The thought doesn't last long as the world whites out again.
There's nothing but panting in the silence between you. It's a struggle to catch your breath again and you realize that Boros's hands still hold your thighs and his face is still centered to look right into your pussy, still dripping from both of your come. You're about to- you don't know, snap at him? Or close your legs or something, when he speaks.
"You are my new favorite," he declares, looking you right in the eyes. Then he buries his face between your thighs and sticks his tongue in and you throw your head back to moan.

Chapter Text

Stealth has always been your thing. At this point, you're not sure if it's a power, or talent, or just years of hard work, but whatever it is, you just aren't noticed.

Cameras don't pick up your image, people tend to not look at your face, and all those other, lovely little things that make your job so easy. Of course, there are the occasional curve balls - and you can't help but think of him. Zombieman had been making your job so much more fun since he was asked to help but the local police department. Always trying to stop you and be a good person. Gosh, was a nice fellow. A pointless objective, of course, but what a dear. Until recently, he's someone you've wanted out of your hair. Now you can't stop thinking about what it would be like if he had a hand in it.

Preferably pulling it, as he fucked you doggy style.

Impulse and hedonism have always been your weak points, you have to admit. And those are the exact reasons why you decided to break into his apartment at 2 am. Admittedly, not your best move. But goddamn did you want that dick in you again.

This . . . wasn't quite what you imagined happening though.

"-irresponsible to break in," Zombieman says. No, he scolds. He's literally scolding you right now. You're sitting on the couch in front of him as he stands and glares down at you, arms crossed over his deliciously bare chest. Lecture? What lecture? All you've been paying attention to is that visible shift of muscle every time he shifts. "If I wasn't already awake, I could have reacted badly and seriously hurt you."

He's trying to look stern but he's bad at it. Hilariously bad. Did he think he was being sneaky, looking down your dress?

"Eyes up here," you tell him and his gaze snaps up to yours. You smile at him, licking your lips as you do. He looks away, some hint of color on his cheeks. Clears his throat.

"As I was saying-"

"Come on, Z," you interrupt, "Can't you guess why I'm here in the first place? You know I'm not here to kill you or anything."

"I don't know that," Zombieman says.

"How about you pat me down for weapons then?" you not-so-jokingly suggest and he shoots you down neatly with a glare. You shrug. His loss.

"I'm going to call the police right now." He actually begins to move to the phone! Rude. You stand quickly, intercepting him with gentle hands and you know you've won when he doesn't attempt to stop your movement. You catch both of his hands between each of yours, weaving your fingers together so you're holding his hands.

"How about this," you begin, "you sleep with me now, and that's another hit I won't do, hmm?"

He hesitates.

"It's basically doing your job, Z," you say, pushing your chest into his and feeling the way his breath catches in his chest, "Just, well, using a slightly different method."

His fingers twitch in yours, but he doesn't say anything. 

One more push-

"Or I could go and you wouldn't know when I stole again." You begin to pull your fingers from his, when his hands tighten, holding you fast.

"Alright," he says, "Deal."

You smile. "Wonderful!"


Kissing him on a bed was kinda weird to be honest.

You almost longed for those stolen minutes in the closet when there was nothing but darkness and fumbling fingers and clothes roughly shoved aside. But here, you're both already naked (and man the expression on his face when he realized you had gone commando) and settled in the quiet moonlight streaming through the windows. Here, Zombieman was taking his sweet time. His kisses moved smoothly between long and deep, with his tongue halfway down your throat, and then short and sweet, butterfly-light brushes. His mouth trails heat from your lips to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone before working his way back up the other side.

"You like foreplay, huh?" you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he works, "And probably like it vanilla."

"There's nothing wrong with vanilla," he says against your skin.

"Yeah, but like, not even handcuffs?"

He pulls away, raising an eyebrow, before reaching over to his night stand and grabbing his work belt off of it. He slides handcuffs out and clips one around your wrist before threading it through the slats of the headboard and then snapping it to your other wrist.

