Kurapika
The Bowery Presents

ellievsbear
d e v o n

PR's Tumblrdome

gracie abrams
ojovivo

pixel skylines

★
Jules of Nature
Misplaced Lens Cap
official daine visual archive
art blog(derogatory)
$LAYYYTER

shark vs the universe
untitled
Stranger Things

Love Begins

Product Placement

No title available
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
seen from United States
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@springloveswinter
Kurapika
HI ah this idea just came to mind and I’m so soft over so can I have Kurapika’s reaction to his s/o surprising him by saying “I love you” in Kurta? They had been doing their own research to surprise him and make him soft🥺🥺
Ugh. Google is so useless sometimes, you thought as you rolled your eyes into the back of your head. It’s so hard to find anything about the Kurta and their language... But I did it. You closed your laptop and took a deep breath, smiling to yourself. You had thought of the idea weeks ago; you were going to surprise Kurapika by telling him “I love you” in his clan’s language.
It was a harder task than you had imagined. There wasn’t much literature on the topic and anything you did find was vague. You knew of the clan’s history thanks to Kurapika, but you didn’t realize finding other information on them was near impossible. Although, after a couple weeks of research, you were finally done.
You slumped into the bed, waiting for Kurapika to show up and crawl in the sheets. As hard as you tried to stay awake, your eyes began to flutter as you were descending into sleep.
“Goodnight, (y/n).” Kurapika whispered, kissing you on the forehead, managing to wake you from your slumber. How long was I asleep for? Oh well doesn’t matter now. You cracked a half smile at him; the way the moonlight shone through your window made him look angelic. He’s so perfect.
*in Kurta language*: “I love you.” Your words were soft and slightly slurred from just barely waking up. Kurapika’s face immediately lit up with happiness. He gently pulled you into his arms, planting his soft lips onto yours.
“Baby, where did you learn that from?” he asked in awe, pulling away from your lips momentarily. He was practically speechless from the depth of this gesture. He started leaving kisses along your soft skin as a way of showing his appreciation for you.
“I… I taught myself. I wanted to show you how much I love you in a meaningful way.” Your words were melting him; he was so grateful to have someone as thoughtful and sweet as you in his life.
abandoned wishes
I haven't watched/read the apothecary diaries, but a friend asked me to draw her a wallpaper, so here's Maomao!
Pulling him in - Pt.9
Kurapika x Reader
↳ pt.8
────────────
Synopsis:
Working with Kurapika was easy. Understanding him? Not so much. He was quiet, serious, distant-yet somehow always around you. Sitting beside you during meetings, walking near you after missions, silently listening whenever you talked.
You assumed that was simply how he was with everyone.
What you didn't know... was that every small interaction completely destroyed his composure internally. And unfortunately for him, Melody could hear every frantic heartbeat he tried so hard to hide.
────────────
Warnings:
fluff, tension, mutual pining, coworkers to lovers vibes, awkward attraction, slow burn, slight jealousy, nervous Kurapika, reader insert, anime spoilers very lightly implied, dirty thoughts.
────────────
The next day seemed to drag on forever.
At least for you.
Every meeting felt longer.
Every report felt more boring.
Every glance at the clock somehow made time move slower.
By the time evening finally arrived, you were practically relieved.
You stood in front of the mirror in your hotel room with several outfits spread across the bed behind you.
Too formal.
Too casual.
Too flashy.
Too plain.
You sighed dramatically and flopped onto the mattress.
Why were you even thinking this hard about it?
It was just dinner.
With Melody.
And Leorio.
And Kurapika.
Your face immediately warmed.
You sat up again.
“No.”
You pointed at yourself in the mirror.
“It is not because of him.”
The mirror wasn’t convinced.
Neither were you.
After another ten minutes of indecisiveness, you finally settled on a simple black dress.
It wasn’t over-the-top.
It wasn’t covered in glitter.
It wasn’t trying too hard.
Just elegant.
Simple.
Something you’d actually feel comfortable wearing.
You smoothed out the fabric and nodded.
“Okay.”
That was settled.
Now your hair.
Which somehow became an even bigger problem.
You sat in front of the mirror and carefully worked on it.
Fixing loose strands.
Adjusting pieces.
Changing your mind.
Undoing it.
Trying again.
You were halfway through when a thought suddenly appeared.
