⛓️ScarletAngel🪽

The fire crackled softly, casting warm shadows that danced on Kurapika's face. His usual sharp gaze had softened, dulled by the comfort of a rare, peaceful evening. You sat close beside him, a thick blanket wrapped around both your shoulders, your head slightly resting on his shoulder.

"You should sleep," he murmured, voice low and quiet.

"So should you," you replied with a tired smile, glancing up at him. "But you're still keeping watch".

Kurapika didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes reflecting both the flames and something gentler, something he rarely let anyone see. Then he reached for your hand beneath the blanket, his fingers cold but steady.

"I trust you", he said simply. "When you're near... I feel like i can let my guard down. Just a little".

Your heart did a small, nervous flip. "That's dangerous," you teased gently.

A rare, fleeting smile touched his lips. "Maybe. But its the kind of danger I don't mind."

The two of you sat in silence after that, the kind that felt full rather than empty. The fire burned low, and eventually Kurapika's head tilted, resting lightly against yours. Neither of you moved to changed it.

The clock ticked past midnight. Yorknew City never slept, neon buzzing outside the cracked hotel window, but inside the room it was suffocatingly still. The air reeked faintly of iron, from the chains Kurapika had been conjuring and snapping over and over, the sound like rattling bones.

You watched him from the edge of the bed, your knees drawn to your chest. He hadn’t so much as glanced at you since returning hours ago. His coat was still draped across the chair, his tie half undone, his scarlet eyes fixed on the neat rows of notes scrawled across the table. Names. Faces. The Troupe.

“Kurapika,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer. His hand clenched around the chain, knuckles white.

“You haven’t eaten.” You tried again, pushing past the lump in your throat. “Or slept.”

“I told you,” he muttered, voice flat. “I don’t have time.”

Your chest ached. You stood and moved toward him, reaching to place your hand on his shoulder. The contact was feather-light, desperate. “You’re going to burn yourself out. Please. Just… lie down for a while. Rest with me.”

The chair scraped as he shoved it back and stood. His sudden movement made you flinch, your hand slipping from him. For a heartbeat his scarlet gaze locked on yours, wild, feverish, nothing like the calm, precise man you knew.

“I can’t rest,” he snapped. “Not when they’re still out there. Not when every second wasted is another chance for them to slip away.”

You swallowed, your voice cracking as you tried to reach him. “I know what’s at stake, Kurapika. I’ve been here, haven’t I? I’ve fought with you. I’ve—”

“You don’t know.” His voice rose, sharper than you’d ever heard. “Don’t pretend you do.”

The words cut, sharp and merciless. You stared, stunned. “How can you say that? You think I don’t understand pain? You think I don’t understand you?”

His chains rattled in his fists, the sound harsh in the tense silence. His chest heaved. For a moment, his lips parted, as if he wanted to take it back. But instead, he let the anger win.

“You’re a distraction,” he bit out.

The floor seemed to drop beneath you. “…What?”

His eyes narrowed, burning scarlet. “You heard me. I can’t protect you and do what I need to do. Every second I waste worrying about you is a second I’m not focusing on the Troupe. You’re in the way.”

Your heart clenched so violently you thought it might stop. “A distraction…?” You laughed weakly, broken. “That’s what I am to you?”

He turned his face away, jaw tight. “Go home. Before you get killed.”

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t throw me away like this. You love me—”

“Love?” His voice cracked like a whip, furious, desperate. He whirled back to you, chains sparking with nen in his clenched fists. “I don’t have the luxury of love. Not anymore. Not when they’re still breathing.”

Your whole body trembled. You searched his face, scarlet eyes blazing with rage and something deeper, grief, guilt, agony. But all you could hear were the words he chose to spit at you.

“So it’s true,” you choked. “You don’t want me anymore.”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. For a second, you saw it, the way his throat worked, the way his hands shook, the truth in his silence. But then his face hardened, and he forced the blade deeper.

“You were never meant to be part of this.” His voice was quiet, final. “Leave, before I make you regret staying.”

The tears broke free, hot and merciless. You staggered back, shaking your head. “I don’t… I don’t understand. How can you say that to me? After everything? After—”

“Because it’s the truth.” His tone was ice. “Now go.”

Your chest splintered, every breath agony. You stared at him one last time, searching for something, anything, behind the mask. But he didn’t move. Didn’t soften.

“Fine,” you whispered, voice trembling. “If that’s what you want… then I’ll go.”

You turned, every step toward the door heavier than the last. Your hand shook on the knob. For a moment, you waited, praying he’d call your name, stop you, do something.

But the silence was deafening.

You opened the door. Neon spilled in, painting you in cold light. And then the door clicked shut behind you.

