Rockstar boyfriend takes you on tour with him and his band "Cheap Riot." How could he leave his sexy girlfriend in another city? Especially with all those sluts out there trying to get a piece of his cock. He needs alcohol, drugs, and sex to function. You're his girl. You're always his best fuck. He needs to ram his cock deep inside you to think; that's how his best songs are born.
He fucks you in the back seat of the van, the music is loud, there's laughter and the smell of cigarettes, the rest of the band are high and drinking, groping groupies. They're just inches away from the two of you, your nails dig into the leather seat, and you bite your lip and bury your face in the seat, trying to stifle your moans without much success. His thick cock goes in and out of your pussy again and again, his fat balls slap against your ass, and the swollen veins rub deliciously against your vaginal walls. Your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure.
You moan sharply as he pulls your hair, your scalp burning and tingling, forcing you to stand, your back pressed against his firm chest. His large hand grips your throat, cold rings biting your skin as you tilt your head onto his shoulder. His other hand slides down, gently caressing your skin over your belly until it reaches your pussy, rubbing your bundle of nerves as his cock drills inside you.
He kisses your cheek, his hot breath on your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe and tugging at it. You moan softly at the tingling that makes your pussy clench, and he laughs before relieving the itch with his tongue. ❝—Don't hold back your moans, baby, let everyone know you're my whore.❞ You arch your back as his fingers begin to rub firm circles over your stimulated clit. He kisses your neck, and his hand at your throat tightens as his pleasure grows.
Your eyes roll back, your whole body tenses as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again; Your pussy contracts and throbs, when he bites your neck you come with a sharp moan, he moves his hips with more vigor without stopping rubbing your overstimulated clitoris which makes you writhe in his grip, minutes of torture later he cums your vision goes blurry when he squeezes his hand on your throat, strings of hot and thick semen fill your uterus and flood your inside.
When he finally lets go, you collapse onto the couch, dazed. He pulls his cock out of your used cunt and puts it inside his pants, zips them up, and fastens his bullet belt. He adjusts his hair before turning you around, grabs your panties lying on the floor and pulls them up your legs, his ringed hands resting on your thighs; a wicked smile spreads across his lips.
❝—The best fuck of my life, baby, now I want your sweet moans to be in a song on the new album.❞
JJK: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Sukuna | Naruto Shippuden: Sasuke, Madara, Indra | Hunter x Hunter: illumi, Hisoka, Chrollo, kurapika | BNHA: Bakugo | Demon Slayer: Sanemi, Muzan, Douma, Akaza | One Piece: Zoro, Doflamingo, Buggy | And everyone else who wants to.
a/n: change of pace from my usual arcane fics, i was thinking about some anime boys and well…yeah
been a while since i’ve watched some of these animes so i’m hoping my picks aren’t too ooc than they already are >.>
enjoy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
cw: dubcon, noncon, nsfw - mdni 18+
his call comes late at night, rousing you from sleep when you hear your ringtone going off.
“o-oh, hey? what’s up?”
your voice drips like honey, so sweet and slightly rough from being woken up and he just knows you’re rubbing sleep from your watery eyes, none the wiser to what he’s doing on the other end of the line.
he tells you he’s feeling…ah, under the weather and he just needed a friend to talk to but don’t worry if you’re tired! he would absolutely hate to disturb you and he’s already lost too many friends from talking about his feelings.
needless to say, he’s got you hook, line and sinker. he won’t even be doing much of the talking.
easy prey.
his hand palms over his rock hard dick, it’s been that way since the mere idea of this popped into his head, as he listens to you chatter away about something he couldn’t care less about; he isn’t even trying to hide his breathless panting and the non-stop wetness of his dick, sloppy with precum, thrusting into his tight fist. the tip throbs an angry red as he holds back his release again and again and again just so he can continue getting off to your cute voice.
at some points, you ask him if he can hear some noises too and for a moment his heart stops and he wonders if you’ve caught him red handed.
but then he remembers that it’s just you, coddled and blissfully unaware of the sin that surrounds every aspect of life, so all he has to say is that his tv is on in the background and you’re back to talking again. perfect.
his blood is pumping red hot as his strokes grow uncoordinated and even more furious than they were before and he finds himself fighting the urge to ask you what you’re wearing. no that’s too much, too soon, so he instead chooses to bite down on his lip until the taste of iron fills his mouth. a small price to pay.
“helloooooo still there?” you call out after ten minutes of him being seemingly unresponsive, assuming he’s finally managed to fall asleep. you don’t bother to end the call, after all you know how comforting it is to sleep with your friend still on the phone after a bad day.
he imagines shoving his dick into your wet mouth mid-sentence, cock growing impossibly harder at the mental sight of your surprised face, you gagging because you’re unaccustomed to a dick his size - scratch that, any dick and all the debauched things he would teach you.
eventually he hears your gentle snores, of course you fell asleep before the main event, throwing his head back and grunting way louder than he did before knowing you definitely won’t be waking up. his chest heaves and legs shake from the orgasm that overwhelms him and he almost ends the call from the guilt rising inside of him - almost. but then he catches sight of his thick cum splattered right where your contact photo was and his cock twitches as if he didn’t just come seconds ago.
good thing you didn’t end the call; he decides he can have a little more fun with (or without) you - he still feels a bit under the weather, of course.
Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-
Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault
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It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.
It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.
But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.
Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".
You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.
It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid.
You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more.
"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move.
You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it.
Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want.
Reader is ── Female | Phantom Troupe member
Story is ── Romantic | Drabbles
Warnings ── Mentions of torture (not reader)
Chrollo
✦ ── It was typical for him to disappear for weeks to months at a time, with none of the Troupe aware of his whereabouts, doing who knows what. Except he always contacted you once a month to meet up.
✦ ── Different place every time, but always some kind of book cafe. He would meet you there late in the evening and update you on his dealings and treat it almost akin to a one-sided book club.
✦ ── This spot had a nice couch, and you took the opportunity to lie across it, head on one armrest while he sat at the other end, your ankles on his lap. He'd read aloud to you, even if he spotted you drifting off.
"Am I that boring?" Your leader mused, closing the book to rest his chin on his fist, elbow propped on the other armrest. You were fast asleep and had been for a few minutes now.
Once Chrollo was sure he had memorized your sleeping face, he went back to reading his book, held in one hand. His other toyed with the small chain around your ankle, an anklet he had gifted you long ago.
He wouldn't dare rouse you, nor would he let anyone else. Chrollo would sooner kill everyone in the shop if it meant he got an extra moment with you like this.
Feitan
✦ ── He's small. He's cold. He's uncomfortable. Feitan has no reason to believe you'd ever go to him for 'comfort'; he is a sea urchin of a human.
✦ ── So when he's reading, having just finished torturing the man bleeding out a few meters away and having gotten the intel he wanted, and you slump against him? Yeah, he's surprised!
✦ ── When you do wake up, you might catch him practicing some of the words from the book aloud. But once he realizes you're awake, expect his lips to be sealed and to be shoved off him.
"What doing?" He practically spits the words, harsh as always, and throws you a hard side-eye.
You're asleep. How? How on earth could you sleep like this, and with the victim's ugly sobs audible no less? Whatever. You can stay, only because you'd be no use to him deprived of sleep.
You're nice and warm, too.
Hisoka
✦ ── Are you sure that's a good idea? It's certain that he wouldn't shy away from contact or find affection gross, but he might not be the safest option.
✦ ── At least that is what anyone else would think, but you don't seem to care, because you're fast asleep with your back to his chest.
✦ ── Hisoka doesn't seem to care either; he just adapts. He pulls you closer so you don't slump forward and rests his hands on your lap instead. He can still shuffle, even with his arms around you, and he might try to build a card tower on your lap if you're still.
You were always direct with him, telling him to move his arms so you could plop yourself right between his legs and use him like a rest. Still, he didn't expect you to fall asleep.
"How amusing." He poked you a few times, but it didn't gain any reaction, so he continued practicing small card tricks in front of you, even if you wouldn't see.
He has his head resting on your shoulder so he can see his hands as he works and listens closely to every breath you take.
Illumi
✦ ── Always as stiff as a board, effective, and calculated. It's insanely hard to get close to Illumi because he always assumes one's actions are for the worst.
✦ ── But you're just so disarming. You make every effort to touch him—usually his hair—and never seem offended when he moves away; you just try again. So, Illumi decides it's a waste of time making space between you two.
✦ ── You can play with his hair, poke his needles, and fall asleep on him all you want. It's not like it brings him any harm, and why would it matter what you did?
You make him feel weird, and you always do strange stuff, but at least you're predictable while you sleep.
It did leave you vulnerable, though. He thought you were being stupid for resting on him when he could so easily kill you. He would not, no, not ever, but he could.
Illumi is used to being still for hours on end, and so he will amuse your antics for the time being by staying still and allowing you rest. Assassins do not need friends, but allies are good to have, right?
Machi
✦ ── Machi keeps her distance from everyone, even those she likes, just to be sure she's ready for anything unexpected. That, and it was harder for the others to tell who she liked.
