X Reader one shots from my wonderful mind

(Mha) Katsuki x Reader

Guess not.

Now, you were more than annoyed.

"Pay me back." You snapped from his shoulders, Your fingers gripping his hair only for you to pull back with a look of disgust. His scalp was hot and sweaty. "Pay me back for the desert you destroyed. I had my heart set on that!"

"Fuck off! You shouldn't have dropped it, you klutz!"

Oh, this little—

"Klutz? Oh, really? Do you even know what I do?" Using the muscles in your thighs, you forced yourself up enough to stand on his shoulders, jumping up with a little excessive force due to your frustration. The sheer pressure was enough to send him to his knees as you shot straight in the air.

As your height slowed and you began to descend, you mentally kicked yourself. Too much.

Letting out an exhale, you turned to the ground, watching with a bored expression as it came closer and closer—and that brat with it. Another eye roll, because obviously he was asking for it. You made sure to keep your force light, almost nonexistent, as you didn't want to do any permanent damage or paralyze him or anything—he still had to pay you back for that dango.

Body loose and movements like water, the second you passed him, your hand chopped his neck, and you used his limp body to break your fall.

You ended up with your knees on his chest, sitting on him like you would at a tea ceremony, as he started up at you unable to form words, incredulous. Your hands grabbed the fabric of his gym uniform, jerking him.

Your glare became, darker, unforgiving, and your expression became devoid of kindness. It was so different from your normal, always almost-smiling expression, and it scared the people who knew you well. Even now, people looked on with shocked expressions, girls huddling into groups and parents taking their kids at their sides. You spoke, and your voice was like an Arctic wind, cold and cutting. "Pay me back. And I want an apology."

He grit his teeth.

You held the expression for a few more seconds, staring him down, before letting it go with a sigh. Being mean was so tiring—how did punks like him do it? All the time, twenty-four seven?

"I won't let you get away with it. You're gonna pay me back." You spat stubbornly, standing up. You grabbed his ankle, exerting little strength as you dragged him on his back, looking for an administrator.

Finally you spotted one—a nice looking lady with raven colored hair, a red mask, beautiful blue eyes, and a skimpy outfit you would've killed to perform in. She looked nice. And by "she looked nice", she looked beautiful.

"Excuse me—" you said, walking up to her and dragging the temporarily paralyzed from the neck down blond. You explained the situation, even got a witness to corroborate your story, and demanded the student pay you back for the dango. Like, god, it ain't that hard.

At first she just looked at you with unbridled shock, her mask a little crooked as she glanced from you, to the kid, to you again. You ended up having to tell the story multiple times—every time she called another coworker over, from a very scraggly looking man with a scarf and hair you would've loved to style, to a man who looked like a walking speaker with hair that curved straight up.

They all had the same reactions. Silence as their incredulous gazes went from you to the kid and then back again.

You just wanted your couple of bucks needed to get more dango; your craving was starting to annoy you. And then they did something that started you—they started laughing. Really laughing. Well—at least, the blond dude and lady did. The guy with the scarf just chuckled, and you smiled at that. Somehow, you thought he didn't laugh much. Didn't look like he got much sleep either.

They ended paying you back triple what you wanted (they all gave you the same amount), took the kid, apologized profusely and even thanked you for handing him his ass, and you left with triple the dango thinking that was that.

So imagine your shock when you get a knock on your door one day, only to open up and see that very same guy (not the one with the pitch black hair and sleep circles that had been in your mind since the incident (you really wondered what he looked like with his hair up) but the idiot kid).

Understandably, you slammed the door in his face without saying a word.

It only took ten minutes of consistent knocking that you broke and swung the door open with a look that could break katanas and a pressed, "WHAT?"

What you saw could've made you turn completely white, clothes and all, with sheer 'huh?' energy.

That bratty kid—no doubt about that—prostrate on your doorstep.

"Please be my master!"

Yeah, One Punch gave the inspiration to write this, so :3