The moment you were gone, Kurapika’s knees buckled. The chains slipped from his trembling hands, clattering against the floor. He pressed his palms to his face, but the tears slipped through anyway, burning.

His voice cracked in the empty room, the words he couldn’t say when you were there.

“Angel… I didn’t mean it. I need you. I—” His voice broke into a sob. “I’m sorry.”

But you weren’t there to hear him.

And the silence pressed in, heavier than the chains he bore.

The safe room was quiet, but Kurapika wasn’t. His hands shook as he pushed the door closed behind him, chains rattling faintly at his wrist. He’d been running on pure vengeance for days, body ragged from lack of sleep, mind dark and sharp with rage. And then he saw you waiting for him in the dim light, concern etched across your face.

Something in him snapped.

He crossed the room in three long strides, pushing you against the wall catching your face in trembling hands, one hand on your cheek the other against your head. His scarlet eyes were burning, not just with hatred this time, but with hunger, need for you.

“I can’t” His voice cracked. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t need this. I don’t need you.”

His lips were on yours before you could speak. The kiss was searing, almost violent in its urgency, like he was drowning and your mouth was the only air left in the world. His chains brushed cold against your waist as his hands roamed with desperation, tugging you against him.

“Angel,” he gasped against your lips, the word breaking as though it hurt to say. “My angel… only you please let me have you.”

He had you against him in moments, towering over you with his chest heaving, gaze devouring. His restraint was gone. Every careful wall Kurapika had built crumbled at the sight of you beneath him, looking at him like he was something worth loving.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, voice ragged as his fingers slid under your shirt. “I can fight the Troupe. I can chain every last one of them. But you? You undo me with a single look.”

“Angel…” His voice broke against your lips, a whisper and a growl at once. “Only you… i need you.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you felt him trembling against you, scarlet eyes dark with need and exhaustion. His lips traveled down your jaw, nipping softly, teasing as he explored your neck, shoulder, and collarbone. His hands roamed over your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of warmth beneath his fingertips.

You arched into him instinctively, pressing your chest against his, letting your breath mingle. His thigh between your legs. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That small reassurance drove him over the edge. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed in a few long strides, never breaking eye contact. The mattress dipped beneath you as he settled on top, hands cradling your face and shoulders, keeping you pinned with a gentleness that belied the desperation in his gaze.

His lips found yours again, slow at first, savoring, tasting. And then he couldn’t resist. Every thrust of his tongue, every press of his body was a silent confession, weeks of tension, the strain of vengeance, the constant danger, it all poured out into you.

Kurapika’s hands slid beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing against bare skin with a trembling reverence. “You… feel…” he gasped, voice rough, nearly breaking. “You feel like… salvation, Angel.”

Every word sent shivers through you. Your hands roamed over his back, gripping the muscles under his shirt, feeling the tension of him finally yielding. When his fingers traced over the sensitive skin of your sides and down to your hips, you gasped, arching into him, needing more contact, needing him closer.

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, feather light at first. The kiss was slow. His hands moved over your shoulders, along your arms, tracing lines of heat and goosebumps like he was mapping your body. “You’re…” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse, “so perfect, Angel.”

Kurapika’s hands slid under your shirt slowly, dragging your top up inch by inch. He paused at your collarbone, letting his fingers brush over the soft skin, teasing, circling, memorizing. His lips found the same spot, pressing delicate, lingering kisses as he hummed softly, almost inaudibly.

He trailed his lips lower, along your sternum, teasing your ribs, lips brushing over every sensitive spot, teeth grazing lightly just enough to make you shiver and sigh. One hand cupped your breast, thumb circling your nipple, while the other explored your hip, sliding down to your thigh.

Kurapika’s voice dropped, ragged with desire. “You don’t understand… I can’t stop thinking about you… about this.. you’re so beautiful and all mine to have.”

You arched toward him instinctively, breathing hitching as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to the sensitive inner thigh, making you whimper softly. His fingers brushed over your clit, not yet pressing, just teasing, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You feel… so good, Angel,” he whispered, voice cracking with need. “So right. I’ve waited… I’ve wanted… and I…please.”

He paused, letting you writhe slightly under his touch, savoring the reaction, drinking it in like he might never get another chance. Every gasp, every shiver, every moan made him more desperate, more unrestrained.

Finally, he allowed his lips and fingers to explore more boldly, inching closer to the point he’d been holding back, making you melt under him. His fingers moved inside you slowly, curling and stroking in a deliberate rhythm that drove you wild, every motion with low, broken whispers of your name.

“Angel… Angel… you’re mine… I can’t… I can’t resist…” His voice was almost a growl now, desperate, torn between control and surrender. Every touch, every movement was calculated to push you to the edge before giving in himself.