✦ ── But when you two are alone, she stands close, like a guard dog. You want to sleep on her? Yeah, okay, she won't hold still for you, but she'll let you.
✦ ── God, you're so in the way of her sewing that she has to run her arm around your waist so she can get around you and keep working. So annoying.
"Seriously?" She mutters under her breath, scoffing at your ridiculousness. There was a bed not more than a few meters away, and you still decided this was the best place?
Who cares? You can sleep wherever you want. So long as you don't ruin her project or tell anyone about this, she'll let you rest.
Pakunoda
✦ ── She was friendly, sweet, and alluring. You always commented on the captivating scents of her perfume oil, and she always tried to find one you'd like more than the last.
✦ ── Given she always has the relaxing aura about her, especially with you, it seems to finally slip beyond a pleasant feeling into something so gentle you get real tired around her.
✦ ── Paku watches you fall asleep in real time, and she gently guides you down until you're resting with your shoulders and head on her lap. She won't touch you any further, but she will admire you.
It was late, and they were still waiting on the rest of the troupe to arrive. Pakunoda methodically polished her revolver, counting each bullet as she locked them in place.
Below her working hands was your resting face, head cushioned from the floor by her thighs. Her eyes traced you every few minutes, making sure you showed no sign of discomfort.
When it was time to wake up, she'd give you a quick kiss on your forehead and nudge you until those pretty eyes opened.
Phinks
✦ ── This cocky asshole may act like he's nothing but a fighting machine, but he cares. Yeah, he cares a lot actually, and you're his soft spot.
✦ ── You could tell him point blank you're going to sleep on him, and he'd let it happen, but he's glad you did it unexpectedly because he can play it off as if he isn't happy about it.
✦ ── He'll wrap both arms around you and hold you close, lie back so you can rest comfortably on him, and do his best not to move too much.
Thank god there was a couch nearby when you fell asleep, because without his track jacket he'd have frozen if you'd both stayed on the floor.
That very jacket is pulled over your shoulders like a blanket, and he's holding you close to steal some of that radiating warmth you let off. His expression remains cold, almost annoyed, but he's still holding on tight.
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood." He says it knowing you won't hear it, mostly to rationalize his affectionate actions as nothing more than chance.
Shalnark
✦ ── Out of anyone, he's most likely to have fallen asleep on you before, and he's always opening his arms to envelop you in a hug once he knows you'll accept it.
✦ ── So when you finally make yourself comfortable, curling up next to him and resting the side of your head on his lap, he has to stop himself from celebrating.
✦ ── There is no shame; Shalnark will let his hand play with your hair and touch your face. He wants to feel you, and it seems to soothe you into an even deeper slumber!
His fingers were careful not to mess up or tangle your hair as he carefully brushed through it, moving his hand to trace the outer edge of your ear and follow your jaw where his thumb could caress your cheek.
Your soft breathing was a sign that he wasn't being a disturbance, so he kept going. Mindlessly memorizing the dips and plush parts of your face while he listened for any small noises you offered.
"Sleep as long as you like." His voice was more soft-spoken than he expected, a smile making its way to his lips. You really did mess with his feelings, huh?
Shizuku
✦ ── Not the kind to initiate contact, but also not the kind to shy away from someone else. She is quiet and a great companion for sleep if you want to be watched over the whole time.
✦ ── Shizuku is pretty certain you've never just passed out against her, though. She was sure she would remember something so meaningful! That's why this is such a big deal.
✦ ── Stares at you the whole time and wonders aloud what you might be dreaming about. She'll ask questions, even if she knows you can't answer.
"Are you asleep?" Her eyes peer at you through her glasses, though the answer is obvious when your breath is moving so slow and you give not an inch of a reply.
"Did you not rest well last night?" This time, her hand lifts to hold the side of your head and pull you against her more, making sure you're at least a bit more comfortable.
"If it's okay, I won't wake you up." She could, but she doesn't really feel like it. She likes you anyways, so you should make sure to sleep extra long so she can enjoy it!
Uvogin
✦ ── Ah, yes, this is certainly not the first time you would have fallen asleep on him. Uvo is big, warm, and well-cushioned. He naps all the time while being forced to wait on orders, too.
✦ ── But in the middle of a mission, while you're in the getaway car and being chased down? He barely feels it when you lean against him, but when he tosses a glance your way, he can't help but chuckle at your carelessness.
✦ ── You're moved to his lap, both to make more room for the others and so he can shield you from any stray bullets or if the car takes a tumble.
"You're crazy." He says it with a grin, because quite frankly he likes that about you.
Watching you rest as if you're in a safe haven, and watching you cling to him, is extremely amusing. You're nowhere near this clingy when you're awake, so he's going to savour it!
Even as the car comes to a screeching halt, you don't wake. So Uvogin takes it upon himself to sling you over his shoulder and fight one-handed! He's extra vicious because he's gotta make sure Sleeping Beauty gets her rest.
Author's Note | Genuinely I love each and every one of these guys so much that it is criminal. There is no favouritism because I LOVE THEM ALL DEEPLY. Please enjoy, dearest reader.
WARNING: I love Hanzo, but i had to-, Ging cause he's a crime, Hisoka, its more hair related situations than actually playing with it, but the vibe is comfy and chill, some are on crack but enjoy :)
SUMMARY: You play with their hair (if they have any lol)
CHARACTERS: HxH guys × F!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.191
AN: it was super fun, for some reason my inner gremlin shows up if i write hxh
Chrollo
Chrollo lets out a soft huff of air as you start playing with his hair. He's sitting up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, focused on the book in his lap. A smile appears on his face, but he doesn't look up from the page he is reading.
"You're playing with my hair," he answers with a hint of playfulness in his words. "No.", you try to suppress a smile, but it's giving you away as you play coy. Chrollo glances up from the book, giving you a curious look.
"Are you trying to annoy me?" He quirks an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Sometimes." you smile. He shuts the book in his lap with a quiet thump, setting it to the side before turning to face you, his body moving closer to you with a fluid grace. "You're terrible at teasing me," he hums, wrapping an arm around you. "It's almost adorable," he murmurs. Chrollo pulls until you are sitting in his lap, your back against his chest. His arms wrap fully around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Can't even own up to it," he says, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. He takes a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest against your back steady and even.
"What will I ever do with you?" "Can I keep playing with your hair?" "You'll do it regardless of what I say," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
His breath is warm against your skin as he speaks, his words brushing against your ear like a whisper. "Yes, you can," he relents after a moment. Chrollo hums in contentment as you start to run your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing at the feeling. He nuzzles his face against the side of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your skin. "You know, you're very distracting," he mutters against your neck, his voice muffled by your skin.
He pauses, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, his breaths warm and fast. "Very distracting," he murmurs again.
Bonolenov
His whole body stiffens when you touch his head; soft flick or no, he flinches, as though it's the first time someone has ever laid their hand on him. His breath shakes, and an inhale comes sharp, almost painful. Yet, he doesn't move away from you at all. Bonolenov stares at you.
"Don't…" He whispers. At your laugh, Bonolenovs glare transforms into something more hesitant— as if unsure of what to do with his face in response to your laughter. "Don't tease me," He mumbles, eyes flickering from your face to the floor. "No teasing." "Sorry, sorry." You keep softly laughing as you rub his bald head again. (Wtf am I writing) Bonolenov shudders again at the feeling of your hand on his head. He leans into it, slowly, a flower seeking the sunlight.
"You do this on purpose," he mutters. Despite his protest, Bonolenov can't seem to look away from you, or stop you from touching him. He shivers ever so slightly every time your hand moves over his head, and he still hasn't moved away. In fact, he's almost… pressing his head against your hand.
"Or is this a ritual from your tribe?"
Dalzollene
Dalzollene stirs slightly from the gentle motions of your touch, tilting his head up, almost as if seeking to lean against your hand. Dalzollene blinks slowly, eyes half-lidded. He makes a soft, sleepy sound, a low hum that is more of a content hum than anything. He's half-asleep, completely at ease and utterly lost in this moment. "You're overworking yourself." You whisper as you carefully take a seat on the desk he's resting on. Dalzollene's eyes flutter as he tries to focus in on you more clearly.
"I am simply doing as I should," he says, his words slightly slurred from sleep. He lifts a hand to rub his eyes, before he blinks up at you again. "I have to—" his words interrupt themselves with a yawn, "—work." "Neon is draining you." Dalzollene frowns at the mention of her name, but he can't find it in him to speak against you. He knows it's true, even if his job means he has to spend most of it within a few feet of her.
"It is… tiring," he admits, trying to be subtle about his slight disdain for the woman. Dalzollene's eyes shut again as you run your fingers through his hair, his body relaxing further. "This is… nice," he murmurs, the last word coming out more as a hum than a spoken word. "Your hands…" His head tilts into your touch.
Feitan
Your hands are in his hair and he would love nothing more than to melt into you. But his temper is getting the better of him, and he’s trying all he can not to show you just how good it feels.
“Stop that,” he mumbles, a bit testily. “Stop what?” You ask, as if you don’t know perfectly well what Feitan was referring to.