Do you think he’ll notice?
You froze.
Then immediately groaned.
“Why do I care if he notices?”
Unfortunately, you already knew the answer.
Because you wanted him to.
You looked at yourself in the mirror again.
The black dress.
Your hair.
The subtle jewelry.
You smiled softly.
Hopefully it looked nice.
────────────
Meanwhile, down the hall.
Kurapika was experiencing a crisis of his own.
He stood in front of his bathroom mirror.
Staring.
His hair was a mess.
Not terrible.
Just…
Different.
A little longer than usual.
A few strands refused to stay where they belonged.
Normally he wouldn’t care.
Normally he’d brush it back once and leave.
Today was apparently not normal.
Kurapika adjusted a strand.
Then another.
Then another.
He stepped back.
Looked.
Stepped closer again.
Adjusted it.
Stepped back.
Still wrong.
He sighed.
This was ridiculous.
Why was he doing this?
The answer appeared immediately.
Y/N.
Kurapika groaned.
He shouldn’t be thinking about things like this.
He shouldn’t be worrying about his appearance.
And yet…
A small part of him wanted to look good.
Wanted you to look at him and think he looked nice.
The realization made him immediately look away from the mirror.
“This is embarrassing.”
He fixed his collar.
Adjusted his sleeves.
Looked at himself one final time.
Good enough.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
A loud knock interrupted his thoughts.
Then his phone started ringing.
Leorio.
Kurapika already knew what that meant.
He answered.
“Hello?”
“Open the door.”
Kurapika blinked.
“What?”
“I’m literally outside.”
Kurapika sighed.
Of course he was.
Leorio never believed in arriving on time.
Only early.
He ended the call and walked toward the door.
Opening it revealed exactly what he expected.
Leorio stood there in a dark suit with his hands in his pockets.
The moment he saw Kurapika, a grin appeared.
“There he is.”
Kurapika narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
Leorio looked him up and down.
Then smirked.
“You spent time on your hair.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Kurapika immediately regretted opening the door.
Leorio laughed loudly.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Sure.”
Leorio pointed toward his head.
“You’ve adjusted that same piece of hair three times since I got here.”
Kurapika froze.
Caught.
Leorio’s grin somehow widened.
“Don’t worry.”
“I am not worried.”
“Good.”
Leorio began walking down the hallway.
“Because Y/N’s definitely gonna notice.”
Kurapika nearly tripped over absolutely nothing.
And Leorio laughed the entire way to the elevator.
The hotel lobby was already fairly busy by the time you made your way downstairs.
You spotted Melody almost immediately.
She was sitting in one of the chairs near the entrance, looking as composed as ever in her usual suit.
The moment she heard your footsteps approaching, she smiled.
“Y/N.”
“Hey, Melody.”
You sat down beside her.
Melody tilted her head slightly.
“You look nice.”
You smiled.
“Thank you.”
For some reason, hearing that made you feel a little less nervous.
The two of you chatted while waiting.
Mostly about work.
Mostly because neither of you wanted to acknowledge how long it was taking the others.
A few minutes later, the lobby doors opened.
You glanced up.
And immediately spotted Leorio.
And beside him—
Kurapika.
Your heart skipped for a second.
He looked…
Different.
It wasn’t a huge change.
He was still wearing a suit.
Still carrying himself the same way.
Still looked composed and elegant.
But something about him seemed softer tonight.
Maybe it was his hair.
Maybe it was because he wasn’t carrying a folder for once.
Maybe it was because this wasn’t work.
Whatever it was—
You couldn’t stop looking.
Meanwhile, Leorio spotted you immediately.
“There she is!”
You laughed.
Leorio approached first.
The second he saw you properly, his eyes widened.
“Wow.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You look great.”
Kurapika immediately wished Leorio would stop talking.
Not because he disagreed.
Because he agreed far too much.
The black dress suited you perfectly.
And he had already spent the entire walk downstairs trying not to think about it.
“Thank you,” you said with a smile.
“You look good too.”
Leorio grinned proudly.
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
Leorio laughed.
Then your attention shifted toward Kurapika.
His heart immediately betrayed him.
“You look handsome too, Pika.”
Kurapika froze.
Handsome.
You called him handsome.
His ears immediately turned red.
He looked away for a moment before managing—
“…Thank you.”
