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T Minus Ten

remember that miguel fic I talked about....

here she is!!!!

series warning: eventual smut (light), angst, pining, lovesickness, adorable migs, enemies (?) to lovers, more like emotionally repressed to infatuated, angst, miscommunication, as many tropes as I can possibly manage

warnings for this chapter: lots of exposition, medical inaccuracies, introduction basically, canon violence

miguel o'hara x reader (afab) no description other than reader is v strong and has some small tattoos on hands (important later i swear)

enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

The medical field was essentially obsolete in the Spiderverse. It takes hundreds of years to name a disease, let alone cure it, and then to add in the factors of different biology, different gravitational boundaries, bacterial possibilities....you honestly just felt like hanging up your lab coat and starting an Etsy.

Each branch of the Multiverse was grouped in the extensive medbay located in HQ. The branches with the most similar biology and treatment varieties were closest together. Every spider was given their hall number that had any resources they'd need depending on their genetic makeup.

It was tough work, remembering where everyone was from and the unique characteristics that came with them. Especially when some varieties blurred the lines.

Namely one.

Miguel O'Hara, head of this shit-show and arguably the biggest pain in the ass you'd ever seen, rarely found himself in need of the medical ward's services. Which is probably why nobody thought to figure this problem out.

See, most spider-people were predominantly human. The spider that bit them had only added on to existing capability: extreme strength that improved muscle mass, improved grip on fingers...the only 'inhuman' factor was the webbing.

Miguel had a slightly different build. His DNA had been spliced; like two ropes being braided together. The spider DNA had rebuilt his human DNA, therefore it didn't follow the same pattern in response to medicine or bandages. Which made his medical aversion a little more realistic.

Either way, it didn't matter how much he hated doctors, he couldn't fix a poisoned spear through his chest with an at-home first aid kit.

Eight of HQ's most qualified doctors sat around various scans of the monstrous Spiderman, puzzling through the bizarre data. Your education had been focused on epidemiology, or the spread of disease. Poison wasn't really your thing, but you thought it might be cool to watch.

Dr. Ben Parkinson, the 'head' doctor, was explaining the possible treatments.

"It doesn't seem to be deadly," he reasoned, "but prolonged exposure without medication might have some deteriorating effects." He pointed to a highlighted area of the wound. "See, the muscle tissue is deteriorating, and long-term deterioration could be permanent."

The medical staff shot amused glances at one another, trying to imagine Miguel as anything other than a hulking boulder of muscle.

Ben rolled his eyes and tapped the scans. "Do we have any base vitals for him? Any logged info?"

Maria, his assistant, scrolled on her tablet. "Uhhhh....negative on that. Looks like he hasn't done his immunos either."

You frowned. When HQ had established itself with a medbay, you and the few other nurses had done rounds to make sure any necessary vaccines and medications had been administered. How did we skip him?

"New plan," Ben said slowly, "let's get him up to date and then we'll evaluate. he's relatively stable right now, so let's keep up the current treatment and move from there, yeah?"

He looked at you. "You're the nurse responsible for his wing, right? Do you mind doing his vitals and reporting back?"

You nodded, faltering. What if the spider DNA screwed up his vitals? His resting heartrate was probably higher, and his metabolism had to be insane...the rest of the staff clearly did not share your concern, glad to be rid of the Miguel problem.

Maria handed you her tablet and gave you an apologetic smile. "At least the sedatives will stop him from scratching you," she whispered in your ear.

You shuddered. Here goes nothing.

Miguel was laid out on two beds with the guardrails removed. He couldn't fit on one, so the staff had to quickly improvise. You tried to hum a calming tune, hyperaware of the large claws hanging off the blanket.

Even though he was unconscious, a ripple of fear went through you. He was enormous. If he got mad....you shuddered.

Tenderly, you angled your stethoscope under the mess of tubes feeding into his chest. His skin was unbelievably warm, and you pursed your lips. Definitely feverish. You took his heart rate, tried as gently as you could to do his blood pressure, and measured his blood sugar on the dial near his bed.

Well.

His DNA was definitely strange, because all of his vitals pointed to cardiac arrest and a 104F fever.

"What...the fuck?" He should be dead by those numbers.

You did everything twice more, just to be sure. Still the same. Elevated heart rate, high temperature, and blood pressure that wasn't physically possible.

It confirmed your theory. That meant you had to do a full body scan, analyze the numbers, try to find some kind of pattern....ugh.

His hands were beginning to twitch, and you scurried out of the small room. He'd likely be pissed, waking up in a hospital room with a poisoned stake sticking out of his chest.

Reading through his file, you chewed on your pinky nail. Apparently, a new variant of Green Goblin had been discovered on the fringes of a random universe. It produced a highly acidic venom, the same that had infected the rebar impaling Miguel. The science labs were analyzing the poison, and little info had been found.

Corrosive, acidic, highly destructive on human tissue.

Huh.

Miguel seemed to be holding up okay. Explains the elevated temperature and heart rate. His body was cranking out energy, repairing the damage almost as soon as it occurred.

A grin teased its way onto your face. This was the part of your job that you loved. The puzzle, all the little bits that opened up a bigger picture and eventually, the solution.

You wrote up his chart with your hypothesis and sent it to Dr Ben. Tomorrow would be exciting, to say the least.

-

Exciting was one word for it. Apparently your prediction was correct: Miguel was decidedly not happy with his living situation at the moment. The nurse who'd gone in to give him his IV had dodged a flying chair, and it had escalated from there. Jess had intervened, resorting to an anomaly cage to keep him secure.

After that frazzling morning, Ben was ready for some good news. You were excitedly explaining the deductions you'd found last night, when a small knock came from the office door.

Gwen, one of the newer spiders, shyly poked her head in. Ben went to shoo her away, but you beckoned her in warmly.

Wait a second, you nodded to your boss, and he sat back with a sigh.

The young woman's colored hair hung limp and unwashed. She had been on the backup team to help Miguel and his crew, and the fallout had been hard on her. It was a big mission, especially for a rookie. She was struggling.

"Hi, Gwen, how are you today?" You pulled over a chair, nodding at her to sit. She folded her hands tightly and didn't meet your eyes.

"'M fine," she mumbled, fidgeting with her hoodie. You grabbed the notes you'd taken earlier and a pen.

"...Do...you wanna talk about it? Anything you remember, something we might have missed?"