Your hands remain in his black locks, running your fingers through the smooth strands. He huffs and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore the way gooseflesh rises on his arms every time your fingers comb through his hair. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” He snaps back, but his voice lacks most of its usual sharpness. “You mean… playing with your hair?” You ask, feigning innocence.
Even now, as Feitan is glaring up at you like a petulant child, you continue to brush your hands through his hair. Feitans eyes flash, temper flaring like a candle in the wind. He glares up at you, teeth snapping in irritation.
"I told you to stop," he says, a hint of a warning in his voice. "Or are you really that intent on annoying me?"
Franklin
"I'm sorry for your loss..." you whisper as you run your hands through his short hair, trying to comfort him. Franklin can feel your fingers combing through his hair, gentle enough to leave an imprint on his soul. "Uvo-" He blinks, his brow furrowing as he remembers who you are mentioning. "You don’t need to apologize."
He lifts his head to look up at you, and his gaze softens. "You have nothing to apologize for." He leans his head back, moving closer to your hand like a cat craving attention.
"If I’m being completely honest," he admits, his voice almost as soft as a whisper, "I think Uvo deserved it." He grins, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Don't say that," you say softly, "he was your friend, you loved him." "He *was*." Franklin closes his eyes for a moment, then sighs as you continue to play with his hair. "He was a friend, and a partner." The words are almost a hiss, a whisper of a curse on his breath.
"And he lost that when he laid hands on you." Franklins eyes are open again, staring up at you. "I didn’t like him as much as you think I did." He says, his tone blunt.
"He was a good fighter, and a decent person, but…" He’s quiet for a moment, and his eyes lower as he looks at the floor. "He tried to touch you. How could I forgive something like that?"
Ging
For a moment, he is still like a statue, then his lips curled into an agitated snarl and he starts to pull away. “Enough!” He snaps, swatting your hand away. "Dammit old man lemme brush your hair-!" You snap back. “No! No, that’s—“
Gings words stop the moment he sees the expression on your face. He gulps the lump lodged in his throat down and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, looking away from you. “You can brush it. Just— just make it quick…” While you work to untangle the mess that is Gings hair, the man grumbles and mutters to himself.
“I could’ve untangled it myself, you know,” he murmurs, his words a complaint more than a statement. “You didn’t need to do it for me.” "Stop pouting." "I am not pouting," Ging huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He glances sidelong at you, his expression a blend of annoyance and something else he doesn't want to admit.
"And for the record, I was perfectly capable of untangling it myself." "Uh-huh." With another grumble, Ging lets his head droop forward in defeat. He tries to steal a glance backwards at you through the tangled mess of dark hair before remembering that he's not supposed to look.
"How much longer is this going to take?... my neck is starting to ache..." "Till you fucking die." "That doesn't tell me anything," Ging mutters, his words clipped and quiet. The pain in his neck is starting to mount, but he's not quite sure how to ask you to be gentler. "Could you… try and be a bit… more… careful?" He winces, his shoulders involuntarily twitching as needles of pain shoot down his spine. "It… hurts…" "Manchild." "Women these day's, i tell ya."
Hanzo (you could totally play with his eyebrows tho, they look like lashes, what a queen honestly)
"Are you just bald or cant you grow hair at all?" You blurt out while you both cuddle. "Bald?" Hanzo flinches as you touch his head. There aren't words to describe the touch of your hand against his scalp. A shiver runs through his shoulders; he seems to be holding back, somehow. "Um, I…" He pauses, clearing his throat.
"I can grow it… if you wish." His voice is soft, like a child speaking up to their mother. "No." you laugh by the thought of him with hair. The look of relief that washes over Hanzo, you've never seen on anyone else. He sighs, shoulders relaxing into your touch.
"Good, I—" his voice cracks, almost as though he's holding back. "I'm not sure I want to grow it to be honest." "And I'm not sure you'd look good with it either." A surprised sound leaves him, almost like a breathless laugh. He shakes his head a little.
"I didn't think so either," he murmurs. "Not to mention! A good ninja never leaves behind traces!" he adds. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if in thought. When he speaks again, his voice is low, a murmured admission. "I like it when you touch me." "Hmm?" You hum, "You do?" Hanzos breathing hitches, his chest rising quickly with each breath. “I…” his voice is breathless, a strangled whisper. “I do.”
He shivers again, and this time he doesn’t try to hold it back. He just closes his eyes and leans into your touch.
Hisoka
His head is tilted back slightly, leaning into your hand as you play with his hair. Like some touch-starved little dog, he can't help the low sound that slips out of his mouth.
"Ah," he gasps quietly as he looks up at you. And yet, the smirk at the corner of his lips betrays him. "OH-! You didn’t...." "... I didn't just what?" He asks, eyes full of mischief. "Moan like that you slut-!" That makes him laugh. A soft, sultry little chuckle that sends a shiver through his frame as he grins up at you. He's utterly shameless, and he knows it. "And what if I did?" He coos, raising one eyebrow up at you. "Will you punish me, baby?" "Whore." A huff of air leaves his mouth, almost a sigh, but not quite.
"Maybe I am." He grins, not denying it. "And maybe I want you to do something about it." Hisokas breath is knocked out of his lungs as you pull his hair, and another soft, desperate sound slips out of his mouth. He can feel his body heating up, blood flushing under his skin as he lets out a little moan.
"Ahnn...!" He shivers, eyes squeezing shut as your hand is tangled in his locks. "That's it I'm done." You say with a straight face and leave. "Leaving me all hot and bothered?" He pouts. "How cruel."
It's a joke, of course— but he really is rather bothered.
Illumi
The gesture catches Illumi off guard, and he blinks in surprise. The feeling of your fingers in his hair is unlike anything he has known before. For a second, it's like the whole world has stopped in order for him to experience the sensation.
He has to resist the urge to lean into the touch. "Why are you touching my hair?" he asks. "Am I not allowed to?" Your hand stops in his hair, waiting for his answer. You never know what happens when you overstep the assassin's boundaries. Illumi almost stutters, but manages to respond in his usual even tone.
"You are allowed to do whatever you please," he murmurs. "It's just… I am unaccustomed to the sensation." "Did your mother never do your hair?"
"No." He doesn't look up as he says it, his eyes focused on the floor. "She didn't. I used to do my own hair from a very young age." "Not even maids?" “No.” The answer is short, sharp. Illumi takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay still as you continue to play with his hair.
“Mother said that my last priority should be my hair, my first is to make the family proud and train. Maids weren't allowed to either talk to me or touch me.”
"So that's why it's so long." You laugh, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. "What does that have to do with the length of my hair?" "....Nevermind"
Kite
"You…" Kites voice has a tinge of awe in it that only comes out when you are together. It is late. The sky is a canvas of stars. He sits next to you, so close that he can feel your warmth. His eyes are closed. Your hands glide through his hair, untangling some of its knots with a gentle, soothing touch.
"You would…" A brief pause, as if he cannot bring himself to ask. "...stay here with me?"
"Looking at bugs for a whole month or longer? Yep, with you always." You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. A huff of laughter escapes him. As always, he is powerless against the light you bring to his mind, the warmth you give him when you are near. "A month…" he murmurs, repeating your words. The corner of his mouth quirks up in the smallest smile.
"You'd spend a month in a forest watching bugs with me?" "Romantic." His smile widens into an actual smirk. As he glances at you, Kite cannot help but think that you look the most beautiful when you are like this— lighthearted, carefree, at peace. He is entranced by the way you look in the moonlight. "Romantic, hm?" He shifts a little closer, until his knee is grazing yours. "...you’d think watching bugs with me is romantic."
"I can imagine better things, but I won't complain." Kite's smirk only grows. He is close enough now that his body is almost flush with yours. He reaches a hand up, resting it against your waist, tugging you just a little closer. His voice is low, deep, but there is an element of playfulness to his expression as he looks at you.
“You won’t complain?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you in a challenge, "That's a new one." "EY-!"
Knov
Knov doesn’t react when you reach for his hair, though his body jolts ever so faintly as you touch him, his eyes staring up at you the entire time. "Ew-!" you withdraw your hand.
His voice is very different when he replies to your exclamation, though, his voice taking on a hint of annoyance. “What?” He asks, brows furrowing. "The gel, it's ew." You scrunch up your nose. Knov's expression is a mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment. He looks like a puppy being told off for eating its owner’s shoes. “The gel isn’t supposed to be touched. It— it’s supposed to help control it.”
He reaches up and tries to pat his hair back down, which is only slightly successful, with a few black wisps falling back down to cover his forehead once again. “It isn’t supposed to… feel like that,” he says, still mumbling to himself, trying to fix his hair back into the pristine fashion it had been a moment previous. Then he looks up at you, eyes searching for approval.
“Better?” "When you wash it later, I wanna play with it." Knov's face turns a slight red color at your request. He’s still fiddling with his hair, trying to get it to behave. “You… want to play with it?” He repeats, like he can’t believe his ears. "Mhm!" His face heats up once more, the red flush spreading to his ears. “Ah…” His fingers stop trying to fix his hair, leaving it messy and unkempt. He looks a little disheveled, especially when compared to the perfect image he always has in public. “…sure.” He says, as if he can’t refuse anything you say.