He aligned himself carefully, though his movements were fueled by desperation. Slowly, with shaky breathes, he entered you, whimpering softly at the tight warmth that welcomed him. His forehead pressed to yours as he paused for a heartbeat, letting both of you feel the connection, the mutual need.

“I’ve… I’ve held back too long,” he murmured against your lips, voice ragged. “I can’t… I can’t control myself when it’s you. Please let me have you, i’ll be good i promise, so gentle.”

You responded instinctively, hands clutching his back, pressing your thighs against his hips as he began a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each movement was precise yet desperate, alternating between slow desperate strokes and deeper, harder thrusts that made you both gasp. The sound of skin meeting skin, your moans, his growls, the faint rattle of his chains, it all mixed into a symphony of raw passion and emotional release.

He whispered your name repeatedly, over and over, each “Angel” he said with need, reverence, and possession. “Angel… stay with me… don’t leave me… my Angel…”

Your hands found his face again, tracing jaw and cheek, feeling every tremble in him as your bodies moved together. “I’m not leaving,” you murmured. “I’m yours.”

Kurapika’s pace faltered, then intensified, each thrust a mixture of whimpers and desperation. His lips kissed down your neck, shoulders, chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Your back arched, matching him, every gasp and moan a confirmation of the bond, the urgency, the intensity of the moment.

As he neared release, his desperation became more palpable. Fingers digging into your hips, hands tangled in hair, chest pressing against yours he shuddered, voice breaking as he whispered your name like a prayer. “Angel… Angel…”

When he came, it was slow, trembling, almost painfully prolonged, each movement grounding him against you, every gasp and shudder releasing not just physical tension but all the weight of his rage, his exhaustion, his fear of loss. You clung to him, riding out his release with him, moaning softly as your own climax shook through you.

He collapsed atop you afterward, breathing ragged, forehead pressed against yours, scarlet eyes slowly dimming to brown. Fingers brushed over your sides, arms wrapped tight around you, holding you as if he might never get the chance to again.

“I… I can’t…” he murmured, voice husky and broken, “I can’t lose you. Never again. My angel…”

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, fingers combing through his hair. “You don’t have to, Kurapika. I’m right here. Always.”

And there, tangled together in the dim Yorknew light, the chaos of the city and the danger of the Troupe melted away. He finally let himself be soft, vulnerable and only yours to see.

The hotel room was quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows. You had collapsed onto the bed after a long day, sighing in relief as you stretched out on the sheets.

Kurapika, ever composed, had taken the armchair by the window, still in his neatly buttoned shirt and vest. His eyes flicked toward you every now and then, soft and unreadable, until finally he set down his book.

“You shouldn’t sprawl like that, angel,” he said smoothly, his voice low in the dim light. “You’ll get cold.”

You glanced at him, rolling over onto your stomach. “You’re staring again.”

“And you’re tempting me again,” he countered, lips curving into the faintest smile.

Your breath caught. “Kurapika—”

He stood, crossing the room with quiet steps, and before you could say another word, his hand was pressed against the mattress beside your head, his body leaning over yours. His scent, faint, familiar, surrounded you, making your pulse quicken.

“You do this on purpose, don’t you?” he murmured, his eyes burning golden even in the low light. “Acting so innocent when you know exactly what you do to me.”

Your face went hot instantly. “I-I don’t….”

His other hand brushed against your cheek, tilting your face so you couldn’t escape his gaze. “Your heartbeat gives you away,” he whispered, smirk soft but devastating. “Angel, you’re trembling.”

“I’m not,” you protested weakly, though your voice cracked.

Kurapika chuckled, the sound quiet and deep. He leaned closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Then why are you blushing this much?”

You buried your face into the pillow, groaning, which only made him laugh again. His fingers traced down your arm, slow and deliberate, until he laced them with yours against the sheets.

“You always try to hide from me when you’re like this,” he said warmly, brushing a kiss against your temple. “But I love it. I love knowing I can do this to you.”

You peeked up at him, wide-eyed. “You’re cruel.”

He smirked, pressing his forehead to yours. “Maybe. But only with you.”

And then, finally, he closed the space, his lips brushing against yours, gentle at first, but lingering, teasing, until your breath came faster and your cheeks burned hotter than ever.

Kurapika pulled back just slightly, just enough to smirk at the dazed look in your eyes. “See, angel?” he whispered. “You can’t hide how much you want me.”

The rain outside had grown heavier, steady sheets against the window as the world faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet hotel room.

Kurapika’s lips brushed yours again, firmer this time, and you let out a soft gasp that he immediately stole with his mouth. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb stroking lightly as if he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, your lips were parted, breath shaky. He looked at you like he was memorizing the moment, golden eyes sharp and hungry.

“You don’t even realize,” he murmured, tracing the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, “how irresistible you are when you look at me like that.”