The room was quiet as you waited. Ben shot you an exasperated look and nodded towards the clock. Not much time.

You sighed and leaned forwards. "it's okay if you don't have anything, Gwen, but we want Miguel to get better, so if you remember-"

"He was glitching," she blurted, cheeks flaming.

You exchanged another glance with Ben.

"He...when the..."she gestured vaguely, "spear thingy went into him, he started glitching. Like, really bad."

That made you stop. "Was...did you see his watch fall off at any point?"

She shook her head sharply. "No. It was like as soon as the venom hit him, he glitched. and it didn't stop until Jess and the guys got there. He was..." she shuddered, and you patted her arm comfortingly.

Though you did technically have spider abilities, you would never in a thousand years want to be fighting. You couldn't imagine dealing with that every day, especially at Gwen's age. You made a mental note to ask the psychiatrist for a check in.

"What were the details of the mission? was there anything specific about the Goblin that made him so strange?" As a member of the med crew, you didn't have access to mission files.

Gwen nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yeah. He was portal jumping like crazy. Miguel was so pissed," she laughed weakly, "he was jumping in circles like a cat."

"Was he glitching?"

"No, he was fine. It was weird...like he somehow belonged to all of the dimensions. We chased him through three different ones before..." A glazed look came over her, and you figured she needed a break.

"Thank you Gwen," you said gently, walking her to the door, "you've been very helpful. Get some rest, honey."

Watching her shuffle down the hall, you puzzled with the information she'd given.

What the fuck was going on?

Ben's serious look confirmed your bewilderment. This was clearly a bigger problem than you anticipated.

"We should give that to the labs," he pointed to your notepad. "They'll wanna know that info."

You nodded wordlessly, handing it over. What did that mean for Miguel? If this Goblin wasn't following the multiverse rules, was there even a possibility of fighting this?

Ben disappeared around the hall as you groaned into your hands. The excitement of the last 36 hours had done a number on you. Despite your heightened energy levels, you still felt sluggish. Flipping to the surveillance footage, you peeked in on your burly patient.

He was laying awake, the sharp spikes on his heart monitor indicating his agitation. His limbs were lightly restrained to keep him from disabling the glowing red net cast over him.

Oddly, you felt bad.

It was hard enough being injured and alone, but he was being treated like a prisoner. Poor guy. No wonder he doesn't socialize much.

Figuring you had some time, you grabbed your med kit and strolled down to his room. Maybe he'd have a good explanation of his situation. He was a renowned geneticist, after all.

The spider positioned outside his door gave you a wary look. "Miss, you might wanna-"

"Doctor," you corrected crisply, "and I'd like to see my patient."

The young man hesitated, but let you through anyway. He rambled about precautions and avoiding Miguel's temper, but you weren't listening.

His eyes were red.

A bitter, furious shade of scarlet that made your tongue dry and your heart cower. He was pulsing with so much restrained energy that you felt three times smaller. Again you were reminded of his size. You clutched your kit and dismissed the guard.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Despite his condition, Miguel could still easily snap your arms in half. Sharp canines dug into his lower lip. Maria's earlier comment came back to you. I'm more worried about the teeth than the claws, honey.

"Miguel?" Your voice was surprisingly stable, though quiet.

He blinked but gave no further answer. Swallowing, you walked slowly around to the side of his bed and sat. His straining thighs were inches away. The net hummed gently, resisting any movement.

You squinted against the bright threads. Miguel continued to scowl, eyes narrowing to slits. Trying to breathe steadily, you pulled out a capped syringe.

"I'm going to give you your vaccines is that alright?" stay calm stay calm oh my god oh holy fuck-

A singular, clawed finger poked through the net.

"Be my guest, mija."

He'd broken the restraints.

______________________________________________________________

part two out on Aug 18! love you xox

let me know if you want to be tagged for updates!

T minus 8

Y'all can figure out the title situation by now, right?

content warning: basically the same as the last two chapters, less techy stuff dw, blood, some more anxiety, tension, angst

is it weird that the head doctor's name is Ben? I realized he might get confused with Ben Reilly (tho i don't plan on mentioning him) if it's funky lmk

also - taglist ppl, if you want to be on my general (all fic) tag list, pls specify, I just have you on this specific fic's taglist.

enjoy!

This was ridiculous. Fucking unacceptable. You were not going to let this manchild disrupt your workflow. You had gone through med school, the collapse of your entire universe, and countless crazy patients.

Miguel O'Hara was not going to be your downfall.

After escaping to your room after the brush with death - aka Miguel's fangs - you'd had a good cry before realizing the situation.

You can deal with it, or you can drown in it.

Though your education was in healthcare, a mandatory part of medical training was mental wellbeing and psychology. You had a few coursebooks lying around...

Despite the words bleeding together and the stained coffee mugs littering your floor, you pored over textbooks until early the next morning. Fuck Miguel and his needles. You were going to do your job with the least number of puncture wounds possible.

You strode into his sickroom with a fresh coat of concealer and a thick stack of papers. No syringe in sight.

He was immediately suspicious of your lifted chin and confident stride. You could feel his apprehension tingling, carmine gaze following you around his temporary abode. Let him judge. At the end of the day, you had the needle and he had a sore elbow. Not your fucking problem.

"This is how this is gonna go," you said flatly, rolling next to his bed with a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Twice a day, I am going to come in here and give you a shot. Then, I'm gonna force feed you and take your vitals. Then, I'm gonna do it again the next day and the next until this day," you circled the small calendar at the bottom of the sheet. "And you aren't gonna give me any shit about it, okay?"

The words tumbled out as precise as you'd practiced in front of the mirror twenty times that morning.

Miguel's eyebrow lifted at your direction but his mouth stayed curled in a sneer. You swallowed, willing him to say something. The strong facade you'd put on was slowly succumbing to sleep deprivation.

Too early to give in.

You were stuck in another staring match, so focused on his blistering glare that you didn't realize he was slowly leaning closer. Until his breath brushed your ear and you could see his teeth glimmering.

"No."

One word, and your spine was quaking with shivers. You blinked rapidly, veering away from him. His impassive stare returned and he leaned back into his pillows.

You sat stunned. Then pissed.

"That's not the correct answer," you said coolly. His eyebrows twitched again. Did he think you would cower and scamper off again? What a surprise he was in for.

"Easy way or hard way, Miguel," you taunted, pulling out one of the two doses. "If you let me do this, in five seconds it will be over and I'll be gone."

