Kurapika Kurta

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Wishlist | Memes if you wanna interact | Promo | Open Starter | IC Infodumping (Feel free to reply!)

About (Basic) | Bio | Headcanon | Little facts to better understand (my version) of Kurapika | Inspo

IRL FC: Tate Langdon (AHS)

Mafia Prince | Main verse - Fandomless | #v; hxmafia

Professor (Researcher) | AU - Fandomless | #v; hxresearcher

Bodyguard | AU - Fandomless | #v; hxbodyguard

Waka - Gashira | HxH - Canon | #v; hxh

Traveler - Post Dark Continent | HxH | #v; hxtraveling

Cultural Hunter - KurtaAU (HxH) // About Pairo's Nen | #v; hxkurta

Pokémon Researcher - AU Pokemon | #v; hxpkm

After Haru’s been formally introduced to the Nostrade, Haru had found herself frequenting the mansion somewhat frequently- sometimes to deliver information and other times to check in on him. Both of which resulted in her spending time with him, so that was a win-win in her book.

Today, of course, was because it was Kurapika’s birthday, and she’d be remiss to not do something about it. Understandably, he couldn’t pull himself from work today to meet outside, so Haru decided to clear time in her schedule to make a visit. One of the maids brought her to his office, and Haru walks in after getting the okay to come in.

“Sorry, Haru was a little late,” she is fumbling through her bag to pull a few things out, a pair of glasses, a folder, and a small, wrapped package. “Haru was going over one of the reports and caught a few mistakes, and she wanted to fix them before coming over,” she then slips her coat off her shoulders and neatly folds it before setting it on the couch. Underneath her coat she was wearing a white button-up blouse and a black pencil skirt.

Did Haru know what she was doing? The glasses and the black stockings would denote: yes. The bold red lip and the red nail polish were because she noticed that he liked the color. Glasses now sitting atop the bridge of her nose, she flips through some papers in her folder, “by my estimations, though we’re still on track to meet the quarter term goals, achieving the stretch goals would be optimistic thinking.” Resting up against the arm of the couch, she crossed one leg over the other, something she could do with ease because there were slits on either side of the skirt to allow that much movement.

Of course, this would also just slightly reveal that the black stockings she was wearing were lacy thigh-highs held up with a garter belt. “If there is no delay with the ES&L project, then those sales can count towards NPS to bolster the earnings for the first half of the year, which should keep things on track.”  

Click clack

Her heels clicked against the floor rhythmically as she approached his desk, placing the wrapped box on his desk. “Of course, you didn’t think I forgot about your birthday, did you, sir?” She whispers into his ear. “What kind of secretary would I be if I’d forgotten?” Inside the box were two handkerchiefs. One was a red could use to decorate his suits for formal occasions. A pop of color always looked nice, and the other was a blue one that she’d embroidered red roses onto, because she’s always found herself thinking of Kurapika when she saw red roses. “Though… Haru does admit she’s in the wrong for being late today,” she leans against the edge of the desk, “will you be punishing Haru for that, sir? Haru will listen to whatever you say~”

Kurapika's birthday 2k26!

Kurapika's fingers were flying across his laptop keyboard when Haru announced her entrance. At first, he didn't turn to look at her, but a moment later, as she was already taking off her coat, he glanced at her and returned to his laptop. His return to the screen lasted only a fleeting moment, however, as he quickly turned back to look at her, noticing what she was wearing under her coat.

Kurapika saved the document without even looking at the screen; now his eyes were fixed on her, on her crossed legs, on her garter belt. Kurapika said nothing, his expression as unreadable as ever, as he removed his reading glasses and stored them in a drawer in his desk.

Leaning slightly across his desk, Kurapika listened to her words, followed her every move, a slow, deliberate sigh escaping his lungs as she whispered in his ear. His eyes took her in completely as she leaned on the desk, from her glasses to her high heels and back again. There was a soft glimmer of approval in his eyes.

Without a word, Kurapika rose from his seat and walked to his office door. His movements were precise and effortless, almost rehearsed, as he locked it.

Kurapika turned to face her, now approaching her again.

"Clever move, Miss Miura" he said in a calm, almost controlled voice, though his eyes now reflected a mixture of amusement and desire. A hand 'accidentally' brushed against the hem of her skirt, his fingers barely touching the edge of her stockings and the elastic of her garter belt, leaving a soft, ghostly trace along her thigh. "So this is your strategy to get me to stop thinking about work for a while?" His hand, not so accidentally, moved up her thigh, slowly, his fingers gently pressing into her flesh as it ascended. "Very well, then, you have my full attention now."

Kurapika moved a little closer to her, their bodies separated by mere millimeters. "Your punishment..." Kurapika's gaze flicked for a moment to ensure the window was also closed with curtains before returning to Haru. His voice was soft, yet somewhat deep, with an intimate tone, the way he would only speak to her. "...will be to make up for your lateness. You'll be staying late with me today, sorting out the paperwork." He carefully removed his hand from her thigh before resting it on her hip, over her skirt.