"There, happy?" he asks, slightly amused and slightly exasperated. You tug at them, note that they're absolutely loose enough for you to slip off if you really wanted to, and nod. Zombieman rolls his eyes and continues his gentle perusal of your body. It's ticklish at first - the way his fingers graze the curve of your waist, the jut of your hip, the meat of your thigh, but before long it's agonizing. Honestly, you're a bit embarrassed of how wet you are with just a touch.

"Can you get a move on some time tonight?" you pant out, twitching as his thumb brushes under the curve of your breast.

"Sure," he says. Then he's shifting down, hooking your knees over his shoulders and you don't even have time to brace yourself before he's buried his face in your pussy. 

You writhe, gasping in like all the oxygen's left the room and you're drowning. Your hands jerk down automatically, your fingers wanting to bury themselves in his hair, but are stopped by the grip of the handcuffs.

His tongue laves up the length of you, before digging into your entrance. Your hips jerk up automatically and his hands fasten themselves easily to your hips, holding them down with ease. The casual show of strength sends another shiver down your spine as he continues to eat you out. 

"There, there, there," you gasp, toes curling into the bed sheets as your hands tighten around the slats in the headboard. "Z, oh my god, Z, right there."

He chuckles, the low sound rumbling through you. He pushes in closer, the sheer width of his shoulders forcing your legs wider to accommodate the size of him. You whine, then absently wonder when in the world you had become so vocal.

Then he licks across your clit and everything in your head goes white. 

The orgasm is unexpected. It crashes over you out of nowhere, like a natural disaster, and your body trembles enough to give an earthquake a run for it's money. Zombieman drinks it all up, face still buried in you as his hands run soothingly over you.

"God," you gasp, as soon as you have air for it. Zombieman pulls his face away, wiping his chin on the back of his hand and smirking in a way that makes your walls flutter in anticipation.

"Done already?" he asks, slipping a hand into his nightstand again and pulling free a condom. He pumps himself a few times before he slips it on, smoothing it down in a way that's nothing but blatantly teasing.

"I think the hell not!" you snap and shudder when he puts two fingers in you. It's slick and easy, this time, since your release coats you enough that the slide is luxuriously smooth.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Fuck yes," you say and arch your back again as he slides in.

He goes in easier this time, able to adjust in angle and with the slick of your orgasm to help him. But the stretch is just as easy to feel and you can't help but shiver as he sits fully inside you for a second. Every part of your body feels white hot where you make contact with him. 

"Move," you demand and he does. You slip the handcuffs off, tired of them, to fist on hand in his hair and use the other to clutch at his shoulder. He gets in a few solid thrusts before your smack at his arm. "Stop!"

He goes still instantly. In the light of the moon he looks confused, tense, but the fact he actually did stop makes your heart stutter for a different reason altogether.

"I wanna be on top," you say and he chuckles. It's an almost unexpected reaction. He leans in closer, slipping his arms under you so your trapped against his chest, and then he's on his back and you're seated on his cock. It's suddenly much, much deeper and you bite your lip as your body flutters around him. He groans as you move, swiveling your hips and beginning to rock up and off him before seating yourself again. 

You watch his face. The way his eyes squeeze shut tight and his eyebrows draw together in tension. How he bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet when something threatens to spill out of his mouth. You flex your muscles around him, smirking as a groan escapes his lips. You set an easy pattern after that: pulling up while squeezing and sitting on his cock again before repeating.

His fingers dig in suddenly and you can feel the mounting tension in his body. It's the half of a warning you get before he's cumming, his mouth going slack in relaxation and the tension of his face sliding into bliss. His lashes flutter open and he looks dazed.

I did that, you think, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, you feel more proud about that than any of your successful hits.

Which is ridiculous.

But warmth flushes through your body anyways, and your second orgasm hits like a tsunami. You know immediately that your legs are trembling too badly for you to lift yourself off, but Zombieman sleepily bypasses your struggle. He lifts you from his lap with one arm and lays you down with a pillow under your head. He slips the condom off, ties it, and throws it away before curling to spoon you.