Your cheeks burned. “Kura—”

He cut you off with another kiss, deeper, his tongue sliding against yours slowly, deliberately. His weight shifted as he pressed you back into the mattress, his body warm and solid over yours.

The kiss broke with a soft sound, his lips moving down your jaw to your throat. He lingered there, pressing open mouthed kisses along your pulse until you shivered.

“Angel,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low, husky now. “Your heart is racing so fast. Is it because of me?”

You swallowed hard, your hands clutching at his shirt. “You already know it is.”

He smirked against your collarbone, his hand sliding down from your jaw to the hem of your shirt. “Then don’t hide from me. Let me hear it.”

With practiced patience, he tugged your shirt up, exposing your skin inch by inch. His fingertips grazed along your stomach, teasingly light, making your breath hitch.

“Sensitive,” he noted, amused. “I barely touch you and you’re trembling.”

“Kurapika…” you whined, burying your face in the pillow.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss just below your ribs, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Don’t hide, angel. Let me see you.”

When he finally pulled the shirt over your head, his eyes roved over you, unguarded hunger flashing in his usually calm gaze. He kissed down your chest, slow, reverent, but his hands gripped your waist firmly, pinning you in place when you squirmed.

“Patience,” he murmured. “You’ll get what you want. But I’m going to enjoy every second of this.”

His lips found your nipple, tongue circling before he sucked gently, making you arch into him. One hand moved to your thigh, pushing it apart as he settled between your legs, still extremely slow.

“You’re already warm for me,” he said softly, fingers brushing over the dampness between your thighs through your shorts. Your whole body jolted at the contact, and he smirked, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “Look at you, angel.… you’re beautiful beneath me.”

You whimpered, tugging at his shoulders. “Stop teasing”

He cut you off with a heated kiss, pressing two fingers against your clothed core as you gasped into his mouth. His tongue slipped past your lips at the same moment his fingers pressed harder, dragging over you in slow circles.

Kurapika pulled back just enough to whisper, “I’ll stop teasing when you beg me properly.”

The rain was relentless, drumming steadily against the window, but all you could hear was your own pulse thundering in your ears. Kurapika’s weight was over you, his lips soft but hungry, his golden eyes burning every time he pulled back just far enough to see your expression.

“Angel,” he whispered, voice low, silk over steel. “You’re trembling already. Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head quickly, breathless. “No. Please don’t stop.”

His lips curved into that faint smile, the one that always left you undone. “Good. I don’t plan to.”

He slid your shorts down slowly, savoring every inch of exposed skin, until you were bared beneath him. His fingers trailed up your thigh, featherlight, just brushing where you needed him most, but never enough pressure.

“Kurapika,” you whined, hips shifting.

His smirk deepened. “So impatient.” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, dangerously close, his breath hot against your soaked panties. “But I’ll indulge you.”

He hooked a finger beneath the fabric, pulling it aside, and the moment the cool air hit you, you flushed even deeper. His eyes flicked up to catch your reaction, hungry, before lowering again.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on you.

Your back arched instantly as his tongue dragged over your folds, slow and deliberate. He held your hips down when you tried to buck up, his control unyielding, forcing you to take every slow stroke of his tongue.

“Ah—Kura,” you gasped, hands tangling in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibration making you shudder. His tongue circled your clit, teasing, before he sucked lightly, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

“You taste perfect,” he said softly, voice wrecked with desire. “And this—” he slid one long finger inside you, slow, curling just right “—is only the beginning.”

Your moan was loud enough to echo in the room, your thighs trembling around his head. He pumped his finger, steady and precise, curling to hit that sweet spot until you were dripping around him. When he added a second finger, your walls stretched around the fullness, and you clutched his shoulders desperately.

“Kurapika, I—”

His lips returned to your clit, tongue flicking in rhythm with the thrust of his fingers, drawing you higher and higher until you were on the edge, every muscle flexing.

“Cum for me, angel,” he commanded gently, and the way he said it pushed you over.

You cried out, body arching as waves of release washed through you, his fingers and tongue milking every second until you collapsed back against the sheets, trembling.

He pulled back slowly, licking his fingers clean, his eyes molten with desire. “So beautiful when you come undone for me.”

You were still catching your breath when he leaned over you, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

When he pulled away, his voice was rougher, needier now. “But I’m not finished, angel. Not until you’re begging me to stop.”

His hand slid down your body again, possessive, deliberate.

“And tonight,” he whispered against your lips, “I’m going to ruin you in the best way possible.”

Kurapika hovered above you, lips swollen from kissing, golden eyes dark with lust. His control was terrifying, every touch calculated, every word designed to unravel you.

“You look ruined already, angel,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your lips. “And I’ve barely even started.”