Knuckle
"It's surprising how it stays up..." you mumble in slight amazement. His hair is surprisingly soft under your touch. He lets out a gasp at the motion, almost like a puppy who wasn’t expecting to be pet. "It.. it does that," he stutters out, face going pink. Knuckle is utterly flustered, but far from annoyed at the touch. "I… I don't know how it stays up."
"...you style it every morning tho." "Ah… I…" he falters, realizing that he's been found out.
"I use a little bit of hair gel," he admits, like he'd just confessed a terrible sin. Knuckle looks up at you through his eyelashes, face still flushed. "More like a whole container." Knuckle flushes a deeper shade of red. His mouth opens for a moment, wordless with protest, then he sighs and looks down at the floor.
"Fine," he mutters, his hands clenching into fists. "I may use a bit more than just "a little bit" of hair gel…but only because my hair keeps falling back down otherwise!" He adds, a slight defensive edge to his voice. "And if I'm not always perfectly presentable.. I-" he falters, biting his tongue before he says, "I just…" He looks down, refusing to meet your eyes.
Finally, he looks back up at you and admits, "I can't look anything but perfect when I'm next to you. Not even a single hair can be out of place." "Awww baby." Knuckle blushes at the pet name, but doesn’t protest when you begin playing with his hair. He even leans into your touch, craving your closeness as if it was the only thing that would make him whole.
Kortopi
"It's so tangled..." you mumble as you brush his hair, the small male sitting between your legs. Kortopis eyes flutter shut, breath hitching as you brush through his long hair. He tries his best to keep still, a slight shiver rolling through his body. He's never been a fan of people touching him so intimately. With you it's a different story tho.
He'll hold still as long as you like. “Please be gentle. I don’t… I’m not used to this.” He whispers the words, eyes still closed.
The feeling of your fingers stroking through his hair and across his scalp is almost dizzying. Each brush of your touch sends a shiver down his spine, his breaths leaving his parted lips in soft gasps. "Am I too rough? I'm sorry." You quickly apologize. “No, no.” Kortopi is quick to shake his head at that, a hand lifting to reach hesitantly for your leg.
“It’s just… it’s a lot.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering open. He looks up at you, cheeks reddening a bit. “It feels nice. Keep going.” He can’t explain the feeling he gets from you just playing with his hair— the way that the slightest brush of your fingers makes his stomach clench and his heart flutter.
No one has been this gentle with him before. No one ever bothered to look at him with any form of compassion in their gaze.
He leans into your touch, his grip on your leg tightening when you scratch ever so slightly across his scalp. "I don't wanna overwhelm you." “It’s okay,” he says quietly, almost breathless. The feeling of your fingers against his hair, your touch against his skin, it almost makes him dizzy. He reaches his hand up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist as he guides your hand back down, silently asking you to keep going. He closes his eyes again, leaning against your leg.
Kurapika
A shiver passes over Kurapika, but he does not look up from the pages of his book. "You're playing with my hair," he notes, a simple observation. "I am," you say as your fingers slide through the strands. You twist a few around your fingers and pull slightly. He tries to keep his focus on his book, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his hair is quite distracting. You feel more than see the effort Kurapika makes to keep his attention on the words in his book, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.
"You're making it difficult to read," He says, but he makes no move to pull away from you. "That's the point," you reply, a light chuckle in your voice. Kurapika grumbles and makes an attempt at turning the page, only for one of your hands to tug on his hair again.
This time, he makes a soft noise and sets his book down, closing his eyes and sighing. "Why do you do this to me?" His voice sounds almost mournful, but there is a sense of joy in his words. It is almost as if he were grateful for the situation he has found himself in.
His hair is tousled from your ministrations, messy and disheveled. It is a sight that is both attractive and adorable. "Because I like to see you this way," you reply, still lightly pulling on his hair. The action makes Kurapika shiver. He turns to look up at you, a mixture of defeat and happiness in his eyes at the same time.
"This way?" He repeats, voice wavering faintly, "Disheveled? Frantic? Utterly distracted?" You nod. "It reminds me how cute you are." Kurapika lets out a huff, his cheeks growing a little warmer. He tries to school his features into a frown, but he can't help the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.
Leorio
The touch of your fingers through his unruly black locks soothes Leorios mind. He leans into your touch, the tension seeping from his muscles, and his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a low, almost inaudible sigh, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. He's silent for a long moment, simply enjoying the gentle ministrations your fingers give to the hair around his face.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and quiet, as if not to disrupt the peace that's settled over the two of you. "You are too good to me," he whispers, his eyes still closed. He slowly reaches up to take your hand. He pulls it from his head and instead places a firm, lingering kiss upon your knuckles.
His thumb caresses your skin, the pad of it tracing little patterns against the back of your hand. "You've been so stressed lately so i-" "You are much too generous to me," Leorio mutters into your skin. His grip on your hand is tight, as if he's worried you'll pull away.
His eyes flick open, and he looks up to meet your gaze. "You do not have to be this kind to me. Yet you are. You are too kind, my God," he repeats, the words quiet and reverent. He lifts himself up, resting on his elbow as he looks down at you. He brings your hand to his chest, holding it just over his heart. His free hand reaches to cup your face, his touch gentle yet firm.
He brings his face down to your ear, and the sound of his next words are as soft as a whisper. "Why do you have to do this to me? Why do you have to be so damn good?"
Menthuthuyoupi
You stare up at the big guy, "can I try something?" Menthuthuyoupi blinks, then gives a firm nod.
No matter what you say or ask for, he will do it without question or complaint. He has been yours since the first moment he laid eyes on you. "Can i play with your hair?" "My hair?"
Menthuthuyoupis voice is quiet, bewildered. Never in his long weeks of life has anyone asked to touch his hair before. "You… you can." He tries to keep himself still, but his body is tensed up. It takes all of his willpower to keep from leaning into your touch.
"Does it… is it good?" He can't help but ask. "Does it feel strange?" Yes. Yes, it is. "Yes," he says bluntly. "Didn't even know i had hair."
"What?!" A small huff of irritation. Menthuthuyoupi shakes his head. "Now I know have hair." His hand reaches up to touch at one of the red locks, wrapping it around his finger and giving it a small, harsh little tug.
"I've just never…" he continues, pausing as if he isn't sure how to say what he means. "I've never been taking care of it." "Figured, it's greasey as hell."
Meruem
His eyes snap up to your face as you drum your fingers against his skull. He frowns for a moment— the barest twitch of his lips down.
He doesn't quite register what you are doing, just that your fingers are against his skin. Meruem is silent for a single heartbeat, and then he tilts his head into you, leaning into the touch. That touch makes Meruem pause, tilting his head back to give you a look, one corner of his lip lifting in an almost smirk.
"And what makes you think you can do such a thing to me?" Meruem asks. His voice has a hint of challenge to it, like he's testing you. "I just can." You smirk, knocking on his head. Meruem's smirk grows, and he lets out a soft laugh. There's no sarcasm in his voice, just a hint of amused disbelief.
"And that makes you think you're above me?" He asks, the challenge growing with his smile.
"Above the great king? Everything of course." Another laugh. Meruem shakes his head, letting out a breath as though he can't believe what he's hearing. He's not bothered or annoyed— far from it. Amusement is written all over his face as he looks up at you with a wide, wolfish grin. "You think you're that powerful, do you?" He muses, still with that hint of challenge in his voice. "My love for you is." That makes Meruem pause, looking up at you for a moment. That hint of challenge turns to surprise, and then that surprise fades into a soft, warm look. His smirk is gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a small smile.
"Is what?" He asks, voice much softer. "Love? The strange pulling in ones heart? What we talked about?" "What we talked about, yes." "I doubt your pulling compares to mine."
Morel
"Ey old man! Come here!" "Eh? Old man?" He sputters as if the very notion offends him."I am not that old," Morel protests. "How old do you believe I am?"
"100?" "One hundred?" Morel stares at you incredulously. His eyes narrow. His shoulders tense up. For a short moment, it looks as if he’s holding back a snort.
"You think I am a hundred years old?" "You have white hair." You run your fingers through his hair as he sits down. "That does not mean I am old," Morel saya. "It just... means my hair is white. It always was." He falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. "You wouldn’t ask others with white hair their age, would you?" "I was just joking." The admission seems to soothe his wounded ego a little bit. "You could have used a more believable number,” he mutters, but there’s hardly any heat in the words.
"For your information, I’m not a hundred. I’m not even close to that old." He huffs, rising to his feet and dusting off the dirt from his clothes. "Not that it matters either way,” he adds, giving you a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t suppose my age matters to you, my love," Morel says, the reverent title slipping easily from his tongue.
“I could be a hundred or thousand, immortal or not, and still,” he stops suddenly, eyes fixed on your face as the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he swallows, as if suddenly unable to find the words. “I would still be yours...and i know you like em older anyways.” "Ey-!"
Neferpitou
"No one? Ever?" You asked in disbelief. Neferpitou leans ever so slightly into your touch, enjoying the soft feeling of your fingers against their hair. No one else has ever done this.
