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Title: Miracles
Fic: Miracles (Genos/Saitama, R)

Co-writer: @thenyxmidnight

Fandom: One Punch Man

Pairing: Genos/Saitama

Summary: Genos needed repairs, but not like this. How can he show his face to his master now?

Author’s Notes: Co-written with my darling Nyx for the OPM Secret Santa as she’d been struggling to complete her assignment alone. Original prompt was “Genos turns back into a human (idk how) and now he is forced to deal with his new limitations and he thinks that Saitama won't want to have him around anymore now that he isn't nearly as good as he once was. Of course he's wrong and when Saitama finds out what's he's been thinking, he shows him how much he really cares for him”, for @tardistype221b!

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5518304

* * *



Something is wrong.

Genos knows it before he as much as opens his eyes. He feels heavy. The material he's made of has never been light, but he couldn't feel its density before - he just knew its limitations. Now he feels heavy, sore, and limited.

Genos opens his eyes, makes to lift the blanket covering his chest, and screams at the sight of his hands.

"Welcome back," a voice states matter-of-factly to his left. "We made a little miracle, you and I."

He turns in the direction of the voice and falls off what thankfully turns out to be a thin futon rather than a bed. The blanket he pulls with him is sweat-soaked, and his vision is blurry, inefficient; he can tell he's in a bedroom, or what has been made to look like a bedroom, but he can't make out the person speaking to him in the dim light.

"Easy now," the voice is deep and soft, not one he recognises. The speaker does seem to be human though, tall and slim with long black hair. "You'll need some time to adjust."

"Adjust?" Genos cries before attempting to get up, but the speaker walks over and pushes down on his shoulders. To Genos' dismay, it's enough to keep him pinned down. "What the hell have you done to me?"

"As I said, a miracle. Or sufficiently advanced science to pass as a miracle. One could say it's the same thing," the person removes their hands, standing up before Genos can stop them. "Rest while you can. You need to recover."

"What are you?" Genos shouts in anger, but his healer leaves without another word, locking the door behind them.


A week has passed and Genos is still adjusting to being human - fully human - with all the aches and pains that go with it. He'd forgotten that it could hurt to breathe, hurt to digest, hurt to look at something for too long.

The healer tells him he'll adjust to it in time, that he just needs to avoid pushing himself.

Genos can't complete ten push-ups with his new arms, let alone a hundred.

Crying doesn't hurt. It's almost enough to make him laugh.


The healer makes him leave after the second week, once Genos has proven he can "take care of himself". Apparently knowing how to eat, drink, and use the bathroom independently counts as taking care of himself.

He suspects the healer simply wanted rid of him; he met two other patients during his stay, patients who were grateful for their restored limbs and faded scars, and treated him like a spoiled brat for hating every second of his 'recovery'.

He had wanted repairs. Not this.

He starts the long, long walk back to Saitama's apartment, catches his reflection in the glass of a shop window, and punches it.

The glass cracks, but doesn't shatter. Toughened glass, in keeping with the rough neighbourhood. Leaning against the cracked window, Genos realises he can't make himself go back to Saitama like this, weak and miserable and pathetic. He can't go back to anywhere other heroes might see him.

If he hides, if he tries to gather enough strength that he might pass as a C class hero, he can at least show his face to others with some dignity.

But he doesn't deserve to show it to Saitama again.


The city has been besieged enough times that renting a room is almost obscenely cheap, the letting agent overjoyed just to have someone commit to a six month contract, and he spends as much time indoors as possible, straining his way through push ups, sit ups, star jumps, any exercise he can perform within the small space.

His body demands more food than it did before though, so grocery shopping is a demand he can't avoid, given that online services refuse to deliver anywhere within the city limits.

He should have guessed life would laugh at his plans to stay hidden. It had laughed at all his previous plans, after all.

"Genos?"

Genos recognizes that voice in an instant and freezes, pain shooting through his legs at the sudden stop. He nods, but can't quite bring himself to speak.

"Where've you been? I haven't seen you in mon- ohh." Genos turns to face Saitama, stomach churning with embarrassment, but there's some relief in seeing Saitama showing surprise rather than disgust or pity. "How did that happen?"