Your body was still trembling from your first orgasm, but his fingers traced down your stomach, brushing against your sensitive folds again. You whimpered, hips jerking into his touch.

He smirked. “So eager. But you don’t get to decide when you fall apart. I do.”

Two fingers slid inside you again, pumping slow, deliberate strokes that had you gasping. Just as you started to tense, building toward release, he pulled out completely.

Your cry of frustration made his smirk widen. “Ah, ah. Not yet. You’ll wait until I say so.”

“Kura, please,” you begged, voice breaking.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll address me properly if you want something.” His voice dropped lower, commanding. “Say it.”

Your face burned hotter. “P-Please, master.”

The sound that left his throat was half-groan, half-chuckle. “Good girl.” He rewarded you with his thumb on your clit, slow circles that made your thighs quake. “But begging won’t save you yet.”

You whined, clutching at his shirt. “You’re so mean”

“Mean?” His golden eyes sharpened, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “Angel, I’m generous. You’re lucky I’m letting you fall apart at all.”

He teased you like that for what felt like forever, bringing you right to the edge, watching your body tense, your voice break with desperate cries, then pulling away, smirking every time you sobbed his name.

By the time he finally undid his belt and slid his pants down, your body was a trembling mess, slick with need. He stroked himself slowly, letting you see how hard he was, the tip flushed and dripping.

“Look at you,” he said softly, almost reverent. “I’ve never seen anything more perfect than my angel desperate for me.”

He lined himself up and pushed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until you were clinging to him, gasping at the fullness. He groaned low in his throat, his control faltering for just a moment.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, burying his face against your neck as he bottomed out.

When he finally moved, it was slow and deliberate, every thrust angled to make you cry out. He caught your wrists, pinning them above your head, his grip firm. “Don’t move. Let me take care of you.”

The pressure built quickly, too quickly, and you felt yourself spiraling again.

“Kurapika, I— I’m close—”

He slammed deeper, making you moan, but his voice was merciless. “Hold it.”

“I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can.” His eyes burned into yours, his thrusts steady, cruel in their precision. “You’ll cum when I say. Not a second sooner.”

Tears prickled at your eyes as you tried to hold it back, your body trembling violently under him. He leaned down, kissing you roughly, swallowing your whimpers.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, his hand left your wrists and slid between your thighs, pressing hard circles against your clit while he drove into you deeper, faster.

“Now,” he growled against your ear. “Cum for me. Show me who you belong to.”

The orgasm tore through you, violent and overwhelming, your vision white as you screamed his name. Your body clenched around him, dragging a raw groan from his throat as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering against yours.

He collapsed over you, chest heaving, lips pressed to your temple. For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the storm outside.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but still laced with smug satisfaction. “You did so well, angel. Completely undone… just how I like you.”

You groaned weakly. “You’re cruel.”

Kurapika chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Cruel? No. I’m yours. And I’ll ruin you like this every time you ask.”

Your body was still buzzing, trembling from the first round, when Kurapika pulled out and sat back on his heels. His golden eyes raked over you like you were something to devour, lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

“Already wrecked, angel?” he teased, brushing his thumb across your swollen lower lip. “And yet your body’s still begging for me. Look at you, shaking, dripping all over the sheets. Pathetic.”

You whimpered, trying to close your legs, but he caught your knees and pushed them apart firmly.

“Don’t you dare hide from me.” His voice sharpened, low and commanding. “You wanted me rough? You’ll take everything I give you.”

Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillows as he slid back inside you in one brutal thrust. You gasped, arching, the stretch overwhelming all over again.

“Fuck, tight again already,” he groaned, gripping your hips so hard you knew he’d leave bruises. He pulled out halfway and slammed back in, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp and obscene in the quiet room.

You clawed at the sheets, moaning helplessly as he pounded into you, unrelenting.

“Too much?” he murmured mockingly, leaning down to bite your shoulder. “Or is my angel greedy enough to take it?”

“I—I can take it,” you choked out, voice breaking.

“That’s right,” he hissed, thrusting harder, deeper. “You’ll take every inch of me, every time, until you can’t even remember your own name, only mine.”

You sobbed into the pillow, his words making heat coil tight in your belly.

He yanked your head back by your hair, forcing you to arch. His lips brushed your ear, his voice dark silk. “Say it. Say who you belong to.”

“You—Kurapika, it’s you”

“Louder.” His hips snapped brutally, making you cry out. “I want the whole damn building to know.”

“You! I’m yours!” you screamed, tears spilling as pleasure raked through you.

“That’s my angel.” He released your hair only to wrap an arm around your throat, holding you upright against his chest as he fucked into you from behind. His free hand snaked down between your legs, fingers circling your clit ruthlessly.

Your walls fluttered, clamping down around him as you sobbed his name.