He didn't look at you, but subtly shifted away from the offensive syringe.

"Or you could drag it out until you're crying and you'll still get a poke."

Another bloodcurdling stare. Aw, the big baby doesn't like it when I call him a coward. Too bad.

You could hear the gentle uptick in his heartrate as you began to prep the area, wiping gently with an alcohol patch. His breaths were louder, whistling above your head. It didn't take this long to clean an injection site, but you wanted to give him time to realize what was going on.

"Wait," he muttered, snatching your wrist before you could grab the medicine. You let him and hoped he couldn't feel your own rapidly beating heartrate. Using your other wrist this time, you took up the syringe and tried to nudge the protective seal off.

"Not yet," Miguel protested, batting you away. You fixed him with a warning glance.

"Easy or hard, big guy, but it's gonna happen."

He tried to swat you again, but you barked out a "Stop."

Flinching, he retreated. Anger simmered in his eyes, but he bit his tongue. You tried to soften your tone. He's a patient, be nice. He's hurt, it's just the adrenaline.

"Don't swat me when I remove the seal, you might accidentally stick yourself," you explained kindly. Replacing the seal, you set the needle on the tiny table next to him. Miguel regarded you warily, unsure if he could trust your sudden surrender.

Talking. He liked the talking last time. Trying to medicate him in this state would be impossible, you had to de-escalate.

"Why...why is this hard for you? I mean, what's the scary bit?" You sat back, keeping your hands empty and in view of him.

He snorted and fidgeted with his hospital bracelet.

"I need to work," he said gruffly, looking at the clock, then wincing. You tilted your head.

"No, I meant about the nee-"

"I need to get back to work," he insisted, "I've been gone too long. The Society won't survive without me."

You leaned forward and peeled back the blankets. He knew better than to stop you, but you could sense his agitation.

"Until that-" you pointed to the sour-smelling bandages crusted with blood, "goes away, you won't be going back."

"That's impossible."

"Cry about it." You dismissed his annoyance as you peered at the dirty gauze. You'd replaced it only a few hours ago, how bad was the infection? It shouldn't have absorbed the ointment and worsened. A crease furrowed your brow. You reached out to feel around the wound. He groaned, twitching under your hands. The pale complexion returned, and sweat had dried around his chest.

How come he didn't ring for help?

"Okay, let's try something else," you said slowly. "I'm gonna replace these and clean you up, got it?" The expected silence rang out, and you took it as a green flag.

It took you a few moments to collect your scissors, gauze and other supplies, all the while Miguel was breathing heavily through his nose. You were calm as morning fog while you worked, barely wrinkling your nose at the foul smell.

What the....The wound was ragged and swollen. Had you been the only person paying attention? The torn was flesh had clearly been neglected, or else it wouldn't be nearly as rancid.

Don't freak out, you reminded yourself, feeling Miguel's scowl directed at your face. He doesn't need to know.

"That's not supposed to be like that," he guessed, reading your obvious distress. you startled and tried to smile, but it wavered.

"No! No, it's..." you trailed off, acutely aware that he saw right through your act.

Deciding to focus on the task at hand, you began carefully snipping away at his bandages. It was soothing, just another routine. he's not dying he's not dying it's just a routine check up, nothing terrible, it's okay

Is the poison contagious after contact?

You froze, realizing Dr Ben had never explained the dangers of exposure. You had your gloves, but they were flimsy, and a paper mask could only do so much. Fuck. You'd already gotten blood and gore on your hands, it wasn't really a good time to fix that.

Here goes nothing.

Miguel did a stellar job of not biting your head off, though his pained grunts and clenched fists didn't help your heart rate. You were efficient and cleaned him up quickly, though his appearance wasn't improving. It was only day two. Not good.

"Okay, scary part," you warned, reaching again for the syringe. He was still riled up from the agony of his new dressings. It wasn't the way you wanted it to go, but he was running out of time.

"I can't bargain with you on this," you said shakily, "because it isn't up to me. i'm just the messenger, and I don't know how else to tell you."

Deep breaths.

"Your tissue is decaying, and if I don't give this to you, you won't be able to work at all. Ever," you added for emphasis when he almost protested. "I know you hate needles, I know you hate being here, I know you hate me, but seriously, please just let me do my job."

your hands were shaking. He looked...impassive, as if he'd turned to stone during your plea. Stick him. Just do it, just poke him right in the arm, he's not moving-

Miguel inclined his chin and released his harsh grip. You were shocked and almost dropped the syringe. That was quick. Maybe it wasn't the needle?

"You gonna stab me or what," he snapped. Scurrying forward, you gently took his hand in yours and probed for a vein.

"Little poke," you whispered, before carefully injecting the vial of clear liquid into his bicep. He let out a strangled groan and grabbed your arm, clutching for dear life. You let him squeeze, though his grip was threatening to cut off your circulation. Breathe breathe breathe he's okay you're okay it's okay breathe

"Not so hard, yeah?" you kept your voice quiet, rubbing his shoulder carefully. Miguel was still in the throes of panic before he suddenly blinked awake. Like a robot, his arms were at his sides and he stared straight ahead.

Confused, you searched his gaze. A haze had gone over his irises, but nothing extreme. All good so far. As quietly as possible, you ran through his vitals and coaxed a cup of water into him.

After a few minutes of waiting by his side, you signed off on his form and backed out of the room.

3 down, too many to go.

And so it went. He never looked at you, never acknowledged your existence each time you peeked into his room. A week went by, for better or worse. His wound was making disappointing progress, but it wasn't getting worse.

However, his approach to the needle wasn't getting better either. He liked the talking, seemed to calm him slightly when you rambled about other patients or your daily routine.

But whenever your hand ducked into your coat pocket, his face would go hard and he'd hunch like a cat, hissing and scratching when you got too close.

"Miguel, please," you begged, eyes pricking with tears. It had been a long day. the longest. four spiders lost, three injured, and one in critical condition. You'd worked your ass off, then slogged to your last patient. you just didn't have the fight in you.

Did he like to torture you?

"I will do anything, please just fucking stay still."

he hesitated.

"Anything?"

"I don't fucking care, please give me your wrist-"

"Let me go back to work." His tone was defiant, but urgent.

You fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. "You know the answer to that."

"I have the multiverse to attend to," he gritted out, "this stupid arrangement is not more important than that."