This is.



Honestly, you were expecting something like last time. A quick fuck and then run, but this man's arm is immovable around your waist. He's also dead asleep now. It takes a few moments, but eventually you relax into his embrace. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to stay one night. It's not like you're gonna make a habit of this after all, so what's the harm?

You'd leave in the morning.

(You really need to get better at lying to yourself.)










Zombieman wakes and she's still there, she's still in his arms.

It's impossible for him to fight off the small smile that breaks onto his face like the dawn. He pushes himself gently up, resting on his elbow to lean over and just look at her. The harshness of her normal expression is lost in the deep of sleep, the carried stress of her type of lifestyle fading away over the course of the night. He doesn't quite know when his determination to arrest her had turned to a determination to help her. He doesn't know how that turned into a crush, or how that crush turned into whatever this strange warmth in his chest was, but he thinks he likes it.

Zombiman brushes a gentle finger over the curve of her cheek, sweeping a strand of hair away from her face. She sighs, murmurs something indecipherable, and he leans over to brush his lips against her cheekbone. She shifts and he pulls back quickly, tense at the idea of waking her. But no, she simply turns over, instinctively nuzzling into the warmth he left behind.

Adorable, he thinks, before carefully lowering himself down again. He carefully levers an arm under her, pulling her so she's cuddling against his chest. She has one arm over him now, to match the one he has curled around her shoulders and something deep within him relaxes.

He'll get up and make breakfast for the two of them soon, but he'll wait for her to wake up naturally, wait for her to choose whether to stay or to go.

He's waited all this time, after all, what's a little while longer?

Chapter Text

The Handler, is what they call you.

The secret S-class hero within the Association; every trace of your life erased to do your duty. All due to the pheromones you naturally emit.

“You’re just stinky,” Metal Bat has said on multiple occasions, laughing at you. But jokes on him, it takes about seven seconds in total for your scent to fill a room and makes anyone who breathes it in calmer, languid…


“Inexorable,” Sweet Mask has said once. He refuses to enter a room with you now.

The club you’re in now is dark and the air is heavy with hookah smoke and smog machines. Lights pulse like a heartbeat and the music matches the wildness. It’s a sex club, the last place that the infamous Speed of Sound Sonic was seen in. The mission was easy: slip in, arrest, slip him out.

You stick to the shadows of the giant dance room, making your way quickly and stopping by air vents so your scent doesn’t give you away. Up the stairs in the back and into the hallway with the set of rooms. A security guard tries to stop you, but you lean in close and smile.

“Why don’t you get a drink?” you ask and he nods and wanders away.

The loud sounds of coupling echoes from nearly every room, but you’ve seen the blueprints. Only one room here has a window and that’s where you bet the slippery Sonic would be. He likes having an easy escape route. Shame you had sealed that window just this morning. He would be trapped.

You lean against the door, hearing breathy moans and whines and begging and a deeper voice answering them in kind. You stand for a long while, letting your scent slowly filter into the room. The sounds of rough fucking and cries has you tugging your skirt down your thigh a bit, feeling oddly overexposed.

That's enough, you think.

You open the door.

The room is filled with dark reds and deep blacks. On the edge of the bed is Sonic, sheets twisted up in a desperate grip. His wrists are already bound with what looks like silk rope, tying him to the edge of the bed.

“Harder, please, please,” he begs, eyes closed in ecstasy, and begins to stumble over his words in eagerness.

You lock eyes with the man balls deep in him.

Zombieman smiles back.

Your mind stills, unable to comprehend a public S-class hero as the fuck buddy of one of the most dangerous villains on record.

You just.

You can’t.

Zombieman stops mid-thrust, to the whine of his partner.

“Hey, baby,” he says and grips Sonic’s hair. “We have a guest, do you want to introduce yourself?” Zombieman pulls back and Sonic is forced to expose the column of his throat. He looks feverish, almost crazed, and you can see the way he keeps trying to rock back onto Zombieman’s dick. Sonic’s eyes are locked on yours, no embarrassment at all to be seen. Just desperation.