“God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he growled, biting at your jaw. “You gonna cum again? Hm?”

“Yes! Please. Ah!”

He laughed low, cruel and soft. “Beg properly or I’ll stop right here.”

“P-Please, master, let me cum! I need it, I need you!”

“Good girl.” His thrusts grew frantic, punishing, the rhythm of his fingers against your clit pushing you over the edge until you were shaking, screaming his name as you came violently around him.

He held you through it, whispering filth against your ear. “That’s it, fall apart for me. Make a mess. You’re mine to break.”

Your release dragged him with you, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside, groaning your name like a curse and a prayer.

When it was over, you collapsed forward, body limp, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

Kurapika leaned down, kissing the sweat from your shoulder, his voice still dark with satisfaction. “Pathetic, ruined, begging, just how I like you, angel.”

And the worst part? His hand was already sliding down your thigh again, voice promising more.

“Round three, if you can still take it. You can, can’t you?”

__________________________________

Your body felt like liquid, boneless from two rounds that left you trembling, sore, and delirious. You collapsed into the sheets, breathing ragged, thinking, foolishly, that Kurapika would finally give you rest.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he traced his hand down your spine, featherlight, until he gripped your ass firmly, spreading you open to watch his cum drip from you. He groaned low in his throat, golden eyes molten.

“Messy angel,” he said softly, cruel amusement lacing his tone. “I fill you once, twice, and you still can’t hold it. Maybe I should keep you stuffed until you learn.”

You whimpered, face buried in the pillow. “Kura, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He flipped you onto your back effortlessly, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, while his other dragged down to your raw, sensitive core. His thumb pressed to your swollen clit, and your whole body jolted violently.

“Look at that reaction,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips. “Already trembling, already begging me to stop when I haven’t even started. You’ll take more.”

He lined himself up again, and before you could protest, he thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke. Your scream tore through the room, back arching as the overstimulation hit you like fire.

“Fuck, you’re so tight now,” he growled, snapping his hips against yours mercilessly. “Clamping down on me like your body knows it belongs to me. And it does, doesn’t it?”

“Yes—yes, it’s yours!” you sobbed, tears streaming.

“Good girl,” he praised darkly, thrusting harder. “You’ll cum for me again. And again. Until you can’t think, until you’re crying so sweetly you can’t beg me anymore.”

His thumb returned to your clit, ruthless circles in time with his pounding thrusts. Your legs shook violently, thighs twitching as you screamed his name, another orgasm ripping through you so hard it nearly hurt.

But Kurapika didn’t stop.

“That’s one,” he said calmly, hips never faltering. “We’ll see how many more I can drag out of you.”

Your body writhed beneath him, overstimulation turning every touch into unbearable pleasure. You clawed at the sheets, at his shoulders, sobbing, but his grip on your wrists stayed iron strong.

He leaned down, lips against your ear, voice a velvet knife. “Pathetic little angel, falling apart on my cock. You love it, don’t you? Being used until you can’t think?”

You couldn’t answer, only choke out his name between cries.

“Answer me,” he snapped, thrusting brutally deep, hitting that spot that made your vision spark white.

“Yes! I love it, I love when you ruin me!”

His low chuckle vibrated against your skin. “Good. Then give me another.”

You came again, body convulsing around him, your voice hoarse from screaming. And still, he didn’t stop, relentless, punishing, dragging orgasm after orgasm from you until you were sobbing incoherently, your body shaking violently.

Finally, when you were nothing but a trembling, wet, wrecked mess beneath him, he slammed into you one last time, groaning your name as he came hard inside, spilling deep, grinding it into you until you were filled to the brim.

When he collapsed over you, your body was twitching, your mind barely holding on. He kissed the tear streaks from your cheeks, voice soft now, tender despite the wreckage he’d made of you.

“That’s it, angel. My perfect angel. You took it all for me.”

You could only whimper weakly into his chest, and he smiled, stroking your hair.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You did amazing pretty girl, relax now i’ll take care of you.”

The classroom was still, bathed in the pale light filtering through the tall windows. Aizawa Shouta sat slumped in his chair, dark circles deepening beneath his ever-weary eyes. The disorder of his usual desk was subdued today, papers stacked with an almost obsessive neatness, except for one item placed squarely at the center of the chaos: a plain cream envelope.

He stared at it without moving, the silence louder than any shout.

It had been hours since you left, the weight of your words still hanging in the air like a storm cloud refusing to break.

“There’s something important I want to ask you. After my mission.” Your voice, usually steady and fierce, had been small and unsure, almost like a child testing a dangerous bridge.

He hadn’t known then that you were carrying a burden far heavier than any mission brief.

The message had come shortly after you disappeared into the field. A call from the hospital.