You couldn't fucking deal with this. "I will rip your fucking teeth out, you animal, I don't care how important you are-"

"I control the fate of-"

"I am acutely aware of that, O'Hara," you shouted finally, throwing the capped needle at him. He swore and ducked.

"I am so fucking aware that everything you do affects my wellbeing. But if you don't sit still and stop acting like a fucking child then you'll die and so will the rest of us." You were crying and your head hurt and the syringe was probably shattered but you just wanted to go home.

"I want to go home," you blubbered, "and I want to go to bed. If you let me do my job, then you can do yours. Please." You whispered, begging.

Miguel's nostrils flared, barely holding back. Maybe if he bit you again, you could take a long nap and this would all be over.

"One condition."

Your head thumped against his mattress. "I don't wanna argue with you-"

"One dose, one favor."

You rolled your face to the side, sighing tiredly. "I'm not having sex with you."

He sputtered, fangs shifting in surprise. "Wh-ay dios-no that's not- I meant a-" Miguel scowled at you for as he understood your delirious laughter was at his gullibility.

"I take the dose, no fuss, you do me a favor," he tried again, "professionally."

Any win was a win in your book. "Fine."

He relented, sticking his arm out and bracing against the handrail. Afraid he would double back on his promise, you stuck him a little more aggressively than you needed to in your rush.

"Okay, big guy, what'll it be?"

"Give me my work laptop."

Bastard. "That's cheating-"

"You said-"

"Fine," you spat, tossing the empty syringe in the bin. "One hour."

"Three."

"One."

"That dose hurt," he protested, and you rolled your eyes.

"Fine. Two."

A moment later, his laptop was under your arm and you were checking off another day on the calendar.

It definitely got easier. A tentative agreement had settled between you: one dose, two hours of work. It did seem to help his mood. Miguel still flinched when you aimed the syringe for his arm. He stayed still when you changed his bandages and kept his fangs to himself.

You were fitting him for the pressure cuff when you noticed. Last week, even the biggest cuff size could barely fit around his massive arm. Today, you could easily wrap it with a few inches to spare.

Frowning, you made sure nothing had come undone in the packaging. Everything was intact. Had he been flexing before?

"Um...do you mind flexing your arm for a second?"

He looked puzzled at the request, but did as asked. You tried again, but even then the cuff was loose.

"Nevermind, that's...that's fine, thanks." You gave a tight smile and jotted something down in your notes.

After his shot, you tried to see if the rest of his body was changing. He was still enormous, but there did seem to be a lackluster quality about him. Miguel's energy was reduced, his anger less potent and he was definitely tamer.

"Miguel, are you feeling okay?" you asked tentatively, gauging his reaction. Usually you knew better than to interrupt his working time, his anger would snap.

But today, he merely grunted and shrugged. Definitely lethargic. Trying to rationalize, you figured it might be his body finally adjusting to the medication.

Making a quiet excuse, you ducked into the adjacent office and discreetly dialed Ben.

"I'm worried it's not working," you whispered, chewing on a hangnail. Dr Ben hummed on the other line.

"His stats are looking a little low. I'll have another doctor check him out. You've done well so far, kiddo, this is a tough case. Take today off, yeah?"

You blinked at the quick change in subject. At least the problem was getting looked at...but Miguel still had his evening dose. I'll just come back for that, you amended. It had been so long since you'd had a day off.

In the few hours between your brief pop-in and Ben's call, you'd gotten groceries, done your hair and even had time to watch a movie.

Feeling refreshed, you threw on your gloves and pulled up Miguel's file.

Nothing had changed, really, except a small yellow notification underneath his recent immunizations. Single (1) dose of R4GE-57 administered at 2100.

What?

The meds Ben prescribed hadn't been titled, and you weren't even in the building at 2100.

Frowning, you pushed into Miguel's room.

"Hey, Mig-"

You stopped. He was sitting on his bed, hands folded limply on his lap. His eyes were open but unfocused. You tiptoed closer.

"Miguel?"

His head twitched, but his eyes had difficulty following your movements.

"You're not s'posed to be here," he slurred gravelly. His tone made you pull up short. You two weren't friends, but you'd definitely passed the growling stage.

"Ookay," you said slowly, "but I need to give you your last dose for today."

"No, that lady did. Maria."

Nothing made sense. Maria hadn't given him his second dose cause it would have been two hours early. And you were holding the second syringe, which was very much full.

"Wh...What do you mean? Maria shouldn't have given you-"

"Are you being slow?" His tone was vicious, lips curled to reveal his incisors. Miguel hadn't snapped like that in a week. You balked, retreating a step. Okay, take a deep breath. He's definitely unstable.

"That other nurse gave me the medicine, you are wasting my time," he snarled. Your heart rate was steadily rising. Breathe.

"Just let me-"

Your hand was halfway to his wrist when he lunged.

no no not again-

A cry ripped from your throat as your head collided with the edge of the table, and a dull ringing overwhelmed your senses. throbbing washed over you in waves, pulsing like a drum in tune with your panicked heart.

Nothing was focusing. Were you crying? Someone was shouting, it was bright and your head hurt and where-?

Somebody was dragging you away, and you uselessly batted at their hands.

He's my patient he didn't mean to no stop wait he needs his meds

Surely it wasn't your wailing, that angry wounded animal howling over the thumping ache in your skull.

He was making progress...

did i just make a simple enemies to lovers into a weird crazy multiplotline clusterfuck? yes. yes I did.

tags:

@neeshsoodrippedout

@ridiculous-hibiscus

let me know if u wanna be added/removed xox

so soft - fem reader

he clings like a koala. your oversized wardrobe pays off: there's enough room for him to wriggle under your soft sweaters and latch onto your skin. his hands paw at your soft sides, stroking and petting the velvety skin. his beard is ticklish against your tummy as he mouths gently over your tits.

Nathan can be so soft sometimes, as his eyes droop, syrupy with sleep and contentment. he'll suckle and nuzzle your chest, melting into your warmth. You'll pull a blanket over him and swaddle him tight, like a baby opossum. His quiet mewls of gratitude prompt your hand to gently scratch his prickly scalp.

There isn't a solid bone in his body; lovesick goop is all that's left. your boobs are soft as silk on his cheek, squishing pleasantly under his rough hands.

so soft, he coos, so pretty. so different from the cold, hard androids he surrounds himself with.

you kiss him softly and begin to rock gently, side to side.