His voice sounded quieter than usual.
You smiled.
Cute.
Kurapika’s heart nearly stopped.
Say something back.
His brain screamed at him.
Tell her she looks nice.
Tell her she’s beautiful.
Tell her literally anything.
Instead—
Nothing.
Complete silence.
Kurapika internally panicked.
Why was talking suddenly so difficult?
Then Leorio ruined everything.
“She’s gorgeous.”
Kurapika immediately wanted to kick him.
Melody smiled.
“I agree.”
You laughed softly and looked away, clearly embarrassed by the compliments.
Meanwhile Kurapika stood there silently.
Because now if he said it, it would sound forced.
Perfect.
⸻
A short while later, the group headed outside.
Leorio had somehow convinced everyone to take one car.
Which resulted in him driving.
Melody claimed the front passenger seat.
Leaving only the back.
You slid into the seat first.
Kurapika followed shortly after.
The door closed.
And suddenly the space felt much smaller.
Far too small.
Your perfume lingered in the air.
Kurapika immediately looked out the window.
The safest option.
Definitely the safest option.
The city lights blurred past as Leorio drove.
Melody and Leorio immediately started talking.
Mostly arguing.
Mostly because Leorio enjoyed annoying people.
Meanwhile, the back seat remained quiet.
You glanced sideways.
Kurapika was staring out the window.
His chin rested lightly against his hand.
His expression calm.
Relaxed.
Almost thoughtful.
You smiled slightly.
“Pika.”
Kurapika looked over immediately.
Just hearing you say his nickname got his attention.
“Yes?”
You tilted your head.
“You’re quiet.”
Leorio barked out a laugh from the driver’s seat.
“That’s his default setting.”
“Leorio.”
“I’m just saying.”
You giggled.
Kurapika sighed.
Embarrassed.
But hearing you laugh made it difficult to stay annoyed.
“You seem nervous.”
Kurapika blinked.
“Nervous?”
“Yeah.”
You smiled teasingly.
“You’ve looked out that window the entire drive.”
Kurapika immediately looked away again.
You weren’t wrong. He just forgot what he was supposed to say.
────────────
The restaurant was much fancier than any of you expected.
Well—
Much fancier than you expected.
The second the hostess led your group inside, you looked around at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the expensive decorations.
You immediately leaned toward Melody.
“Are we sure we’re allowed in here?”
Melody laughed.
“Yes.”
Leorio grinned.
“Have some faith.”
You pointed at a decorative statue that probably cost more than your yearly salary.
“I don’t belong here.”
Kurapika, who had been quietly walking beside you, hid a smile behind his hand. you noticed.
“You laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Leorio immediately joined in.
“He did.”
“I saw it.”
Kurapika sighed.
“You’re both impossible.”
Once seated, things only got worse.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
Leorio somehow managed to order the most expensive thing on the menu.
You immediately noticed.
“Leorio.”
“What?”
“Why is your steak the price of my rent?”
“It’s called treating yourself.”
“It’s called robbery.”
Melody nearly choked on her drink trying not to laugh.
Kurapika quietly lowered his menu.
“I agree with Y/N.”
Leorio looked betrayed.
“Not you too.”
⸻
A few minutes later the drinks arrived.
Everything was peaceful.
For about thirty seconds.
Then Leorio accidentally knocked over a spoon.
The spoon bounced.
Hit another spoon.
Which somehow knocked over Melody’s napkin.
You burst out laughing.
Leorio looked offended.
“Why is everyone laughing?”
“Because that was the most dramatic spoon drop I’ve ever seen.”
“It attacked me.”
“The spoon attacked you?”
“Yes.”
Kurapika lowered his head.
His shoulders were shaking slightly.
You pointed immediately.
“Look!”
Leorio turned.
“What?”
“He’s laughing again!”
Kurapika instantly stopped.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Melody smiled.
“He is.”
Kurapika looked genuinely betrayed.
⸻
As the food arrived, the conversation settled down.
The food was surprisingly amazing.
Even Leorio stopped talking long enough to eat.
Which honestly impressed everyone.
At one point Melody was telling a story from an older mission.
Leorio interrupted six times.
Three of those interruptions were completely unrelated.
And somehow by the end of it nobody remembered what the original story was about.
⸻
“You know,” Leorio said.
“I think Y/N is a bad influence.”