Injured. Critical condition.

His world shattered.

Now, sitting alone in the classroom where you’d once smiled and joked with your classmates, the envelope beckoned him like a silent plea.

He picked it up with trembling hands, unfolding the papers inside.

Handwritten, neat, your words cutting sharper than any blade.

“I want to be your student. Your family. Please consider adopting me.”

Aizawa swallowed hard, choking back a sudden flood of emotions he’d spent years burying under exhaustion and sarcasm. Anger, guilt, fear, and a crushing ache all at once.

His fist slammed the desk, scattering papers like fallen leaves, and he buried his face in his hands. Why had you felt you had to ask? Why hadn’t you told him sooner?

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room flickered overhead. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the sharp sting of fear that clung to Aizawa’s throat.

His hair was messier than usual, the stubble on his chin rougher, he hadn’t bothered to shave since hearing the news. His eyes, dark and weary, darted toward the double doors that led to the intensive care unit every few seconds.

He sat stiffly on the uncomfortable plastic chair, hands wrapped tightly around the adoption papers like a lifeline.

A nurse passed by, offering a kind but tired smile.

“She’s stable for now, but the doctors are still monitoring her closely.”

Stable. The word was fragile, like a glass thread stretched too thin.

Aizawa’s mind raced back to the years you’d spent silent about the brokenness in your family. The fights, the loneliness, the nights you wished you had someone to call your own, someone who didn’t just see you as a student or a teammate, but as family.

He remembered your quiet resolve, the way you’d worked harder than anyone, refusing to break.

And now, here you were, lying unconscious, your life hanging by a thread.

His throat tightened. He wished he could go back, hold you, tell you he’d been there all along. That you didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

He squeezed the papers until his knuckles whitened.

I’ll be your family. I swear it.

The memory of that morning burned vividly in his mind.

You had lingered in the doorway, hesitating, hands twisting nervously. Aizawa, ever the indifferent teacher, had softened just enough to catch the tremor in your voice.

“You look like you wanna say something,” he had said, voice low and rough.

Your eyes met his, dark and fierce despite the vulnerability there. “It’s… important. But not now. After my mission.”

He’d nodded, though something inside him had tightened with unease.

Now, as the minutes stretched into hours, he cursed himself for not pushing harder, for letting you carry this secret alone.

The sterile room was dimly lit, machines beeping steadily beside your bed. Tubes and wires traced lines across your pale skin, your chest rising and falling in a fragile rhythm.

Aizawa stood beside you, one hand resting gently on the cold hospital sheet.

Your face was peaceful, but beneath that fragile calm was the fierce soul he knew, the girl who fought so hard to be seen and loved.

He crouched down, voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. He felt tears prick at his eyes, something rare and dangerous for him.

“I’m gonna keep you safe. I’ll fight to bring you back, I promise.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the adoption papers again. His other hand shook as he held them.

“I should’ve said yes the moment you asked,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry it took so long… But if you’re still here when you wake up… we’ll figure this out. Together.”

Hours slipped by like shadows.

Nurses came and went, doctors spoke in hushed tones. But Aizawa barely left your side, eyes fixed on the monitor’s gentle rise and fall.

His mind wandered to all the times he’d watched students like you struggle without enough support, without someone to call family.

He’d always been distant, guarded, too tired to get close. But now, with your life hanging in the balance, all those walls crumbled.

He stood, clutching the papers, heart heavy with fear and hope.

“I’m here,” he whispered into the quiet night. “I’ll be your family, no matter what.”

The first light of dawn crept through the hospital window.

Aizawa’s eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, but unyielding.

Suddenly, a faint fluttering of your eyelids.

He leaned in closer, breath catching in his throat.

“Hey… you’re back,” he said softly, voice thick with relief. “You scared me.”

Your gaze slowly found his, confusion mingling with pain.

He smiled, small and tender. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re gonna take this step by step. Together.”

You tried to speak, voice hoarse.

“I’m… here,” he reassured, gripping your hand gently.

You were laughing again.

Something small. Something silly. You were recounting a memory he didn't quite catch the beginning of, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was the sound of your voice, the ease of it, the way it softened the edges of his worn out world. The way it made somethings inside him feel dangerously close to peace.

Kurapika wasn't listening to your story. Not really. He was listening to you.

He always did.

There were times he wondered what it would feel like to be just another person in your life, not the one with bloodstained chains, not the one carrying an ancient grief. Just a man. Just someone who could sit beside you without the guilt. Without the ghosts.

But that wasn't the life he'd chosen. Or rather, the one that had been forced onto him.

So he watched from where he sat across the room, his book long forgotten in his lap, eyes followed the way your fingers moved when you spoke, the subtle lilt in your voice when something amused you.

You glowed in moments like this, unburdened.