Tailor Made

summary: reader is a costume designer for the Lennox House club, and Blue needs a new suit.

blue jones x reader

no smut, fluff, tension, pining, blue being blue, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

pro tip - highly recommend listening to tailor asmr or ambient asmr

He needed a new suit. Gorski had a theme for the performance tonight, and the suit jacket he had wasn't quite the right shade of red. Usually, Blue didn't wear his suits more than once, but he'd keep the ones he liked.

Sighing, he pulled on his undershirt and slacks and waltzed towards the fitting rooms. Tedious, tedious, he griped, to fuckin' stand there and pretend to be interested while the elderly seamstress held up different fabrics. He couldn't even smoke.

Blue rapped his knuckles on the door and shoved it open, snapping to get somebody's attention. The hanging racks were glimmering with the finished costumes for the girls tonight.

Cabernet red with gold and pearls. Apparently his suit was 'Merlot' and that wasn't the same.

"Bullshit," he grumbled, adjusting his collar. The designer, who, come to think of it, he'd never known the name of, walked stiffly over and looked him up and down.

"What?" She said flatly, "I'm in the middle of sewing fifty ruffled skirts, it's gonna have to wait."

Blue's jaw ticked. He never liked her attitude. "I don't like waiting," he snapped, "I need a jacket and a pocket square. Cabernet red," he added, like he gave a fuck.

The woman sighed, checking her watch for dramatic effect, and nodded to the back. "You'll be fitted with Darling. Now get out of my shop," she ordered. Blue curled his lip, smacking her ass as he passed. The nerve of that woman. He should have replaced her.

Darling. He didn't remember a Darling. Hopefully she was faster than her boss - she couldn't spend less than an hour just taking measurements.

"Hey," he called into the next room, "I need a-"

oh.

"Hello," he purred, looking at the girl standing over a pile of silk. He'd never seen you before. You stared at him, frozen like a deer in headlights. Your expression was wary, lips pinched and hands curled protectively over your chest.

"You must be Darling, yes?" His hooded eyes appraised you slowly, examining every lock of hair. You nodded slowly.

'Have...have I done something?" You asked quietly, eyes large and dewy. Oh, you'd be fun.

"Hm..." he pretended to think about it, reveling in the way your lips began to tremble.

"No. But I do need a jacket, so let's get to it," he grinned, clicking his tongue. You were very well behaved, obediently gathering your things and flicking through a large binder.

"I'll have to measure you," you said softly, "this shouldn't take long." You hovered your hands over his wrists, waiting for permission. He inclined his chin and you raised his arm to get the length of his torso.

"You've got manners," he noted, lips twitching. You nodded bashfully, murmuring thanks. Blue watched you delicately wrap the tape around his chest, then shoulders. Your fingers were light and gentle.

He'd like to fuck you.

But this game was fun, watching you flit around and look at him with your doe eyes. He was tempted to ask for two jackets, just for an excuse to watch you. If he sharpened his tone just enough, you'd reel away and school yourself demurely, then continue with another air of obedience.

Like a little bunny, Blue thought with a chuckle. You were fitting his collar, lips pinched in focus, when he couldn't resist the urge to stroke your cheek.

You froze, hands stuck on his lapels. You didn't move away, rigid with terror. He preened with the effect he had.

"Scared, bunny?" he murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He paused, thumb caressing the shell. The soft sugary smell of your soap was enticing, and he leaned closer.

Your swallow was audible. "No, Mr. Jones," you whispered. He grinned, teeth glittering in the low light.

"Blue, please," he drawled, patting your cheek and leaning back. He could see the relief on your face, your shoulders slumping and a slow exhale from your rigid posture. That was good. You were being very good - he had a mind to make you a role model for the dancers. In these days he could hardly keep them in line. It was a relief to know he hadn't lost his touch.

You nodded dutifully and finished his measurements. His jacket was done in two hours, as he watched greedily from the corner. He was content to watch you all night, the way your curves showed through the drape of your dress. Everything about you was soft and innocent and he so wanted to grab a handful and break

No. No, he didn't want to break you. Then he couldn't play anymore. But he did want a taste. You would occasionally make eye contact with him, and he'd do a little smirk. As the hours went on, you got more and more relaxed, coming up to him with a question or comparing velvet to crushed velvet.

While your melodic voice was explaining the different colors, he was not listening at all. Frankly, he didn't care what color it was, they all looked the same. But he'd stand there all fuckin' night if it meant you'd keep talking and absently touching his back.

He was vaguely disappointed when you finished. You draped the coat over over his shoulders and nodded, straightening his tie and smiling to yourself. Blue stuffed his hands in his pockets to refrain from grabbing your face and kissing you stupid.

The show would start in an hour, so he slipped out, grinning like a fox. He liked his new toy.

And he played with you any chance he got. Did he need a new suit three times a week? No. Did he go to get fitted three times a week? You bet your ass he did.

It was by the eighth visit that you'd begun to enjoy your appointments. He could see it in your eyes, the sparkle that would appear when he sauntered through the door. The flinching had stopped and your voice was stronger. He'd touch you innocently, but inside he was purring with pride.

He could do whatever he wanted and you'd obey without question.

Blue was admiring your ass in a skirt when he realized you'd asked him a question.

"Hm?" he asked, still glued to your supple legs.

"Do you want a matching tie or not?"

What he really wanted was to run his mouth all over you and shove you in his pocket so he didn't have to share. Fuck the tie. Better yet, fuck him.

"Sure, honey," he said, folding his arms. "Whatever you think."

You'd smiled at him that time.

The next time, though, was different. The door, for one, was locked when he arrived. Already in a bad mood, Blue knocked firmly. He was, to his knowledge, the only one who went to you. Were you out?

"Darling," he called through the door.

It creaked open to reveal you with pincushion in hand. And another man with his back to the door. Blue slowly looked between you. You recognized the dark glimmer in his eyes and shrank away.

"No, don't hide, pet," he cooed, patting your cheek. His gaze was still stabbing the new guy in the back.

"Who's your friend?"

The man turned and averted his gaze respectfully. He was in his undershirt, presumably getting a new button-down. Blue had never been undressed that far. You looked away when his sleeves were rolled above his elbows.

Ah, so a special friend. Blue grinned, all teeth and malice. "I don't think we've met," he seethed, grip tightening on your face. Your lips wobbled.