You looked up.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He pointed at Kurapika.
“He’s smiling more.”
The entire table went silent.
You immediately looked at Kurapika.
Kurapika immediately looked at his plate.
Melody looked suspiciously amused.
Leorio looked proud of himself.
You tried not to laugh.
Kurapika wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.
⸻
By the time dinner was over, everyone was full.
Leorio was already talking about dessert.
Melody was trying to convince him he didn’t need dessert.
He wasn’t listening.
You ended up stepping outside for some fresh air while they argued.
The night air was cool.
Comfortable.
You leaned against the railing outside the restaurant.
A few moments later, the door opened behind you.
You didn’t need to turn around.
You already knew who it was.
Kurapika stepped beside you.
Neither of you spoke immediately.
The city lights reflected softly in the distance.
After a moment, you smiled.
“The food was really good.”
Kurapika nodded.
“It was.”
A brief silence followed.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Then you looked at him.
“I’m glad you came.”
Kurapika glanced over.
His heart immediately sped up.
“You are?”
“Yeah.”
You looked back toward the street.
“It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Kurapika forgot what he was going to say.
Completely.
His mind went blank.
You said things like that so casually.
Like you had no idea what they did to him.
A small smile appeared on his face.
“I’m glad I came too.”
You looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
His expression softened slightly.
“It was nice.”
You grinned.
“See? You can socialize.”
Kurapika sighed.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The teasing.”
You laughed.
“I can’t help it.”
For a moment he just watched you.
The way you smiled.
The way you looked at him.
The way being around you somehow made everything feel quieter.
Easier.
You turned toward him.
“What?”
Kurapika immediately looked away.
Caught.
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was thinking.”
You immediately started laughing.
“Pika, that’s your excuse for everything.”
Kurapika couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared.
Maybe it was.
But somehow, standing there with you under the city lights, listening to you laugh—
He didn’t mind that you knew him well enough to call him out on it.
As a Karmanami shipper, there’s one headcanon I’m really attached to.
Karma never meant to get attached to Okuda.
At first, he just thought she was interesting and useful. Her skills could benefit him, so he approached her—not to take advantage of her (he does have ethics… kind of), but to ask for help with his pranks and schemes.
What he didn’t account for was who Okuda actually is.
She’s kind, gentle, innocent—quietly endearing in a way that sneaks up on you. It’s hard not to find her cute. And, without realizing it, that got to Karma.
Where other girls might have A) run away, B) judged him, or C) fawned over him, Okuda simply smiled at him softly. She treated him the same way she’d treat anyone else, with calm kindness. That was a first for Karma—especially coming from someone as shy and small as Okuda. He’d honestly expected her to freak out. Part of him even thought it might be fun to scare her a little.
But she didn’t.
She was surprised, maybe a bit uncomfortable at first, but not scared. And as they talked, she grew more confident, already treating him like a friend. Okuda is far too trusting for this world.
That unsettled him.
Somehow, she became more interesting.
Since she agreed to help him with chemical mixtures and such, he started hanging around after class while she worked in the lab. When they were alone like that, he talked. And one day, without realizing it, he drifted into something personal.
By the time he noticed his guard had slipped, it was too late. He looked at her, expecting judgment.
There was none.
She just smiled, offered advice, reassured him. Seeing the worry on his face, she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.
So he came back.
Whenever he could, he followed her to the lab after class. He talked about whatever crossed his mind, or listened to her ramble—something he found surprisingly soothing. Her voice was soft and calm, and those moments slowly became the highlight of his days.
By then, he trusted her completely. She knew far too much about him. Still, he refused to admit that their bond was anything more than poison and friendship.
Because he’d never felt like this before.
And maybe that scared him.
He started asking her to hang out on weekends and during holidays—just the two of them. To him, it was still friendship.
They texted often. Random things: a new place he wanted to check out, a terrible day he needed to complain about. She’d text him about a cute cat she saw on the way home, or how Kayano teased her that day.
Lunch breaks. Walking home. Weekends.
They grew close, slowly and naturally. Nothing romantic. Really.
The closest thing to romance was him resting his head in her lap, or her holding onto him so he wouldn’t slip on the ice in winter.
Nothing more.
Until Koro-sensei’s death.