"No," they murmur, "never like this. No one ever touched me like this." "What a shame...it's pretty." The corners of Neferpitous mouth twitch, something like pride swelling in their chest at your compliment. Your simple words mean everything to them. Praise from you is more valuable than all the riches in the whole universe.
"You flatter me," they say quietly, although there's no attempt to deny it. Not only is their hair pretty, but so are they, and they know it— but they also know only you can tell them that. "Hmm, maybe." your lips crack a smile. Neferpitou stares up at you, eyes burning like fireworks. They're not blind— they know you're teasing them. Your smugness is something they adore. All of your expressions are so unique, from the look on your face when you're fighting a battle, to the curve of your lips when you smile, all the way to how your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh. Humans are interesting. You especially.
They know exactly what you mean, even if they're not willing to admit it. Neferpitous expression is mischievous, their tone bordering on dangerous. They won't admit it out loud, but they do love playing with fire. Especially when it comes to you. You're a feisty little inferior species.
"Don't smirk, my human," they murmur, leaning closer until they're a mere breath away from you. "We both know I'm more than just pretty."
Netero (me and my eyebrow or bald jokes in this post are wild)
You can't help but feel slightly upset, "Damn...why'd you cut it?" A soft sigh escapes him as you ask why he cut his hair.
“It would've gotten in the way, and it became difficult to manage,” he murmurs in response, his eyes still closed as he drinks in the feeling of you touching him. “Plus… it will grow back,” he says. For a few moments, Netero remains still, enjoying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, until he opens his eyes and looks upward at you.
“Are you really that fond of it long?” He asks, in his voice, as if he’s worried he disappointed you by cutting his hair in the first place. "You could've at least cut your eyebrows." You add with a smirk. Netero rolls his eyes dramatically, but even the small action isn’t enough to disguise the soft, flustered look on his face. “You know I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s mirth behind his words. “Unless you want me to run around with no eyebrows at all.”
"That would be a sight." You imagine. “I’d look absolutely ridiculous,” he says, but the way he’s grinning gives him away. "And you think you looked better before, old man?" Netero shoots an unimpressed look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he knows you’re only teasing him. “You’d rather I looked like a caveman?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "You already d-" Netero cuts you with an indignant scoff at your comment and, for a moment, looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he stops, a small smile twisting his lips.
“Oh, quiet,” he says, his tone holding no bite. “I may be older than rocks, but I’m allowed to care about how I look.”
Nobunaga
"Washing is an option, yk?" "I know that," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. He shivers slightly under your palm, his body as sensitive to your touch as a rose to sunlight. "I've been busy," he clarifies as you play with his hair, trying to come up with a good reason to escape your chiding. "I don't have time to bathe, is all." He lets out a sigh, leaning into your touch like a kitten against a hand.
"And it's not that bad," he says, though his voice falters slightly— he knows he's lying. "Yeah sure." You smirk. "I've been sweating!" Nobunaga protests, as if that will solve everything.
"That's not my fault." He mutters, but when you tug lightly on his hair, he shivers again. "Relax." You calm him down. "I can't relax," he hisses, his eyes snapping open to glare up at you. "Not when you're—" He cuts himself off, his gaze suddenly shifting away as his cheeks flush. "I'll wash it for you later, okay?" taking care of a mess like this men is actually fun activities in your book. Especially when you can see him flustered. It takes a moment for his brain to process your words.
Nobunaga blinks, lifting his head from your hand to stare up at you, his mouth falling open.
"You—" a beat, "—you'll wash my hair?" You can practically see the smoke coming from his head. Nobunaga blinks, once, his mouth slowly falling open again as he processes what you'd said. His throat works silently as he grapples with the situation.
"You…" the word comes out faint, almost a whisper, as he tries to grasp what you're offering. "You'd… wash my hair?" he finally manages to get out, his face already starting to tint pink. "Yes?" "I—" he starts, hesitating as he tries to form a sentence, his thoughts flying to every possible meaning and implication of your words. Finally, after a moment of silence, his face completely flushed red, he manages to utter a response.
"I'd like that," he whispers, voice barely more than a sigh, though his words speak volumes as to how badly he wants you to do this.
Pariston
"It's so smooth?" It sounded more like a question than a statement. With all the products he uses you were almost sure his hair was like hay. He leans into your fingers, closing his eyes, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.
"Of course it is," he mumbles back, pride and arrogance dripping from every word. "After all," he continues. "I keep it that way for you. Gotta look good for my girl." His head tilts into your hand, seeking more of your touch. You can't help but roll your eyes at him. "What?" Pariston asks, his eyes opening. He lifts his head just to look at you, a single eyebrow raised.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, I'm being sincere," he says, tone a mix of amusement and mock-offence. "Since when." "Oh, always." He says, sitting up a little straighter. He leans back on one of his hands and grins. "You just don't notice because you never pay attention to me," he retorts. "I think..." He speaks slowly, fingers dancing over the top your other hand. "I think you're just cruel to me. That's what it is," he says decisively.
"You have no idea," he continues, his tone going from teasing to serious for a moment, "how much I adore you, and yet you treat me so callously." He fake pouts, a frown on his face, but you can see his eyes are dancing with mischief. "It's very insensitive of you." He admonishes you, his fingers moving over your skin.
"You should feel very guilty for treating the person who loves you more than anything like this," he admonishes, though there is a hint of a smile on his lips.
"And the person that finances your very being."
Phinks
"No," Phinks insists, pulling a little away from you. He scowls, crossing his arms at his chest. "Just… No." He won't let you ruffle his golden locks. "Why?" You whine slightly. "I don't want you to ruin it," he protests, running his fingers over his hair. He glares at you as his perfectly styled locks get mussed. "It takes hours to make it look good." Phinks frowns, his hair tousled from your touch. He combs his fingers through the messy blonde strands, trying in vain to return them to some semblance of order.
"I don't understand why you always have to touch my hair," he complains. "You're just like a child, always grasping at what the world has to offer without regard to the consequences," he says, still combing through his hair and trying to keep it away from you. "You have the impulse control of a three-year-old."
"But you love me." You smile innocently. Phinks can't help but soften a little at your words. He lets out a huff, his shoulders slumping as he gives up on his hair. He can never resist you.
"Yes, I love you," he admits, running a hand through his hair one last time. "Now, don't ruin my hair or I'll punish you." He doesn't sound all that threatening. In fact, you can imagine a hint of a smile flickering at his lips as he glares at you.
"If you make me look awful, there will be consequences," he says, though you suspect he's more likely to give you a kiss than actually punish you. He lets out a quiet sigh, running his hand through his tousled hair one final time before admitting defeat. He's fighting a losing battle— his hair is messy and sticking up at all sorts of ungraceful angles, and he's only going to undo any progress he makes by touching it. With a huff, he gives up, looking back at you.
"You're going to be the death of me one of these days, you know that?"
Pokkle
Every time you even think of coming near his hair, he looks up at you like a frightened doe. "I'll bite your hand, you know," he adds, though it is a very empty threat. "Why not? Shy?" You tease. "I–It's a mess." Pokkle protests, lifting a hand up and attempting to tame some of the messy locks of messy hair. He quickly gets frustrated however, huffing as it just flies right back in his face. "Besides… You'll mess it up…" "Can I at least brush it? Make it better?" Pokkle bites the inside of his cheek, looking down as if contemplating.
He remains like that for a few moments, thinking it over. He can't deny he wants you to touch his hair. That much is obvious. He's simply very stubborn, and won't say it.
He mumbles something under his breath that sounds vaguely like a reluctant yes. He turns around, presenting his back to you. His hair hangs messily over his shoulders.
His spine is ramrod straight, almost painfully so, and he’s clearly trying not to look over his shoulder at you. He's expecting his hair to be pulled, not brushed. He stays completely silent once you begin to brush his hair. He is still as stone, like a statue, but you can almost hear the sound of his mind racing even when you touch the brush to his hair.
He doesn’t look at you the entire time. In fact, he appears to be trying so desperately not to look at you that it’s like he’s fighting a losing battle with himself.
"Good?" Pokkle is quiet for a few seconds. He seems to have to collect himself, closing his eyes in an attempt to process what's just happened.
Finally, he nods, answering your question in a single word. "Good."
Razor
Razor doesn't question your request for a moment. If you want to, he will allow it. His head dips down, allowing you better access.
"You may. It's yours." "...its so short." you mumble. "I never let it grow." Razor responds, then lets out a quiet little hum as you play with the strands of his hair. It is indeed short, just barely long enough to play with. His neck twists a little, tilting to the side as you ruffle his hair. Razor is surprisingly pliant at your ministrations.
"You like to play with it, I take it?" He asks, a touch of amusement in his tone. "Meh, it's alright." Razor lets out a quiet scoff, the corner of his lips twitching.
"Only 'alright'," he mutters, but there's a hint of a smile in his words. "Just say you like it." He leans closer to you, head tilting down to look at you. "I know you like it," he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You love to play with this short hair. Admit it."