The man straightened. "I'm a new patron," he said airily, "Madame Gorski recommended your little tailor here. Pretty thing, ain't she?"

Blue's fist cracked across his nose, sending him into the wall. You clapped your palm over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut. You knew his temper was out of control.

The man howled, steadying himself against the wall in time for Blue to grab his neck and shove him out the door. "I don't wanna see you again," he growled, "not near her and not without me."

He slammed the door shut, chest heaving. The adrenaline of his scuffle sent his heart racing. Blue rolled his shoulders, trying to shake himself of the hot rage burning his veins.

He'd been so naive to think you'd be well behaved forever. Breathing deeply, he turned to face you, grin sharp as a blade. You were cowering in the corner.

"I thought this was an exclusive establishment," he said softly, anger bubbling under the surface. "I thought we had an arrangement." You were trying to press yourself into the scraps of satin as he stalked closer, hands flexing. You were mumbling apologies, breaths getting faster and faster.

His toes were touching yours, looking down in contempt. Your large eyes were teary and shaken.

"Poor little Darling," he pouted in false sympathy, "got a little greedy, didn't she?" You shook your head violently. Blue raised his eyebrow and nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said sternly, "yes she did." Catching his venomous tone, you slowly corrected yourself, nodding uncertainly. He smirked.

"Say it, bunny."

"I was greedy," you stuttered, trying to steady your voice. He leaned closer, dark eyes narrowed.

"What was that? Don't be rude, sugar, I know you have manners."

"I-I was greedy, Mr. Jones." Your cheeks were hot with shame and glittering tears ran tracks down your face. He cocked his head, dangerous gaze still locked on you.

"Will it happen again?"

You shook your head again, sniffling.

"From the top." He sat back pridefully, gloating in your embarrassment. Hiccupping, you wiped your eyes.

"I-I was greedy, Mr. Jones, i-it won't happen again," you said, keeping your chin up. You bit your lip against another sob, looking to him for approval.

"Good girl," he murmured, patting your face. "Not so hard, huh?" He leaned closer like one might approach a feral cat, still stroking your cheek. "No more tears, honey," he wiped them from under your eyes. "Don't stain the silk."

You nodded apologetically, avoiding his gaze. Gently, he angled your chin up to look at him. If it had been any other girl, he'd have you on your knees, but the hardwood would bruise you. Doll-like in your appearance, he was afraid to break you.

"You've done such a lovely job, darling," he murmured, leaning in to inhale your soap. That jittery shyness was shining through again, and he rubbed your shoulder caringly. "Don't be shy now, you were making such progress."

You looked at him imploringly, searching for the hidden meaning. Finding his eyes glassy and soft, you leaned in. Blue felt a rush of pride at your compliance, petting your hair and kissing your jaw. The cold metal of his jewelry warmed against your heated skin. His hands were rough in contrast to your dewy complexion. As his attention continued, the apprehension slowly left your body. Your head was tucked into his shoulder. Your eyes were soft and sleepy, completely at his mercy.

"Lay on my lap, darling," he whispered, arranging your legs over his. He was throbbing with need but the moment felt too delicate to pop just yet. Fabric rustled under his legs as you moved, trying to get comfortable.

"Did...did you need something?" you whispered into his collar. "I thought you wanted something to wear."

Blue traced your shoulder blades thoughtfully. "Mmm, I might've," he pondered, "but I think I prefer this." With great control, he gently patted your ass. It was too much. The vanilla smell was everywhere, and you were completely without restraint. He could do whatever he wanted...

Don't break her yet, he reminded himself, sucking a mark into your neck. You keened and sat closer, giving him access to your neck.

His gaze darkened. Later.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

join the taglist

T Minus 7

part four is here im so sorry

i feel terrible i dipped out for two weeks and all i have to show for it is this piece of garbage

good luck

cw: nothing just tension (are you bored be honest) and mention of vomit.

Masterlist

Ben was in mid sentence when you flung open the door to his office. The window shattered as it bounced violently off the wall. Every med tech in the room froze, glittering dusk spreading over the floor. the shards crunched under your footsteps as you came nose to nose with Ben. Your cheeks were on fire, chest heaving. Breathe. Breathe.

"You drugged my patient," you spat, flinging the clipboard at your boss. A few interns skittered backwards, murmuring concern. Ben dodged the flying paper, swearing.

"What the hell-"

"Miguel O'Hara," you seethed, "Spiderman of Universe 2099-A. Was specifically given to me to care for, and yet I found a drug that I did not administer in his bloodstream." You punctuated this bombshell with a snarl, jabbing roughly at the file summary.

Ben adjusted his glasses. "Now, now calm down a second-"

"He was getting better and now he's a rabid animal!" Your shout echoed across the whole med bay. Logic had gone out the window; you were far too focused on finding answers.

"Do you see what has happened to him?" Miguel was prone on a cot, tubes shoved into his throat. "He's tied up there for no reason other than the side effects of whatever cocktail you gave him without telling me."

Ben shot a look at the hovering interns, who quickly dispersed. Still calm as a breeze, he sat and gestured for you to do the same. Folding your arms, you didn't budge. Anger had blurred the edges of your vision and highlighted his nonchalant expression. You could smell the cold sweat gathering along his hairline.

Be scared, you coward.

He sighed again. "I'm sorry for the confusion. But this situation...is worse than you understand."

"Then make me understand," you bit back.

Ben was clearly disgruntled with your stern attitude. He hesitated, then pulled up a few documents for you to look at.

"Miguel has serious attitude problems," he said, "as I'm sure you've noticed. His extreme anger and violent reactions are a result of hormone imbalances from his unstable splicing with a spider breed."

Sitting back, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You mirrored his expression. When it was clear that was the only explanation he'd give you, you snorted.

"Yeah, okay. Why did you give him that drug? What even is that?"

Ben stood, jaw ticking. The smell of his own endorphins was stronger, making your nose twitch. Let him get mad. If he yelled, you could yell right back.

"I've given you all the information you need. I don't think you're the right nurse for this-"

Your palm cracked across his face before you could think about it. He flinched, skin flaring up at the contact. Pride roared in your chest, despite the waver of regret.

Ben leaned forward and snatched the ID from your jacket. "You're done," he said coldly.

A low buzz rang through your head, chilling your blood. The uncertainty and anger mixed in a disgusting whirlpool in your stomach, urging you to hurl in a garbage can. You swallowed it down proudly and stormed out without another word.