After leaving their old school, it was time to say goodbye. Okuda hugged him, told him she’d had an amazing year, admitted she was sad they wouldn’t be in the same class anymore, and said she hoped they’d still see each other often.
It hit him hard.
That was when he realized—maybe, just maybe—he wanted more than friendship.
So he hugged her back.
As for Okuda, she was just being kind the whole time. She’s clueless about these things—or maybe in denial of her own feelings. To her, it probably feels impossible that a boy could like her that way. She’s too nerdy, too ordinary.
Not as deep as Karma’s perspective.
But just as sincere.
thinking abt them again
indescribable emptiness or something like that
precious smile 🥺
Chains he won’t let you see
Synopsis:
Kurapika is a deeply private and guarded person, especially when it comes to the chains he uses as part of his Nen abilities. Even in a relationship, he struggles to open up about them or allow anyone close to that part of his life. But when his partner grows curious—and gently persistent—the boundaries he’s built begin to blur. What starts as small questions and subtle moments of defiance turns into an emotional confrontation with trust, vulnerability, and love he isn’t used to receiving.
Warnings:
-Canon-typical violence references (Kurapika’s past / Kurta Clan massacre mention)
-Emotional distress / trauma-related themes
-Mild angst with comfort
-Protective/secretive behavior in relationships
-Physical affection (non-explicit, soft romantic intimacy)
-Brief themes of emotional vulnerability and trust issues
-No smut / no explicit sexual content
Kurapika hates when you touch his chains.
He isn’t the most openly affectionate lover, and you’ve learned that quickly. He also hates when your eyes linger on them too long—or when you ask about them at all.
“Wait… so what does each finger do?” you once asked, completely blunt.
He had barely looked up before replying, calm but firm. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. You shouldn’t know.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. He did—completely. He cared about you more than he could easily express. But anything connected to those chains was dangerous, and he refused to let you carry even a fraction of that burden.
Even so, curiosity didn’t leave you alone.
One evening, while you were sitting beside him and Melody during a quiet conversation, your eyes drifted again—settling on the chains he kept close. Kurapika noticed immediately. His posture shifted, subtle but protective, his hands moving slightly as if to shield them from view.
You saw it.
And for reasons even you couldn’t explain, you wanted to see how he’d react if you crossed that line.
Your hand brushed his—softly at first, barely there. The metal met your skin.
He flinched.
So sharply that he pulled his hand back in an instant, turning to you with a quiet intensity.
“Y/N… what are you doing?” he asked, voice low but not unkind.
You just looked at him for a moment, then glanced away. “Nothing.”
And just like that, you went back to your meal as if nothing had happened.
Kurapika returned to his conversation with Melody, though his attention stayed a little more divided than before.
That night, the air in your room was warm and soft. You were already in bedwear—shorts and a thin red tank top, hair loose around your shoulders as you sat on the bed.
Kurapika walked in while loosening his tie.
“Kurapika” you called gently.
“Yes?” he replied, just as soft, pausing his movement.
“Come here.”
He didn’t hesitate. He never did when it came to you.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.
Now standing in front of you, he let his gaze settle on you—your face, your posture, the way you looked up at him. Something in his expression softened further, almost unguarded. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real sometimes.
You patted the space in front of you slightly. “Let me see.”
He blinked. “See what?”
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead, you reached for his hand.
His breath caught the moment your fingers touched him.
You knew his rule. You knew what he avoided. But this time, he didn’t pull away.
Your fingers wrapped gently around his hand, and you turned it over carefully, as if it might break. Then you lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.
Once.
Then again.
Slow, deliberate, gentle.
Kurapika froze completely, watching you as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. The tips of his ears turned faintly red.
“I’m not afraid..” you said quietly, looking up at him.
Something in his expression shifted at that—subtle, but deeply emotional.
He swallowed, his composure finally slipping just enough to show how much he was holding in. Then, without another word, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your waist.
He pulled you close, burying his face into your neck like he’d been holding everything back for far too long.
You didn’t move away.
You just held him.
And let him stay there.
Author’s Note:
It’s 3:21 a.m. and I just thought of this. Sorry if it’s bad.
祝酷拉皮卡生日快乐!(这边忘记发了)
All of my main 4 bordered prints
How Many Kids Do You Want?
The question had slipped out casually.