“I’m a dirty cockslut,” he chokes out, almost in tears. “I want to be bred like the bitch I am and--”

Zombieman pulls out and rams into him again, breaking his sentence on a high keen.

“Little miss handler,” Zombieman says and though his voice rasps the words into sultriness, you hear only the challenge.

“Zombieman,” you say. He keeps thrusting into Sonic, short little pistons of his hips that your refuse to look at. “This is unacceptable behavior.”

Your mouth is dry. You can feel the flush working its way up your face. Your core clutches at something not there and drenching in your natural slick.

Zombieman takes a deep breath in.

“Come here.”

He speaks and you move. It doesn't even occur to you that you shouldn't.

Zombieman cuts Sonic free of his bonds, pulling out of the villain and flipping him onto his back in one smooth movement before shoving back him again. At the movement, reality asserts itself and you stop a few feet from the bed.

“I--” You swallow as Zombieman drags Sonic back on the bed, retreating from you. “I'm here to arrest Speed of Sound Sonic.”

“Get on the bed,” Zombieman says.


“I don't like to repeat myself.”

His tone is harsh and Sonic's voice breaks on another moan. A shiver wracks it's way down your spine.

“Why?” you ask, hating the way your voice cracks.

“Because you're going to sit on Sonic's face and he's going to eat you out.”

He's so nonchalant about it, speaking like it's a given fact, an obvious next step.

“I can't--” you begin.

“Yes, mistress, please,” Sonic says and he's look at you again, flushed red all over and begging. “Sit on my face and I'll make sure you cum, I promise, please mistress, I want to.”

He opens his mouth on a breathless pant, the inside of it glittering with saliva as if he's hungry for a taste of your pussy.

“No one will know,” Zombieman promises, insidious and sweet. “Come on, sweetheart. He said please.”

You shudder and then go to kneel on the bed.

The second you get close, Zombieman reaches out, rolling up your skirt to reveal your soaked panties. He reaches in, runs a finger up your slit as if in test.

“Such a naughty girl,” he chides. He strokes again and again, coating his fingers in wetness. “You liked watching me fuck him, you dirty little voyeur. Admit it.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I enjoyed watching you fuck him.”

You should be able to resist. Convincing people is your power, not his. What is wrong with you? Zombieman hooks a finger in your panties and drags you forward, slinging you with his immense strength so that your back is to Zombieman’s front. Your knees have to slide apart to make room for Sonic’s head. Zombieman reaches before you, stroking your slit again. There’s a ripping sound and then Zombieman is pulling off your panties, the side strings broken under the force of his hand.

“Sit.” Zombieman orders.

You sit.

The moans you let out harmonize with the muffled ones from Sonic’s throat. His tongue--what a talented tongue--strokes up into your center as he suckles on your wet lips. He nibbles and sucks and licks and your breath begins to shatter over gasps instantly.

Zombieman fucks Sonic slowly during, rocking the two of you back and forth, letting Sonic taste all parts of your pussy. The bridge of his nose rubs against your clit as his hands come up to lock your position in place as best he can so he can sloppily drink all your juices up.

You feel heat building in your core, a suggestion of a shiver at your spine, and new set of hands ghost along your ribs. You jump, not expecting the touch.

“What a slutty girl,” Zombieman says, right in your ear, hot breath fanning against your cheek. His palms brush over the swell of your breasts, clever fingers playing with the nipples. “So well behaved though. I don’t think you’re enjoying this.” He drops a line of kisses on the curve of your neck. His hands slide down your waist. “Don’t worry, I can help.”

His hands lock around your hips and he pushes down.

Sonic makes a muffled noise, likely gagging, but you can barely hear it over the roar in your head. A warm hand--whose? You don’t know--shoves it’s way between Sonic’s face and your lips, finding your clit and pinching it hard.