"Hmm,...no." Razor snorts. "Why not?" He murmurs, leaning in a little more, so his head is resting against your leg. "It's short and soft. I can tell you like it, don't lie." Razor lets out another quiet scoff, though it is not meant as rude. He is too comfortable to care how he sounds. "Your hand is still in my hair," he whispers, tilting his head a little more to give you better access.
"Admit it, you like it." He smirks.
Shaiapouf
Shaiapoufs head is leaned against you, his eyes closed as your fingers run through his golden locks. He shudders at your touch, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he finally opens his eyes and speaks.
"What are you doing?" He asks, voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment. "Hmm, nothing." Shaiapouf raises an eyebrow, glancing up at you from his place beside you. He smiles a little mischievously as he leans into your touch. "Just playing with my hair for no reason, then?" He teases. Even through the weariness in his voice, there's a hint of mirth there, like he wants to see how you'll respond. "Yeah." "Liar,"
He laughs, reaching up and grabbing your wrist, moving you hand back to his hair. He gently guides your fingers through his locks once again, his eyes closing, a soft sigh falling from his lips. "You just want an excuse to touch me, don't you?" Shaiapouf rolls over, laying himself against your side, head resting on your shoulder, his body pressed against you like a shadow.
He slings an arm around your middle, pulling himself close. "Gods, you're warm." He mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Shaiapouf hums contentedly as he cuddles against you, feeling the heat of your body seeping into his skin. He pulls you closer, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.
"You're soft," he murmurs, his breath warm and ticklish against your cheek. "So soft..."
Shalnark
The feeling of you sitting in his lap makes Shalnark hyper aware of you. He tries to stay focused on the computer screen, he really does, but it’s hard to when you’re playing with his hair. “What are you doing…?” He asks, swallowing thickly as his eyes dart from the computer to your hand in his hair. "Playing, like you." You mumble, keep playing. He lets out a slight huff, but there’s no annoyance in it.
“Are you trying to make it difficult for me to concentrate?” He asks, giving you a light smirk. “Not that I would want you to stop,” he adds as an afterthought, his voice growing softer.
Despite his words, Shalnark still continues to try and focus on the computer screen rather than on how it feels when your fingers glide through his hair. After a few moments, it becomes too distracting. Shalnark lets out a small huff, his fingers resting on the keyboard, unmoving. He turns his head a bit to look at you. A light flush has dusted his cheeks; his gaze almost seems a bit petulant, but there’s no real annoyance in it.
“You are doing this on purpose.” "Noooo." Shalnark gives you an unconvinced look.
“Liar.” He mumbles, tilting his head back a bit. The bare expanse of his neck shines in the cold light of the computer screen. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft sigh as he feels your fingers running through his hair again.
“I know you’re too smart to do this unintentionally.” Despite his words, he can’t hide the way he relaxes with your hand on him.
Shoot
Shoots eyes slip shut as you touch his hair. It's been a long time since he's felt the gentle caress of your fingers against his scalp. You would think this would be enough to soothe him, but his chest still rises and falls quickly, his breaths uneven and choppy in his chest.
"Thank you," he stutters, trying to control his breathing. "Your touch feels like paradise," he whispers, almost so quiet you can't hear it.
"Missed it?" You laugh as you keep braiding his hair. He nods, feeling the gentle tug of your fingers on his hair. Shoot opens his eyes and looks up at you, his gaze unfocused. His head is foggy and hazy, his mind slipping away as you continue to braid his hair. "Yes," he admits, voice quiet.
"Yes, I missed it." "So...the mission?" Shoots expression darkens a little when you mention the mission. The mere mention of those words turns his mind to memories he would rather forget. "It was complicated," he confesses, watching your fingers move through his hair. "The mission…"
He pauses, his eyes growing a little distant. "...It did not go as well as planned." "...oh." "It was…" He falters. Something in Shoot shifts, a change in the air; as if the very atmosphere around him has grown darker. His mind drifts back to the mission, replaying the events of the past few days.
"There were... issues," he states, trying to keep his voice steady. "Obstacles. Setbacks. It was not the success we were hoping for."
Uvogin
Uvogin ducks his head to avoid the brush once again, a quiet scoff leaving him.
"I can brush it myself," he mutters, and reaches up. His hair is tangled and messy after spending most of the day without his hair being brushed — but he doesn't like having others run their hands through his hair for him. He can do it himself. "Do you even know what a brush is?" you ask as a joke. Uvogin narrows his eyes at the words, a quiet huff leaving him.
"Of course I know what a brush is," he says, and snatches the hairbrush from you, holding it with an almost possessive grip. "I'm not an animal." Uvogin mutters something to himself— probably something about you being annoying— but he sits down and starts to run the brush through his long locks.
He looks like he is struggling. A lot. But he won't ask for your help. His pride won't allow it. "I can he-" "No."It's a short, quick answer. Uvogin immediately shuts down any offer you may have had before you can even finish speaking. He's stubborn, and he doesn't want to ask for your help— even though he very clearly needs it.
It's a sight to behold, the brush sticking in his hair and him struggling to brush it through. You walk up and hug his back. Uvogin stiffens at your sudden embrace, but he doesn't try to push you away. He continues to struggle with the brush, until he finally— begrudgingly— lowers his hands.
"Fine," he says, and it's clear it pains him to admit defeat. "You can do it."
Wing
Wing practically melts under your touch. His head rests against you like a pillow, and he hums in contentment as you play with his hair. He is warm, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. "Tough day?" A heavy sigh escapes Wing. He nods, just a fraction, his face pressed into your chest.
"Yes." His voice is quiet, almost as if he doesn’t want to speak too loudly, in case it breaks this perfect moment. He pauses, hesitating, his eyes closing as he listens to your heartbeat.
"You make it better," he confesses, the words whispered into your skin like a secret. His breath is gentle, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he relishes being this close to you. After a few moments, he shifts, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug, and burying his face into the crook of your neck.
"Being with you is my favorite part of the day," he admits quietly, breathing deeply of your scent. "Then I'm glad..." Wing nods his head, nuzzling into your chest a little more. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. His body is flush with yours, his chest pressed against you. Every breath he takes, every rise and fall of his rib cage, you can feel against your own skin. Wings arms gently tighten around you, his grip almost desperate, like he’d die if he was torn away from you. "Love you too..." Wings hold on you tightens when you return the sentiment. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and lets out a shaky breath.
“Say it again,” he whispers, a hint of pleading in his tone. The words are uttered as a near demand.
they love making you beg. not because they’re cruel, but because it’s intoxicating to watch someone confident unravel under them - it feeds their ego in all the best (and worst) ways.
will absolutely talk you through it. “yeah? that’s it. look at you, so needy. say it again. say what you want.” and they won’t give it to you until you do - grinning while you stumble over your words.
they're experts at edging - not just you, but themselves too. they love holding back just to draw it out, to tease you with how hard they are, how much they want you, and still keep control. you coming apart while they’re still fully clothed? top-tier victory.
will pin your hands not because you struggle, but because they like knowing you can’t touch them unless they let you. the power trip is subtle, but unmistakable.
they're vocal - low groans, dirty talk, absolutely shameless praise. “you take me so well,” “you were made for this,” or worse - “look how good you are for me.” they know the effect their words have and weaponize it mercilessly.
when they’re jealous, they don’t sulk - they prove themselves. the sex turns possessive, rougher, and they're not above saying things like, “remember who owns this,” while leaving marks in places you’ll have to explain later.
post-nut clarity doesn’t exist for them - if anything, they’re more smug after. “you can barely walk, and i’m still ready for round two. what now, sweetheart?”
mirrors are their favorite tool - bending you over in front of one or making you watch while they go down on you, eyes never leaving yours. “don’t look away now. you wanted this, didn’t you?”
surprisingly obsessed with aftercare. they might be cocky and overwhelming during the act, but afterward? they’re cradling you, massaging your thighs, stroking your hair, and whispering how perfect you were - always in that same teasing tone, just softer now.
when you try to take control or tease them? they let you… at first. let you ride it out, smirk while you try your best, and then flip the dynamic without warning. “cute. but let me show you how it’s really done.”
authors note / ask and u shall receive, i kind of sugar coated some of these characters a teeny bit so i hope u dont mind !!
KILLUA ZOLDYCK
಄ killua cares for you more than he knows how to show. warmth has never come naturally to him—not outside of a select few people, anyway. even if he struggles to express it, he’s painfully aware that his feelings for you are stronger than he’d ever anticipated.
಄ if killua ever turns you down when you ask to come along on one of his adventures, know it’s never because he doesn’t want you there. it’s because he’s worried. if he comes back to find you’re still visibly upset about it, he won’t apologize outright or try to comfort you with words. instead, he grows noticeably gentler with you.
಄ he has a multitude of talents; his family groomed him into the perfect assassin, after all, which meant learning to adapt to and master anything thrown at him. darts are no exception. if you beg hard enough, he’ll probably end up conceding and teaching you. when he steps behind you to correct your form, despite his years of hardened training, you can still feel his pulse quicken when you lean back against his chest.