He envied that.

And yet, he cherished it more than anything.

He would never tell you how often he memorized your face. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, or how your nose scrunched just slighly when you were annoyed. He wouldn't admit that he could recognize your footsteps even from another room. That the sound of your laugh could break him if he let it.

Because how could he say any of that when his hands were built for retribution, not affection?

You looked at him suddenly, a casual glance, and smiled.

"Kurapika? You spaced out."

He blinked, startled by how fast you could tether him back to earth.

"Sorry," he said, voice lower than usual. "Just tired."

You nodded with concern, scooting just a bit closer. "You should rest. You've barely slept."

He wanted to say I sleep better when you’re near, your voice is the only thing I trust in the dark. He wanted to say don’t leave.

But he only offered a small, polite smile. "I will."

A lie. Of course.

When you've looked away again, his eyes lingered. Just a little too long.

He allowed himself this, at least. These quiet, stolen seconds. These moments where he could pretend.

Where he could imagine what it would feel like to reach for your hand and not feel like he was breaking something sacred. To press his forehead to yours and not wonder if his past would catch up to you too. To love you the way you deserve, openly, fully, without restraint.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

So he sat there in the half light, watching you, aching with the kind of longing that didn't demand anything in return. The kind that simply existed, quiet, constant.

The room was quiet, to quiet given everything that had happened.

Kurapika sat at the edge of the hotel bed, shirt open, chest rising and falling with quiet, measured breaths. Blood dried at his collarbone, dark and crusted, a mix of his own and others. The mission had been brutal. But he'd survive.

Because you stayed.

You sat behind him on the bed, legs folded beneath you, dabbing antiseptic gently along the deep scratch near his shoulder blade. Your fingers moved delicately across his bare skin, avoiding fresh bruises, brushing lightly over old scars. He didn't flinch, he never did, but you could feel the tension in his muscles.

You didn't speak. Words felt like too much. Touch said more.

Then, suddenly, his voice came low, rough, strained in a way you weren't used to hearing.

"You keep touching me like that.. and I'm not going to be able to pretend I don't want you"

Your fingers froze on his skin.

He didn't turn to look at you. Not yet. But his breath hitched, just barely.

"I've shown restraint every time you walked into the room", he continued, voice quieter now, more dangerous in its control. "Every time you patched me up. Every time you said my name like that."

You swallowed hard.

He stood slowly, the mattress shifting beneath him as he turned to face you.

Scarlet eyes met yours, but they weren't cold this time. They were burning. Controlled fire, flickering behind his gaze. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize every detail. Or maybe like he was trying not too.

"But if you don't stop me now." he said, stepping between your knees, tilting your head up with his fingers, "I won't hold back tonight."

Your breath came shaky. "I'm not stopping you."

Something in him snapped, quietly, devastatingly.

His lips was on yours in seconds. It wasn't soft. It wasn't cautious. It was heat and weeks, months, of buried hunger unraveling in one long, bruising kiss. His hands tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself in you, anchor himself in something real.

You barely noticed when he pushed you back onto the bed until you felt his body pressing down on you, hips between your thighs, his bare chest brushing yours with overwhelming friction. The kiss deepened, messy and breathless. When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, eyes blow wide with lust.

"Say it." he whispered, voice ragged. "Say you want this."

"I want this," you breathed, without hesitation. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

Clothes came off in fragments, his own discarded shirt, your pulled down waistband, his belt undone with urgency. But he never rushed you. His hands trailed admiringly over your skin, like he was studying you, worshipping you.

When he finally pressed into you, it was slow, deep.

He groaned against your throat, voice muffled.

"You feel like everything I've been trying to forget," he whispered, thrusts steady but intense, "and everything I've ever wanted."

Your hands raked through his hair, fingers clawing at his back as he moved inside you, controlled, calculated, but growing more desperate with every second. Every soft moan from you broke off another piece of his retraint.

"Kurapika.." you whimpered, and something about the way you said his name made him curse under his breath, hips snapping harder into yours.

"Again," he growled. "Say it again angel."

You obeyed, voice breathless, eyes locked to his. And he watched you. Watched the way your body arched beneath him, the way your lips parted, the way your thighs trembled as pleaure built and built until-

"Let go angel," he whispered forhead against yours. "Come with me, i got you."

And when you did, he followed, burying himself in you one last time, releasing with a broken whimper agaisnt your neck, the moment so raw, so intimate, it almost hurt.

He didn't pull away.

Instead, he stayed there, forhead still resting against yours, body still tangled with yours. One hand came up to cup your cheek.

"I'm not used to wanting things," he murmured softly. "But I want you."

You kissed him again. Slower this time.

"I'm not going anywhere."

And for once, Kurapika allowed himself to believe it.