You didn’t even mean to ask it. Not like that, not like it was some grand romantic moment where you were supposed to be wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet. You were just two people, sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, wrapped in a blanket. There was popcorn between you, a dumb movie playing in the background, and the comforting scent of Kurapika’s cologne clinging to your skin after he pulled you into his lap halfway through the night.
Your fingers were tracing patterns into his shirt. His hand was on your thigh, warm and steady.
And somewhere between a yawn and a soft sigh, you mumbled, “Hey, how many babies do you want?”
Kurapika didn’t respond right away.
He was like that. Quiet. Thoughtful. He didn’t just say things to fill the silence. He considered every word, every answer, especially when it came to you.
You started to backtrack, nervous. “I mean—not that I’m like, asking if you want kids now. It’s just a question! Hypothetical. Totally casual. Like... like a late-night ‘what if’ scenario. Not a plan or anything—”
Kurapika’s fingers tightened slightly on your leg.
You stopped rambling.
He looked down at you, lips curled in that soft, knowing smile he reserved only for you. His golden hair fell slightly over his brow, and you reached up instinctively to brush it aside.
“I don’t think I should be the one to answer that,” he said gently.
You blinked. “What?”
Kurapika’s hand moved to yours, threading his fingers through them. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles before resting your joined hands over his chest, where his heartbeat thumped calmly beneath.
“You’d be the one carrying the baby,” he said, voice low and sure. “That decision belongs to you.”
Your throat tightened.
Kurapika continued, his gaze never leaving yours. “Whatever number makes you happiest—zero or ten or anywhere in between—I’ll support it. It’s not my place to tell you what your body should go through. That’s not love. That’s control.”
You stared at him.
Soft, warm lighting bathed the side of his face, highlighting his gentle expression. There was no hesitation in his tone. No panic. No pressure. He meant every word.
“It’s for you to decide, hm?” he added quietly, almost a whisper.
You were speechless.
The silence stretched between you, soft and full, until your heart cracked under the weight of the emotion welling up in your chest.
“You’re gonna make me cry,” you said, laughing wetly.
Kurapika tilted his head, amused. “Because I said something honest?”
“Because you’re perfect,” you whispered.
He leaned in and kissed your temple.
“I’m not perfect,” he said. “But I love you. And I want everything we do—our life, our choices—to be shared. Not dictated.”
You melted into his arms, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
Kurapika held you tighter, resting his chin on your head.
“You’d be an amazing father,” you said softly, your voice muffled by his skin.
“I’d do my best,” he murmured. “But I think the more important part is being a good partner to you. That’s the foundation of anything we build.”
You didn’t say anything for a while.
You just sat there, soaking in his warmth, letting the moment wrap around you like a second blanket.
Eventually, you murmured, “Okay… Maybe two. Kids, I mean.”
Kurapika chuckled. “Two?”
“One if they’re chaotic. None if they scream like banshees.”
He laughed, full and real, the sound vibrating through your body.
“Then we’ll start with none and see if the universe sends us quiet ones,” he teased.
You smiled against his neck. “And if they’re loud?”
“I’ll build soundproof walls. And get you noise-cancelling headphones. And probably cry in secret.”
You giggled.
Kurapika pulled back to look at you again. His eyes were so soft. So full.
“I’d raise a family with you,” he said suddenly. “Whenever you’re ready. Or never. As long as I get to come home to you.”
You kissed him.
And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.
No baby names, no future plans, no timelines. Just this—Kurapika, his arms, his heart, and his quiet promise to always respect you, support you, and love you without condition.
Green flag?
He was the whole forest.
“The Chain Between Us”—A Life with Kurapika Kurta
You didn’t marry a man.
You married a vow.
A walking blade.
A grief-shaped god carved in human form.
Kurapika Kurta didn’t come to you with flowers or promises. He came with chains wrapped around his fingers, blood trailing behind him, and a pair of crimson eyes that had forgotten what peace looked like.
And yet, he loved you.
With precision.
With control.
With a passion so quiet, it burned beneath the skin like a fever.
─────────────────────────
Morning in the House of Chains
The first thing you wake to is always the cold.
Kurapika rises before dawn. Always. Even after the rare nights when he sleeps beside you instead of slumped over books, intel, or maps of Phantom Troupe movements. The bedroom is often silent but never still. You can feel his presence even when he's gone—like the echo of thunder just outside the window.