಄ killua isn’t exactly opposed to you sleeping on him, if anything, he likes it. still, he’ll lie stiffly while you look up at him, trying to ignore just how awkward it makes him feel. once he’s absolutely sure you’ve fallen asleep, that’s when he’ll let his guard slip—if only a little—and accept your warmth as his own.
಄ killua is often a victim to bouts of self-doubt, especially when they revolve around the one thing that unsettles him most: his family. sometimes, the fear that he won’t be able to protect you from them becomes too much to carry alone. it’s one of the rare moments you ever see him cry. you simply hold him, letting him be vulnerable. when he looks into your eyes, the hesitation he’s usually so full of is gone. his hands tighten around yours as he quietly tries to put his fears into words in the darkness of your room.
಄ whenever you’re upset with him or being particularly stubborn, killua will lightly coat his fingertips in electricity, knowing the faint tingling always makes you squirm and finally pay attention to him.
GON FREECSS
಄ since meeting you, something in his brain clicked. for the first time, he understood what it was like to want to bare his entire soul to another person. not only did he feel comfortable enough to share his unguarded happiness with you, but his sorrow as well. it was a wall that very few had ever managed to break through.
಄ not that he needs anyone’s approval, but he certainly isn’t opposed to yours—especially when it comes in the form of praise. it’s almost like you can see his figurative tail wagging with contentment. he often finds himself checking in with you after doing something he considers particularly impressive, waiting to hear what you think.
಄ since living under aunt mito’s care for so long, he’s no stranger to doing chores. more often than not, he’ll finish everything before you even have the chance to look at it. in his mind, you’re delicate—not weak, just someone who shouldn’t have to work too hard. to him, it’s only fair after everything you do for him. as dramatic as it sounds (and maybe a little insulting), it’s simply what makes the most sense to him.
಄ whenever he and killua get hurt on one of the adventures they’re off having, gon always assures him there’s nothing to worry about because he knows a doctor nearby. you can imagine how ticked off killua is when he realizes gon has been dragging him to his girlfriend this entire time. to be fair, though, you do a pretty good job patching the two of them up.
಄ gon is completely incapable of hiding when he misses you. he’ll insist he’s doing fine, only to spend the next five minutes talking about you without noticing. killua usually figures it out before he does. “just go see her already.” “…was i being obvious?”
಄ gon doesn’t understand the idea of “playing hard to get.” if he wants to hug you, he’ll hug you. if he misses you, he’ll tell you. if he loves you, he’ll say it as casually as he says good morning. life feels too short to hide how he feels.
KURAPIKA KURTA
಄ despite how composed he appears, kurapika has a habit of lingering in doorways whenever you’re in the room. he’ll claim he’s simply thinking, but in reality, he’s unconsciously choosing to stay where he can see you a little longer before returning to work.
಄ kurapika is notoriously difficult to read, but you’ve learned that the smallest changes in his expression speak volumes. the slight softening around his eyes, the almost imperceptible lift at the corner of his mouth, the way his shoulders finally relax—those moments are reserved almost exclusively for you.
಄ he has a tendency to overwork himself, so you’ve become one of the only people capable of convincing him to take breaks. even then, he insists he’s only stopping because you asked. somehow, that makes it feel like time well spent rather than time wasted.
಄ kurapika always believed he would die with only one purpose: avenging his people. even after meeting you, he buried his feelings so deeply that denying them became a burden nearly as heavy as his desire for revenge. but once he finally allowed himself to acknowledge that loving you didn’t betray his clan, something shifted. for the first time, he could imagine a life that was more than vengeance alone—a future that, somehow, had you in it.
಄ he has a bit of a fixation with your hands. maybe it’s because, to him, his own have only ever been capable of destruction, while yours have shown him the gentlest kind of care he’s ever known. whenever he comes home, the first thing he reaches for is your hands. he presses a kiss to your knuckles before anything else, lingering there for just a moment. it’s also his own quiet way of showing respect. he holds you in such high regard that, even after years together, he still worries about overstepping.
಄ he writes beautifully. every letter, every note, every label in his books is neat enough to look printed. you’ve teased him about it before, saying it’s unfair that someone’s handwriting can be that perfect. he simply smiles and offers to address your envelopes for you.
LEORIO PALADIKNIGHT
಄ leorio talks about your future with complete confidence. not in an overbearing way, it’s just second nature to him. he’ll casually mention the apartment the two of you will have one day, the clinic he wants to open, or how he’ll finally be able to spoil you once he’s a successful doctor. to him, you’re already part of every plan he makes.
಄ he absolutely cannot keep surprises a secret. he’ll buy your birthday gift weeks in advance and spend every day fighting the urge to tell you what it is. eventually he’ll start dropping increasingly obvious hints until you have to remind him the whole point is that it’s supposed to be a surprise.
಄ arguments with leorio can get loud, but they never stay that way for long. he’s emotional, sure, but he’s never interested in “winning.” if he realizes he hurt your feelings, his pride disappears almost instantly. he’d much rather swallow his ego than let the person he loves wonder if they’re less important than being right.
಄ one of leorio’s biggest fears isn’t that you’ll stop loving him—it’s that one day you’ll stop letting him take care of you. every time you ask for his help, whether it’s carrying groceries, explaining something, or simply keeping you company after a bad day, he feels quietly relieved. because to him, being needed by you isn’t a burden; it’s one of the greatest privileges he’s ever been giv
಄ he’s convinced that no matter how busy life gets, the two of you should always eat dinner together whenever possible. even if he gets home exhausted from work, he’ll still ask if you’ve eaten yet. if you waited for him, he’ll apologize for making you wait before insisting on making the meal together anyway. to him, sharing one meal at the end of the day is enough to make everything feel normal again.
಄ leorio is the kind of person who subconsciously measures how tired he is by how badly he wants to see you. after an easy day, he’ll stroll home at his usual pace. after a difficult one, he’s practically speed-walking through the streets because all he can think about is collapsing beside you on the couch.
ILLUMI ZOLDYCK
಄ if illumi decides that you’re the one he wants, then, in his mind, the matter is already settled. he doesn’t “date” with uncertainty or entertain the possibility that his feelings might fade. his interest is deliberate, calculated, and frighteningly unwavering. if he’s pursuing you, it’s because he’s already concluded that you’re someone he intends to spend the rest of his life with. naturally, that means marriage isn’t some distant conversation to him—it’s the logical next step. while most people would wait years before bringing it up, illumi is already considering timelines, living arrangements, and how quickly the two of you can make it official. to him, there’s no reason to delay something he’s already decided on.
಄ illumi doesn’t really understand the concept of “missing signals.” if he likes you, he assumes you’ll eventually understand that through his actions. he’ll start appearing wherever you are, quietly inserting himself into your routine until his presence feels almost expected. in his mind, that’s a perfectly reasonable courtship.
಄ illumi is naturally observant, which means lying to him is almost impossible. if you insist you’re fine when your expression says otherwise, he’ll simply stare at you for a few seconds before confronting you further.
಄ he doesn’t become jealous easily because, in his mind, no one else is truly competition. if someone flirts with you, he’ll watch the interaction with the same detached expression he always wears. only later, when the two of you are alone, will he quietly ask, “did you enjoy talking to them?” it’s an innocent-sounding question, but it rarely remains that way.
಄ once you’re together, he stops viewing you as someone separate from himself in certain respects. when he’s considering where to travel, what assignments to accept, or how long he’ll be away, your wellbeing is factored into every decision automatically. it isn’t something he consciously chooses to do, it simply becomes the way he thinks.
಄ once he begins sleeping beside you regularly, he discovers he sleeps far more deeply than he ever has before. years of living as an assassin left him conditioned to wake at the slightest sound, but with you beside him, that vigilance softens just enough for him to truly rest. he never comments on it, though the first morning he wakes up after sunrise genuinely surprises him.
HISOKA MOROW
಄ despite spending so much of his life alone, he grows oddly accustomed to your company. at first, he’ll disappear for weeks at a time without a second thought. eventually, though, he’ll catch himself wondering what you’re doing in the middle of a job, or instinctively looking for you after walking into a crowded room. it isn’t dependence—hisoka would never describe it that way—but your presence slowly becomes something he starts expecting.
಄ he’s incredibly difficult to surprise, which only makes the rare occasions you manage it even more satisfying. if you remember something he mentioned months ago or anticipate what he’s about to do before he does it, you’ll catch a flicker of genuine amusement in his eyes. it’s one of the few things capable of leaving him momentarily speechless.
಄ one of the clearest signs that you’ve become important to hisoka is that he starts telling you where he’s going before he leaves. not because he feels obligated to report to anyone, but because, somewhere along the way, he realizes he doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea of you wondering where he disappeared to. he’ll mention it as casually as commenting on the weather.
಄ hisoka has always lived exactly as he pleased, never considering how his choices might affect anyone else. loving you doesn’t completely change that—it simply makes you the exception. you’re the first person he catches himself making room for in his plans, the first person whose opinion occasionally lingers in his thoughts after you’ve spoken.
಄ hisoka finds genuine trust infinitely more interesting than admiration. anyone can fear him, and plenty of people are fascinated by him, but very few people are willing to close their eyes around him or fall asleep with their head resting on his shoulder. every time you do, he goes strangely quiet, reminded that you’ve chosen to place your safety in his hands.