Genos wants to tell him everything, but figures the least he can do as an apology is to keep his answers short. "A healer healed everything. I'm not -" Complete? Myself? "What I was anymore."

"But you're still you, right?" Saitama cocks his head and takes a step forward, looking at Genos with a critical expression. Genos considers bolting for all of two seconds before deciding it would only be embarrassing - he couldn't have outrun Saitama even with his cyborg legs. Saitama reaches up, and firmly pokes Genos in the forehead with a finger. "I mean, it's still your brain in there?"

Genos hesitates before answering, wondering how Saitama can still talk to him as if his existence means something. "Y-yes."

"Great!" Saitama grins and hands Genos one of his two grocery bags, as if nothing has happened. "I'm starving and you're not dead. Let's go get udon to celebrate!" Genos stares blankly, stunned, and Saitama's grin drops. "Unless you have somewhere to be?"

Genos' plans lie in tattered shreds at his feet, and he thinks about the rent he's already paid in advance on his new apartment.

He also thinks about the grin Saitama gave him just for being alive.

"I don't."

Saitama's smile returns as a softer, more contented thing, and Genos' very human heart skips a beat.


"So you're not ashamed to have such a - a weak disciple?" Genos asks. "I was lacking before, and now I'm disgraceful."

"Nah," Saitama says around a mouthful of noodles, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. "I guess I like having you around. It's pretty boring, being on my own."

"Thank you, master."

Saitama grimaces. "That sounds even worse from a human face! Stop it!"

Genos apologises and flushes, resumes eating his own noodles, and tries to ignore how his heart seems to pound anytime he thinks he might have embarrassed Saitama. He doesn't succeed, and finds himself distracted by the question of what else he might say that would make Saitama flustered.


Genos checks three times if Saitama minds sharing a room with him to sleep, seeing as Genos' body isn't mechanical anymore, and Saitama keeps saying he doesn't mind.

Genos lies down beside Saitama on his own futon, stares at the back of Saitama's head, and feels embarrassing, unwanted heat rush to his cheeks. And elsewhere.

He doesn't check a fourth time, but he wants to.


"Hey, Genos. Genos? Man, come on! Wake up!"

Genos scrunches his eyes tight before forcing them to open, and finds his face smushed into Saitama's back. He backs away quickly, blushing fiercely, and only blushes more when he realises he'd not only moved from his futon onto Saitama's at some point during the night, but that he'd snuggled into Saitama with a serious case of morning wood. "I - I'm so sorry," Genos stammers out, shoving a hand down his pants and pressing down, wishing he could just will his erection away.

As if the weakness and messiness of his flesh and blood body wasn't embarrassing enough already.

"It's no big deal," Saitama says, yawning and rolling over to face Genos. "Just, don't go grinding on me without permission when you're awake, yeah?"

Genos isn't sure if Saitama means to imply what he suddenly hopes Saitama is implying, and knows if he's wrong then he's only going to make an already awkward situation even worse, but he can't leave the question unasked. "Could I have permission?"

Saitama looks Genos up and down, then shrugs. "I could go for breakfast first."

It isn't a no, it's a maybe later, and Genos has never been happier about having to wait.


It's some time after breakfast, and after giving breakfast time to settle, that Genos gets to wipe his own come off Saitama's chest and stomach with a paper towel.

He hadn't thought the kitchen floor was a particularly romantic or sanitary place for their first time, but Saitama had figured it was a wipe-clean surface and saved them from having to move. Genos might have argued further, but Saitama's hand on his cock and lips on his neck helped to change his mind.

It seems like a good decision now, and Genos finds himself fighting the strange urge to giggle as he leans against Saitama, feeling pleasantly warm and tingly and drained all over, but not tired.

He feels good. It's an alien sensation.

"Thank you, m... Saitama," Genos says, wrapping his arms around Saitama's shoulders and wondering if he could take a nap here, sitting on the floor in Saitama's lap. He's comfortable enough.

Saitama's hands settle at the base of his spine, rubbing gently, and Genos decides that perhaps this body has its uses.

He'd still take his android body back in a second if he could.

But this one is acceptable.

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