"So who's taking care of Miguel?" Your friend chewed her thumb nervously after you told her the story. Yeah, it was classified, but you didn't owe Ben shit anymore.

"I...dunno," you exhaled, scrubbing a palm over your face. You hadn't thought this through at all. Maria's gaze softened when she took in your terrified expression.

You'd been a mess since you arrived home; immediately vomiting in the sink and having a panic attack on the bathroom floor. Maria almost called the med bay before you blubbered about the situation. She was shocked at the state of O'Hara.

The idea of leaving him in the med bay with some random nurse made your chest twist. He'd had such a hard time with the needles...and the thought of Ben running the doses fired up your anger. You'd gotten along with the head doctor, but something about him always rubbed you the wrong way.

"I need to sleep on it," you mumbled. Maria patted your shoulder comfortingly as you trudged into the shared bedroom.

Foolish of you to think you could sleep. You tossed for an hour before giving up frustratedly. The sheets were twisted around your ankles and cold sweat had dried uncomfortably under your sleep shirt. Maria had left around seven, supposedly for a get-together.

The sink dripped quietly in the background. Low light from the oven glowed ominously. You shivered. Padding to the sink, you poured yourself a cup of water and drank, easing your shaky nerves. There was leftover pizza which you devoured in minutes.

I hope he's okay.

You buried your head in your arms, anxiety knotting tight and sharp under your ribs. It felt like all the air had been vacuum sealed out of the room.

Breathe.

Shoving away from the table, you slipped on your shoes and left, trying to clear the brain fog. A walk would be nice. The light had faded outside, and the HQ was asleep. The air conditioning hummed and faint sounds of the machinery was clicking, but everyone had gone to bed.

Out of habit, you felt yourself ducking down the medbay hall. The windows were all shuttered and the lights flicked off, an eerie blue glow under the doors. You'd never noticed how similar to a morgue the bay was. Unmarked doors, solemn workers and hushed voices.

You shivered again. Your footsteps paused, and you found yourself outside of a very familiar door.

Don't. Just go home. He's sleeping.

You can't.

Not having an ID made it impossible to unlock any doors. You pressed a hand to the small window, condensation from your nose fogging the glass. The faint beeps of his monitors could be heard if you pressed close enough. A small piece of your heart broke as you listened to the rhythmic beeps.

Your hand brushed against the doorknob. A small eep when the door pushed open. It hadn't locked.

Whoever had last checked on him hadn't locked his room properly.

Keep walking. Turn around. Don't.

Just a peek. You'd just take a peek. Toeing the door open, you clicked it gently shut and tiptoed closer.

Miguel was still pale and clammy, but the machinery had been reduced. You could smell his bandages from the doorway. Rot. He was neglected. The slow beat of your worry picked up the pace. Why hadn't anybody changed his bedding?

Something was up.

Impulsively, you smoothed the sheets around his arms and pushed sweaty hair off his forehead. His skin was flaming, and you flinched back.

Something hot and thick closed around your wrist. You froze, his hand holding your arm loosely. Miguel's brow furrowed with pain as he tried to keep his eyes open, and you gently prompted him to go back to sleep.

His irises were muddy with pain - sharp scarlet turned a rusty brown.

You patted his hand and peeled off his sweaty fingers, shushing when he groaned.

"Hang on," you whispered.

Breath held, you quickly peeked into the hall. Still empty. Holy fuck this is such a bad idea.

Closing the door quietly, you tiptoed over and carefully pulled an empty syringe out of the blood kit on the counter. Snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, you pulled his wrist into your grasp and felt for a vein. You tried to add pressure to coax the blood flow. In a long, slow exhale, you swiftly drew up a few milliliters of blood. Miguel barely flinched, fingers twitching in sleep.

You pocketed the syringe and slipped out of his room. Ben had taken your badge but he hadn't taken your coat or your lanyard. You could still - as long as a tech didn't look to close - apply for a blood scan.

If Ben wouldn't tell you what he'd dosed Miguel with, you could figure it out yourself.

The bags for lab requests were in an unlocked office. You scribbled out a report, fudged a couple of numbers and slipped it into the stack of waiting transfers. Quick as you came, you disappeared out the door and back into the hall.

A few late-shift nurses waved at you, unknowing of recent transgressions. You kept your face calm, not betraying the stampede underneath. A few minutes later you were back in bed, adrenaline pumping after your escapade.

You woke up with cottonmouth the next morning. After downing a second glass of water and waving off a concerned glance from your roommate, you shook off the despair and tried to piece together what was going on.

Labs were backed up, hopefully you'd have the results by tomorrow. If all went well and the techs were their usual inattentive selves, nobody would notice your unauthorized request.

As the clock ticked, your guts twisted. Your gaze slid to the mess of Miguel's file on your floor. Jumping off of your bunk, you crouched over the sheafs of paper.

Curious, you picked one up off the pile. If Miguel's infection was even close to the severity that Ben had implied, he'd definitely have symptoms outside of a mid-grade fever and weight loss. That was standard. None of the nurse reports you or your coworkers filed had any reports of indigestion, bloody vomit, or something that would explain away his wound.

Huh.

Miguel hadn't hallucinated, fainted, developed lesions or rashes. The testing of the venom proved that red rashes and a pox were a symptom of exposure.

O'Hara's symptoms listed none of the above.

Puzzled, you flipped through his information until the mission report resurfaced.

Impaled on left side of sternum with approx. 8 inches of rebar.

His wound was on the right side.

Either somebody did not know their directions or somebody lied.

Miguel had one of the fastest healing metabolisms of anyone on the team. Probably the fastest. An impalement would have healed in hours. By the time he'd arrived at your office, his left side was fine. His right side had a wound. There was copious scar tissue all over his chest. The original wound would have been disguised easily.

Did he get injured again? It would have been in the mission report.

Unless it happened after the mission.

Dr. Ben had been first on the scene. He'd personally transported Miguel to the medbay. After that was the first contact any other medical personnel had with O'Hara.

Hands shaky, you dialed Maria.

"Hey," you jumped when she answered, "where's Dr. Ben?"

Maria hummed, ducking away from her phone. "I got him," she said, "what's up?"

Holding up Miguel's file, you swallowed thickly. "Wh...how big was the rebar that Miguel was impaled with originally?"

8. 8 inches. Say it.

"Twelve, why?"