಄ he’s incredibly observant when it comes to your habits, and occasionally he’ll imitate them just to see if you’ll notice. if you have a certain way of stirring your tea or a phrase you repeat often, don’t be surprised when he starts doing the exact same thing, “are you mocking me?” “of course not, my dear.”
CHROLLO LUCILFER
಄ chrollo asks thoughtful questions about your opinions simply because he’s curious how your mind works. he’ll ask what you thought of a painting, whether you believe people can truly change, or why a certain song makes you emotional. there isn’t a right answer he’s looking for, he simply enjoys understanding the way you think.
಄ if he notices you’ve become attached to something small, a favorite mug, a well-loved blanket, a necklace you wear every day, he becomes oddly protective of it. if it breaks, he’ll quietly repair or replace it before you have the chance to worry, and will most likely keep it entirely a secret.
಄ chrollo has spent most of his life believing people are impossible to truly know. everyone wears masks; everyone hides parts of themselves. yet somehow, with you, he finds himself wanting to know every version of you that exists—the one the world sees, the one reserved for your closest friends, and the quiet one that only appears when the two of you are alone. he never reaches a point where he thinks, i know everything about them. instead, he quietly hopes he’ll have the rest of his life to keep learning.
಄ if you absentmindedly play with his hands while you’re talking, he pretends not to notice. but on the rare days you don’t, he’ll unconsciously reach for yours first, resting it in his lap as if that’s where it belongs.
಄ if you happen to not be apart of the troupe, he tries to keep you away from his work as much as possible. he knows it’ll most likely be unavoidable that you’ll find out what he does, so he opts to tell you when he’s become fully aware that you’re the one he wants. if you accept him, he’ll in return cease to mention the violence that comes with being what he is.
಄ if you aren’t part of the troupe, he does everything he can to keep you away from his work. he knows it’s only a matter of time before you find out what he really does, so once he’s certain you’re the one he wants, he’ll tell you himself rather than let you hear it from someone else. if you choose to stay after knowing the truth, he’ll do his best to leave the violence out of your relationship, rarely bringing it up unless it’s absolutely necessary.
FEITAN PORTOR
಄ arguments with feitan are frustrating because he shuts down instead of raising his voice. he’ll go quiet, answer in clipped sentences, and avoid saying anything he’ll regret. if he needs space, he’ll disappear for an hour or two. but he always comes back. no matter how upset he is, leaving you for good has never crossed his mind.
಄ he hates when you’re scared because he genuinely doesn’t know how to comfort people in the traditional sense. instead, he solves the problem. scared because of a nightmare? he’ll stay awake until you fall back asleep. worried someone followed you? he’ll make sure they never do it again.
಄ feitan doesn’t ask “did you get home safe?” he already knows. if you’re going somewhere alone, he’ll quietly memorize your route, the time you said you’d leave, and roughly when you should be back. if you’re late, he’ll never spam your phone or panic out loud—but by the time you return, he’s already been standing by the window for the last twenty minutes, pretending he wasn’t waiting.
಄ feitan is very aware of how dangerous he is. there are nights where he’ll look at the scars on his hands after a mission, then look at you asleep beside him, and wonder how those two parts of his life can possibly coexist. every single time, you end up unconsciously reaching for him in your sleep, curling closer without a second thought. somehow, that tiny gesture quiets every doubt he had.
಄ he has a habit of adjusting to you without ever mentioning it. if you always walk on his left side, eventually he’ll start moving there automatically. if you prefer sleeping with the window open, he’ll stop closing it. if you hate crowded places, he’ll quietly choose routes with fewer people. they’re tiny compromises that happen so naturally, you don’t notice until one day you realize he’s been doing them for months.
಄ feitan is terrible at accepting praise, but he’s even worse at accepting gifts. the first time you hand him something just because you thought he’d like it, he spends a solid minute staring at the wrapped package like it’s some sort of trap. afterward, he keeps it in perfect condition for years.
i was wondering how the adult trio will react and handle afab reader going through ovulation. Like with the clinginess and wanting to EHEM procreate 🫣
✦𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫✦
𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅: 05/31/2026
𝑨/𝑵: Hey, anon! Thank you so much for your request!! I'm sorry if it took a little while to come out, I'm currently finishing up more requests that are in my queue, besides other one-shots that I'm finalizing to post little by little. On another note... what an interesting prompt!! :-D I tried to focus 100% on their core personalities and psychology, without sugarcoating things too much, so their reactions would be as canon-compliant as possible (even in a more suggestive scenario like this, lol). I truly hope you enjoy how it turned out! Happy reading! :-)
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𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: NSFW themes, breeding/procreation mentions, high suggestiveness, Illumi being creepy/possessive, Hisoka being Hisoka, Chrollo being intense.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
🕷️🕸️𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐟𝐞𝐫: the melancholic philosopher
Chrollo is a living paradox: while he is a cold-blooded killer, he possesses a deep, almost philosophical sensitivity toward the behavior of those he considers "his."
The Discovery: Chrollo is incredibly observant and intelligent. He will notice that you’ve become much more tactile, that your scent has subtly changed, and that you can’t seem to take your eyes off his mouth while he reads. He finds human nature fascinating, and seeing your body respond to such a primitive calling awakens a calm, quiet curiosity within him.
Reacting to the Clinginess: He is by far the most receptive of the trio. If you approach him needing physical contact, Chrollo will close his book without a single second of hesitation. He will pull you right into his lap, burying his fingers in your hair and allowing you to fully nestle against him. There is a soothing calmness in the way he handles your neediness, running his hands up and down your back and listening to your quiet murmurs with an enigmatic, almost devout smile.
The "Procreation" Instinct: To Chrollo, this time of the month becomes almost a ritualistic experience. He lacks Illumi’s clinical obsession with heirs, and he doesn’t care for Hisoka’s need for chaos; Chrollo wants the total surrender of both your mind and body. The act with him becomes heavy, dense, and intensely intimate. He will dominate you with absolute composure, gripping your hips firmly while staring straight into your soul to read every single expression of your pleasure. There is a quiet, almost religious gravity to the way he claims you during this phase, making you feel like, in that exact moment, you are the only thing that matters in the entire world to the leader of the Phantom Troupe.
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
📍🖤 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐙𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤: the flawless hitman
To Illumi, the human body is simply a machine made of flesh, bones, and predictable chemical reactions. He doesn’t understand the romantic concept of "clinginess," but he understands biology perfectly.
The Discovery: He will notice before you even do. Illumi registers the subtle change in your skin temperature, the spike in your heart rate whenever he gets too close, and the way your pupils dilate. He won’t ask you what’s going on; he will simply state it as a fact: "Your hormone levels have shifted. You are currently in your fertile window."
Reacting to the Clinginess: Your sudden need to be close to him doesn’t annoy him; instead, it activates his absolute, unyielding sense of possessiveness. If you try to hold his hand or bury your face in his chest while he’s reviewing mission reports, he won't push you away. Instead, he will wrap an arm around you, locking you against his side with a bit too much force. To Illumi, if you are biologically compelled to seek him out, it means you recognize his role as your provider and partner.
The "Procreation" Instinct: This is where his Zoldyck mindset truly shines. Illumi is obsessed with lineage, inheritance, and efficiency. The idea of you wanting to "procreate" flips a purely pragmatic switch in his head. Do not expect sweet foreplay or whispered sweet nothings. Intimacy with Illumi during this phase becomes a task focused entirely on the continuation of the species. He will be clinical, tireless, and frighteningly focused. His dark, lifeless eyes will remain locked onto yours the entire time, ensuring you feel the full weight of his control over your body. If you talk about bearing his child, that is the closest you will ever see Illumi to looking genuinely "satisfied."
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
⭐💧🃏𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐤𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐰: the chaotic performer
Hisoka is a pure hedonist. He lives for sensory stimulation, raw desire, and anticipation. He couldn’t care less about reproduction, but he absolutely loves the chaos that hormones cause in your mind.
The Discovery: Hisoka can smell your lust from a mile away. He notices the shift in your breathing the second he walks into the room and the way you unconsciously bite your lip while looking at him. He will give you that signature feline smirk, narrowing his eyes as he finds it utterly delicious to watch you lose your composure over a natural cycle.
Reacting to the Clinginess: He is going to use your neediness as a toy. If you get whiny or beg him to lay down with you, Hisoka will purposely dodge you just to watch your frustration grow. He thrives on being wanted to the point of madness. He’ll trace his long fingers down your jaw, whisper something wildly inappropriate in your ear, and then pull away, chuckling softly at your whine. He wants you to beg; he wants you to completely lose control.
The "Procreation" Instinct: Hisoka finds your biological urgency hilarious and extremely turning. However, he has zero interest in actually sireing an heir; he only wants the raw pleasure and the total breakdown of your restraint. When he finally gives in to your desperate pleas, it will be an intense, erratic, and theatrical experience. He will pin your wrists, test your limits, and drag out the moment until you can barely take it anymore. He feeds on your desperation for him, turning your peak ovulation into a spectacle of pure ego and selfish pleasure.