Like a tidal wave, you’re gone.

As you come down from the white starburst of pleasure, it’s only to feel something warm and sticky splatter across your lower back.

“Hips up, slut,” Zombieman says, and you force your trembling body to obey. Your thighs lifting you upright, before they fail you. You fall onto your elbows, gasping for breath. “Oh, good.” he says and you realize suddenly the position you’ve unwittingly taken, pussy exposed completely to him. You're about to shift away but then he speaks.

“Stay still.”

You stay still.

There’s movement behind you, shifting, then fingers stroking your used pussy.

“I’m going in raw.” Zombieman says. It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” you say anyways.

A hard member slips into you, strong hands holding you in place. Oh, he’s big. He’s so very, very big.

A hand on your cheek and you look up.

Sonic is standing before you--when did you get to the edge of the bed?--and pushes a thumb into your mouth. His own lips and jaw are still coated in your slick and he grins when you flush at the sight. With his other hand, he holds his soft cock. Confusing grows.

“You’re going to suck him to hardness again,” Zombieman says. “Open your mouth.”

You open your mouth.

Sonic’s cock is heavy, even without being flushed with blood. It sits inside your mouth like it’s meant to be there, just enough to fill your mouth entirely and coat your tongue with slightly salty sweat and semen.

You suckle gently at first, but with each little muffled groan that Sonic tries to suppress, you grow more eager. Your tongue swirls around the head, licking under the foreskin, and then pressing flat against the tip. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard and fast before soothing the pressure with the heat of your mouth.

Then Zombieman’s pace goes brutal.

You gag on Sonic’s growing cock, shocked at the change from the shallow, steady thrusts to this. Sonic has a hand in your hair, holding you by the back of the head to his dick, as he too begins thrusting.

You relax your jaw, letting Sonic use your mouth as he pleases as Zombieman uses your pussy for his pleasure and his pleasure alone.

“I’m-- I’m going to--” Sonic’s fingers tremble at the back of your skull.

“Wait.” Zombieman orders. “You’ll come when I tell you.”


“And you’ll come in her mouth.”

You shudder. Your pussy automatically contracts at the thought of it, sudden slick gushing at the way the idea of that turns you on. Zombieman grunts, then chuckles.

“Who would have thought you were such a dirty slut?” he says. “I bet you like this just as much as Sonic. Obedient little sluts begging to take my cock.  Just a warm vessel for me to cum in.”

He punctuates that with a deep thrust, making you gag again on Sonic’s fully hard dick.

“I have plugs here,” Zombieman says. “If you want my cum so bad, maybe I should plug you up and let you take a souvenir home.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Sonic chants, then: “Please, master, can I come now?”

Zombieman ignores him, thrusting into you with sharp movements that reach deep. His fingers reach for your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between calloused fingers.

“Come.” he says.

Heat fills you, instantly and everywhere, blazing like a wildfire in your veins.

Your mouth and your pussy are the hottest, pumped full of cum that drips out as soon as the two men pull out. Your arms don’t support you anymore and you collapse onto the bed, breathing hard.

“Very good,” Zombieman soothes and a hand strokes your hair. “You did really good.”

“Really good,” Sonic agrees and then your lax body is being moved. You’re too dazed to really keep along, but there’s the sound of running water and gentle hands are wiping your mouth and your pussy with aching tenderness. You’re being cared for, even as you hover on the edge of sleep.

“That was great!”

Sonic. That’s Sonic, you can tell.

“Unexpected, but yes.”

Zombieman, obviously.

“Think we went too hard?”

“Yes. But she liked it, I think.” There’s a hand on your shoulder, jostling you awake. You blink at Zombieman’s concerned face. “Babe, you liked it right?”

Did you?

“No,” you say and then giggle at the stricken looks on their faces. “I loved it. We should do it again sometime.”

Done with that, you roll over and go to sleep, too exhausted to talk anymore. Above you, the hero and the villain exchange a wry look before curling up on either side of you and then they, too, fall asleep.