He stands in the hallway now, bathed in soft morning light that slides over his pale skin like a confession. His blonde hair, usually neat and proper, is tousled from sleep. He’s wearing only his slacks, chain rings still wrapped around each finger even in sleep, like a priest who refuses to remove his rosary.
“Don’t move yet,” he says, voice soft.
You sit up anyway.
He turns.
God, those eyes.
They’re black now—tired, thoughtful. But you know what hides beneath them. That scarlet storm. That blood-born fury.
He crosses the room, kneels at your side. Kisses your hand.
That’s his version of I missed you.
You press your forehead to his. "Did you dream of them again?"
A slow nod.
“I always do.”
─────────────────────────
Midday – Life with a Weapon
Kurapika doesn’t eat often. When he does, it’s more for your sake than his. He always prepares tea, precisely measured, steeped exactly 3 minutes. He sits across from you with a stack of reports, eyes flicking to you every few minutes to ensure you’re still safe, still real, still here.
He’s not paranoid. He’s just learned what it feels like to lose everything.
He’s overprotective in ways that feel less like jealousy and more like strategic obsession.
“You didn’t answer your phone earlier,” he says, too casually.
“I was in the shower.”
“Next time, bring the phone.”
You arch a brow.
He doesn’t smile.
Kurapika doesn’t joke unless he’s disarmed. And that’s rare.
He reaches across the table. His hand wraps gently around your wrist. You feel the metal of his chains brush your skin. It’s his way of marking you. Not for possession—but for protection.
“You’re my only remaining weakness,” he murmurs. “If something happens to you, I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll go too far.”
Too far.
He says it like there's a line he hasn’t already crossed.
But you know better.
Kurapika lives in a place beyond morality.
─────────────────────────
Evening – A House That Watches
He never lets his back face a window. Every curtain in the house is drawn before the sun sets. Every door is locked, bolted, double-checked.
You once tried to tease him.
Called him paranoid.
He turned to you, eyes glowing crimson in the dusk-lit room, and said, “Paranoia is a luxury for the living. What I am is prepared.”
That night, he didn’t come to bed.
You found him hours later, alone in the study, chain blade in hand, his expression so distant you thought he might vanish if you blinked.
You touched his shoulder.
His reaction was immediate—violent.
He grabbed your wrist, twisted it instinctively, eyes wild. Then, realizing, he let go, dropped to his knees, and whispered, “Forgive me.”
He kissed the palm he nearly broke.
And you did forgive him.
Because you love a man who was never allowed to heal.
─────────────────────────
Night – The Weight of the Scarlet Eyes
Kurapika sleeps only when your heartbeat is steady beside him.
He wraps himself around you—not like a lover, but like armor.
One arm over your waist.
One leg hooked around yours.
Chains gently coiled at the small of your back.
You wake up some nights to the sound of his breathing—ragged, choked.
The dreams come often.
The Clan.
The eyes.
The Troupe.
You press your fingers to his face.
He grabs your wrist in the dark—but softer this time. He’s still dreaming.
His voice cracks as he whispers, “Don’t take them… please. Not hers…”
He thinks someone’s stolen your eyes now.
You hold him tighter.
When he wakes, drenched in sweat, you’re already there, anchoring him.
─────────────────────────
The Way He Loves You
Kurapika doesn’t love like others.
He loves you like an oath.
Like blood on parchment.
Like a secret only whispered between murders.
His affection is in the way he teaches you to protect yourself.
In the way he carves talismans into the wood frame of the door.
In the way he makes lists of anyone who’s looked at you too long.
He won’t say it aloud often, but when he does, it shatters something inside him.
“I love you,” he says one night, after a mission, his knuckles bloody. “And if they take you from me, there won’t be a world left to punish.”
You believe him.
Because the boy you married is gone.
What’s left is a weapon shaped like a man who needs only you to stay human.
“Tied to a Thunderstorm” — A Life with Killua Zoldyck
You never expected love to come in the form of a lightning storm—feral, fleeting, always on the edge of vanishing. But that’s exactly what Killua Zoldyck was: a flicker of lightning with the soul of a goddamn hurricane. You didn’t fall into love with him. You collided.
It started with silence.