"Nothing," you whispered, hanging up.

Bingo.

The two wounds were different. Miguel had not been infected by the original impalement.

It had been done intentionally.

You slid down in your chair. "Oh my god."

There was a notification in your inbox the next morning. Spitting out your morning toast, you opened up the lab report.

Hemoglobin, normal, oxygen, normal....the sedatives you'd been using were listed, an abnormally high sodium level - circle back later - and-

compound r4 status: abnormal.

Compound r4 was a norepinephrine regulator given to anomalies to control rage. NE was lowered to calm them down so that the spiders could transport them easily. However, if overdosed it had an opposite reaction.

Why would Miguel need r4?

"...has attitude problems, as I'm sure you know..."

Your stomach had plummeted through the floor as the fog slowly cleared. His sodium levels were high because the drug you'd been administering was a false. Just a saline solution, no antibiotic. His iron levels were normal, even though he'd been losing blood.

Miguel was fine. There was no infection, the venom had not come in contact with his wound. Somebody had staged the effects.

Ben.

I SWEAR I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT YOU GUYS I JUST DUG MYSELF DEEPER IN THIS PILE OF GOD KNOWS WHAT AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT

i love you xox

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @ridiculous-hibiscus @seeeuspaceecowboyyy @neeshsoodrippedout @llumetrii

SHADES OF RED

Fight Club Owner! Sukuna x Wealthy! Reader teaser

Here is the teaser @rinhaler hope you find it interesting

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual desire

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"Coming up in my club and business is a fucking invasion of privacy, princess. Didn't your parents teach you any form of manners?"

You scoff, turning on your heels fixing him a piercing glare. The audacity he has to call you that. "First off, do not call me princess. Secondly, you are a heinous man for allowing and orchestrating vile legal entities, like this illegal fight club to exist. Thirdly, my parents do not give a flying fuck about my existence."

Sukuna smirks, simply amused by your boldness and sharp tongue. You definitely weren't a cop or some government agent, not with those clothes. "It's called capitalism, sweetheart. Surely you're familiar with that term since you dress like a white collar person."

"I'm a financial broker and a consultant." You clarify, the front of your shoes tapping impatiently while it echoes in the cold but smelly lockeroom, waiting for your cousin to change. You can hear him grumble and huff in irritation about you meddling in his life. The oh so sultry way he said sweetheart made your insides feel repulsed. There was no way you enjoyed him calling you pet names.

"Oh so you should be aware then. You deal with shady clients from time to time so you can't be that stupid. There are far seedy businessmen than me who do worst than what I run. You might have even funded them." The patronizing tone he used boiled your blood. You had half a mind to slap that smirk off his face and the other was to punch his face. You don’t care if he’s 6'6 feet with muscles or whatever, you on thin ice with violence tonight. You aren’t scared of any man. At least that's what your mind is telling yourself as you are front of the pink-haired male.

"You must get off being so arrogant. That prideful that you had to resort to shady businesses to get through in life?" You smirk with vehemence. Satisfied that the grin was gone and replaced by a scowl, you took it further. "You must have a fucked up life that you needed to get by like a vulture and work your way up-" you were cut off when Sukuna was suddenly in front of you.

The confidence you had inside died instantly when you saw just how dark his face got and those looming red eyes staring at you like you were a dangerous insect. If looks could kill, you'd be incinerated. It was frightening and erotic the way he was towering over you, ready to pounce you like a predator.

"For someone who's a professional businesswoman, you sure got a mouth that acts like they can fucking talk to others however they want." He growls out, the tension so thick, even Hiroshi stopped moving. You couldn't tell if your cousin was scared or not, not when his eyes commanded you to look at him. "You should really be careful with who you're talking too. You think you can just come in here and think you're the shit. Get the fuck outta here with that attitude." Sukuna is keenly aware of your bossy attitude, along with your bravery. He does admire it dearly, but sometimes people like you need to be reminded of their place. He can think of many ways to put you in your place and do the nastiest and sinful things to let you know who's dominant.

"Oh I will." You utter, regaining the bravery back to look at him. "I don't plan on coming back here and neither is Hiroshi."

"No, what the fuck!? You can't just tell me not to come here and force my life around!" The irritated voice of your 18-year old cousin shouts in the lockeroom. He reappears in a black wifebeater tank top, black joggers, a white baseball cap worn backwards and black and white converses. His face, fueled with rage and hurt despite the few yet prominent bruises on his face fills you with regret. Maybe you should have kept a closer eye on him in school.

"Yes you are and I said so. Get your stuff and let's go." You order him, yet he refuses, his toned biceps crossing his chest in indignation.

"Fuck that! You’re not my mom just because you’re raising me! I am not gonna let you do what you want me to do just because it doesn't go with your "white collar" bullshit!" Hiroshi spat. Your eyes widen in shock for a split second, hurt by how he replied, and Hiroshi knew he fucked up by saying the first words he didn't mean to say. But you instantly regain composure and was about to respond coldly until a deep tone interrupted.

"What a family feud you are causing here." The feigned surprised voice of Sukuna makes you bristle, giving him a death stare. Seriously why is this man even in your presence.

"He can leave tonight. Let him recover and rest from his bruises. But," He looks to you with that same dark expression that sent shivers down your spine, and it was the good kind of shivers, "if you think you can just house arrest my top fighter and micro-manage him, he's part of this world now and can do as much as he pleases, princess. So you shouldn't stop him."

The challenge he declared to you made your competitive side ablaze. You faced him head-on with a fearsome look of your own. "Hiroshi is not coming back here and that's final. Hiroshi, let's go."

What a conceited, self-centered bitch you are. He chuckles in his thoughts. Now he was interested in you and your confidence. Just as she swipes his arm with her shoulder, her classy and expensive heels echoing the tiled floor, he eyes his top fighter who was furious at the thought of being forbidden from coming back here. Sukuna stops Hiroshi by the shoulder, making the IED teen look at him.

"Don't worry kid, you're still allowed here. Can't have my top fighter out of the game now. We'll figure something out, but for now just go home and rest up." He hears Hiroshi grunt out a low "fine" before he storms out of the lockeroom with veiled rage.

As for you...he really is intrigued by your beauty, your confidence and finesse. But that attitude of yours has to be fixed. Give it time and you'll warm up to him soon.

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I am excited but nervous to write this series. I hope I did Sukuna justice with his personality here.