"Any objections?" Kurapika whispered, his breath gently brushing against her lips, as if he needed a second confirmation that they were on the same tune.

“Bend over, we’re putting a baby in you.” King at Kurapika, pegging edition. Can it happen? Maybe if they try hard enough. >:3 - [meme]

A single sliver of artificial light from the streetlamps filtered through the slats of the closed curtain in that hotel room.

Outside, a cool breeze stirred, but inside, in that room, at that moment, the heat was unbearable. The room was small, and the floor was littered with clothes that had been carelessly discarded.

Senritsu's voice gradually faded into the distance until it became just white noise, like everything else, an instant before his brain dissociated and he could no longer connect two thoughts, express himself, or even hear or see anything.

His mouth had closed tightly an instant before his muscles stiffened like stone, his skin cold almost like a corpse's, his fingers digging into the wooden tabletop, which would either pierce them or damage them.

He didn't collapse to the floor, not this time. Kurapika had enough self-control to remain precariously supported by his hands on the wooden table until everyone had left the room, before his entire body seemed petrified in that position. And although outwardly he appeared lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the table, his skin was icy cold, his fingers pressed painfully against the surface, his teeth clenched so tightly they seemed to want to pierce his gums, his muscles so rigid he seemed made of stone, his mind as turbulent and electric as a destructive storm in its wake.

Kurapika didn't hear Senritsu's gentle voice, nor did he answer her question; his only response was a bit of foam forming in his mouth.

Senritsu's small hand was welcomed into Kurapika's larger one as their fingers intertwined, though his grip had become slightly tighter, a little stronger, just a touch, but enough to be noticeable. It wasn't a grip he expected to ground him, but rather a reassurance that she was there, that everything was alright, that she was alive, that he was safe, that they weren't in any danger.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and his head lowered just a little, a slight, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging that he knew he had to talk about it, and he didn't mind doing it with her because he had nothing to hide from her.

It was only when Kurapika was sure everyone was away and occupied that he finally spoke. "And you're partly right, Senritsu, it was during the time I was figuring out how to survive in the city." There was a small grimace on his lips, an almost apologetic smile. His other hand rested on top of their intertwined hands, gently trapping her small hand between his two larger ones. “Remember last Halloween, after we’d had some fun, when we got back to the car, I told you about a woman?” He paused, not trying to add drama to the situation, but to think about how he was going to say the next thing, trying to keep Senritsu from worrying even more, though he knew that was nearly impossible. “It was their parents. And no, it wasn’t because they found out about us or anything like that… apparently, they’re dealers of human parts. I don’t know what they were looking for in those two kids, but…” Kurapika bit his lip hard just remembering the children’s faces, trying not to break down. Moments later, he simply sighed. There was no point in worrying about it; it was in the past, and it would stay there.

“I saw strange movements and decided to follow my intuition. Eventually, I found a door that led to a kitchen. I heard crying and the sound of dishes being thrown. Upon recognizing the children's voices, almost instinctively, I went into the kitchen and froze for a moment. The two of them were there, hugging each other, crying for their lives, and Elira's parents had… um… meat tenderizer in their hands. I did the only thing I could do at that moment and put myself between them and the children, taking the blow to my back, precisely where I have that scar on my shoulder blade. At the time, I didn't realize the blow, nor the pain; I only remember seeing red and starting to punch that couple. I… didn't kill them… although I swore I would… but they were badly injured… I assume that if no one went to help them, then they eventually died, but I'm not certain. After that, I took the children to a hospital and left; it was all I could do for them at that moment.”

His fingers nervously played with her shorter fingers as the scar began to sting again on his back. “It was after that I realized I was bleeding. I did what I could to treat the wound, but it was a very difficult place to do myself, so I ended up managing as best I could.” Finally, his eyes met hers again. “And that’s the story of that scar.”

🔥 + a Neo is curious and has to know. Has Kurapika fantasized about Haru before? If so, about what? Is her playing a secretary or something one of them?

I'll answer this while Kurapika's not here.

Ever since I mentioned that Haru playing secretary was a possibility, it's become his main source of fantasy; he wants nothing more than that. Especially when he's really stressed at work, it's his safe escape, and it cheers him up to know that possibility exists.

He's fantasized about different scenarios, though: her sitting on his lap or kneeling under his desk; him bending her over the desk or even taking her to the sofa... but they all had the same theme: her playing his secretary, thighs barely visible, a shirt, high heels, and a rather naughty attitude.

Oh, I can't say any more, Kurapika's coming back.

'Boobs! +5

5. Stuck in a tight spot at face-to-cleavage level.

It was painful to see a library abandoned like that.

When Kurapika heard about it, he couldn't resist the urge to investigate, to see what literary treasures he could find, to see if there were any books left to rescue that could be donated to the restorers and put back into circulation.

The shelves reached the ceiling, the books were overturned, deliberately open on the floor, mixed up, dusty, some even chewed or with pages torn out. Some were beyond saving, but others still held hope.

The library resembled a vast labyrinth with so many sections and shelves that it was impossible to see beyond them; the electricity, water, and gas had been shut off years ago; the window blinds were down, allowing only glimmers of artificial light from the streetlamps to peek through the cracks.