Not the romantic kind—the dangerous kind. The kind that chokes a room before the kill. That’s how Killua moved through the world: barefoot, silent, impossible. The air felt heavy in his presence, as if even oxygen bent to his will. He didn’t smile easily. He didn’t trust easily. He didn’t breathe easily unless you were near. And somehow, that earned you his ring, his bed, and his name beside yours.
Now, every day begins like this:
─────────────────────────
Morning
You wake to find Killua lying beside you—not curled, not soft, but poised. Always. Even in sleep, there’s something predatory about him. His white hair is chaos over your shared pillow, and the silver-gold strands catch the morning light like a blade. His arm is flung over your waist in a way that feels possessive, not tender. His body heat is a warning and a comfort all in one.
You turn, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
His voice, gravel and silk, grumbles, “Didn’t I tell you to let me wake first? You’re defenseless like this.”
But his arms only pull you closer.
There’s always that edge. His love is wrapped in steel wire. He doesn’t know how to be soft. But he learns—with you.
In the kitchen, he leans against the counter, shirtless, scars mapping his back like a cartographer’s sketch of war-torn history. You trace them sometimes. He lets you. No one else ever could.
You cook while he watches, not because he can’t—he just finds a strange peace in the domestic rhythm you create. He never had a real home. You are the closest thing he’s ever known to one.
He drinks black coffee, cold. “Poison tastes better,” he sometimes says with a wink.
─────────────────────────
Afternoon
Killua’s afternoons are rarely idle. He’s restless. Boredom in him is dangerous. It means he needs a fight, a mission, or your body beneath his, clawing something primal from his core to keep the beast within him calm.
Today, he’s on edge.
His footsteps echo down the hallway as he returns from a job—silent, until he throws his blood-stained hoodie into the corner like it offended him.
He doesn’t speak. You don’t ask.
You meet him in the hallway. His eyes—those electric, icy sapphires—lock onto yours. There's storm beneath his skin. Killua doesn’t cry. He bleeds through action.
So, you pull him close, push your fingers through his hair, and he buries his face in your neck, inhaling like he’s suffocating and you’re his only air.
“Still human,” you whisper.
“Barely,” he answers.
But that’s how it’s always been. You are the anchor that keeps him from slipping back into assassin mode entirely. And he hates how much he needs you. It makes him feel weak. But he still clings to you like your warmth is the last thing holding his bones together.
─────────────────────────
Evening
He showers for too long. Sometimes you join him. Not for the romance—but to wash away the blood and ghosts he can’t name.
Dinner is quiet, unless you provoke him into debate. He’s sharp-tongued when he wants to be. Arrogant. Clever. You play the game because you love seeing that glimmer in his eyes—the spark of a killer who thinks, schemes, and loves only you.
“Why do you always cook too much rice?” he asks, smirking.
“Why do you always eat it all?”
“Tch.”
That sound. That little Killua sound. It means he’s smug and flustered. You’ve learned to decode the assassin’s language of sighs, glances, and half-smiles.
Later, he pulls you into his lap on the sofa. His fingers play absently with yours, tracing the bones, always checking for weakness, for tremble. You rest your head on his shoulder.
He whispers, “If anything ever touches you, I’ll erase the entire bloodline.”
You don’t doubt him. He means it. And not as a promise. As a certainty.
─────────────────────────
Night
At night, Killua becomes the boy he never got to be.
Sometimes he can’t sleep. Too many memories slither beneath his skin. Needles. Screams. The quiet grin of Illumi. The suffocating halls of Kukuroo Mountain. You’ve seen the aftermath—when he wakes up in cold sweat, hands crackling with nen, breath shallow, teeth gritted in ghostly terror.
You always reach for him.
“You’re not there anymore,” you whisper.
“I am,” he says. “It’s always there. It never leaves.”
But you hold him anyway.
Because even thunder needs a place to land.
─────────────────────────
Love with Killua
Loving Killua Zoldyck is like loving the storm: beautiful, destructive, rare.
He doesn’t say I love you often. But he shows it in every deadly promise, in every calculated glance when you’re threatened, in every time he lays awake to make sure you’re breathing.
He doesn't need your protection. But he wants your warmth. That’s far more dangerous.
He tells you things no one else will ever hear: the number of people he’s killed. The nightmares he can't shake. The guilt he doesn’t understand. The electric thrill of murder that still hums under his skin like a drug.
He wonders sometimes if he’s still human.
You remind him: “You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
And that’s enough.