When Senritsu noticed footsteps, Kurapika quickly took her hand and led her to the only door nearby: the janitor's room. The room was so narrow that Senritsu had to climb onto the side table so Kurapika could fit inside and close the door right behind him.

The janitor's room was barely lit by a small skylight, but that was all Kurapika needed to realize he was standing directly in front of Senritsu's cleavage; there was no room to move properly, so he had to stay put.

A feeling of lust coursed through his body, and Kurapika let out a silent sigh: Maybe it was simply the closeness to her; maybe it was the adrenaline rush of being locked in a cramped room and the possibility of being discovered; maybe it was simply being in an abandoned library; maybe it was simply the situation, with her.

Kurapika works as a professional bodyguard, a position that requires far more than physical protection. In the circles where he operates, a bodyguard must also be an observer, a strategist, and at times an invisible presence who understands dangers long before they fully reveal themselves. Kurapika performs this role with the same meticulous precision that defines every aspect of his life.

His workspace is rarely a fixed location. Instead, it follows the rhythm of his employer’s movements: private offices, luxurious residences, hotel suites, or quiet corners of crowded events where he can maintain a clear view of every entrance and exit. Wherever he is stationed, there is always a sense of silent vigilance surrounding him. His notes are discreet, his observations constant, and his attention rarely wavers.

Beyond the visible duties of protection, Kurapika is a tactician who anticipates threats before they become crises. His conjured chains are indispensable tools in this work. Among them are anchor chains, dowsing chains, and judgment chains, each designed with a practical and precise purpose. In his hands, they are not merely weapons but extensions of his discipline and control.

To those who hire him, Kurapika appears to be the ideal professional: composed, intelligent, and unshakably reliable. He speaks little, observes much, and rarely allows emotion to interfere with his judgment. His presence alone often discourages potential trouble, as there is something in his calm that suggests both restraint and quiet danger.

Yet his decision to become a bodyguard was never driven solely by career ambition.

Money, influence, and proximity to powerful circles provide access to information most people never see. Private collections, underground auctions, criminal organizations, and hidden markets often circulate through the same networks that employ individuals like him. For Kurapika, these environments represent something far more valuable than status or payment. They bring him closer to the Scarlet Eyes.

Every contract he accepts is measured against that silent objective. The salary finances his search, while the connections he gains allow him to follow rumors, investigate collectors, and track artifacts that surface in places the public will never hear about. His role as a bodyguard offers the perfect cover: a legitimate reason to stand near powerful figures and dangerous secrets without drawing suspicion.

During his assignments, Kurapika dresses with deliberate simplicity. A well-fitted suit, practical shoes, and minimal accessories allow him to move freely while maintaining the polished image expected in elite environments. The attire blends him seamlessly into formal gatherings while concealing the readiness beneath it.

However, in the rare moments when he is alone and removed from his duties, Kurapika allows himself a quiet return to his origins. He wears the traditional Kurta garments of his clan with careful respect, treating them less as clothing and more as a ritual of remembrance. The fabric carries a weight that no armor could replicate: the memory of a people, a culture, and a loss that continues to shape every decision he makes.

To outsiders, Kurapika appears disciplined and composed, a man who approaches danger with analytical calm and unwavering focus. His employers often describe him as dependable to an almost unsettling degree, someone whose loyalty seems unquestionable.

The truth is more complicated than that.

Kurapika does not pursue danger for the thrill of it, nor does he guard powerful individuals out of admiration. His work is a calculated step within a much longer journey. Every mission, every alliance, every quiet conversation in shadowed corridors may contain the fragment of information he seeks.

A man of relentless intellect and iron discipline, Kurapika carries himself with a restrained confidence that commands respect even in hostile environments. His patience is measured, his judgment precise, and his expectations of others quietly demanding. Those who work with him quickly learn that beneath his composed demeanor lies an unbreakable resolve.

Kurapika was originally an angel created to protect justice and guard the balance of souls. The Kurta Clan was not simply a human clan, but a family of angels who decided to incarnate as humans in order to experience mortal life and learn about feelings.

When his clan was massacred, Kurapika broke the heavenly rules, feeling emotions that an angel shouldn't feel (anger, rage, pain, desire for revenge). This led to his exile, but was not corrupted, so instead of becoming a demon, he remained a 'wandering angel' unlike Lucifer, who went for rebellion and corruption, Kurapika is driven by extreme love for his family and an uncontrolled desire for justice.

His human form is the one we all know. His angel form is not like that of a cherub, but is based on biblical descriptions: multiple wings covering him, surrounded by eyes that could be representations of his murdered brethen. The chains are his heavenly manifestation: they are chains of light that bind sinful souls. His wings are covered in golden and scarlet feathers, which, when spread, seem to reflect light like a broken glass, representing the disruption of both cosmic and personal balance. His eyes, in his angel form, glow a deep scarlet, his expression doesn't show anger itself, but rather melancholy and unbearable pain.

He still uses his chains, but, contrary to canon, which are made of Nen, they are ethereal.