#Simple Kurta

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Beat the Heat in Style: A Look at Khushi Kapoor’s White Kurta

Introduction:

Calling all fashionistas obsessed with breezy summer whites and elegant ethnic looks! Take inspiration from the rising style star Khushi Kapoor’s recent white kurta moment. Whether you’re searching for “Khushi Kapoor white kurta” or “white kurta Khushi Kapoor,” get ready to unlock summer chic with a touch of desi charm.

We’re diving deep into Khushi Kapoor’s fashion world to decode her stunning white kurta style. This look is perfect for anyone who loves “white kurta outfit” or “white kurta fashion” and wants to add a touch of celebrity inspiration to their wardrobe. It’s all about effortless elegance with a simple white kurta that exudes comfort and sophistication.

So ditch the heavy ensembles and embrace the breezy vibes of a celebrity white kurta just like Khushi Kapoor. This look is a masterclass in Khushi Kapoor ethnic wear and is sure to turn heads wherever you go.

Ready to rock the white kurta look with a touch of Khushi Kapoor’s style tips? Stay tuned for a closer look at the details and how to recreate this stunning summer ensemble!

Steal the Spotlight: Khushi Kapoor’s Chic White Kurta Look

Celebrity white kurtas are a summer staple, and Khushi Kapoor’s recent look is a masterclass in effortless elegance. Looking for Khushi Kapoor ethnic wear inspiration? You’ve come to the right place!

This white kurta look is perfect for anyone who loves classic silhouettes with a modern twist. We’ll be decoding Khushi’s style and offering tips to recreate this stunning Khushi Kapoor casual wear look.

White Kurta Trends: Embrace Minimalism

Khushi’s kurta embodies the hottest white kurta trends. It’s a minimalist white kurta with clean lines and a relaxed fit, proving that simple can be incredibly chic. This is a great option for those who love the elegance of a classic white kurta but want something more contemporary.

Khushi Kapoor’s Style Tips: Effortless Chic

Khushi Kapoor’s latest fashion is all about comfort and confidence. This white kurta design is a perfect example. For a similar vibe, focus on finding a kurta with a flattering silhouette that drapes beautifully. Pair it with minimalist jewelry and simple sandals for a timeless look.

Khushi Kapoor Ethnic Fashion for All

The beauty of this look is its versatility. It can be dressed up for a special occasion or dressed down for a casual day out. It’s the perfect addition to any wardrobe, making it a great choice for anyone looking for white kurta inspiration for women.

Get the Look: Khushi Kapoor’s Outfit Ideas

Khushi Kapoor’s simple style is all about clean lines and effortless elegance. To recreate this look, keep an eye out for a chic white kurta with a similar silhouette. Play with different fabrics like cotton or linen for a summery feel.

Khushi Kapoor’s white kurta outfit is a testament to the power of white kurta elegance. It’s a timeless piece that can be dressed up or down, making it a must-have for any fashion lover. So, ditch the trends and embrace the classic beauty of a well-made white kurta, just like Khushi Kapoor!

The world of Bollywood ethnic wear is a treasure trove of vibrant colors, intricate designs, and stunning silhouettes. But sometimes, the most captivating looks are rooted in simplicity. Enter Khushi Kapoor in a white kurta, proving that white kurta simplicity can be incredibly chic.

Celebrity ethnic fashion is all about embracing your heritage with a touch of modern flair. Khushi’s white kurta embodies this perfectly. It’s a testament to the timeless white kurta beauty that transcends trends.

Khushi Kapoor’s Wardrobe Must-Have: The White Kurta

Looking to add a touch of Bollywood elegance to your wardrobe? A white kurta, like the one sported by Khushi Kapoor, is a versatile piece that belongs in every closet.

White Kurta and Jeans: Effortless Style

This look isn’t just about tradition. Pair your white kurta with jeans for a cool and contemporary take on ethnic fashion trends. It’s perfect for a casual day out or a relaxed evening with friends.

White Kurta Outfit Ideas for Every Occasion

The beauty of the white kurta lies in its adaptability. Here are some white kurta outfit ideas inspired by Khushi Kapoor:

Summer Chic:Embrace white kurta summer fashion by opting for a lightweight cotton kurta in a breezy silhouette. Pair it with sandals and statement earrings for a relaxed yet stylish look.

Festive Flair:Elevate your Khushi Kapoor Indian wear for a festive occasion. Choose a white kurta with delicate embroidery or a touch of gold detailing. Pair it with statement jewelry and dressy sandals.

Office Chic:A timeless white kurta can also be a great choice for the office. Opt for a well-tailored kurta in a crisp cotton fabric and pair it with trousers or a skirt.

Explore the World of Kurtas: Beyond the White

While Khushi’s white kurta is a classic, the world of kurtas offers endless possibilities. Here are some popular styles to explore:

Designer kurta for women:Indulge in a luxurious designer kurta for a special occasion.

Cotton kurta for women:Opt for the comfort and breathability of a cotton kurta for everyday wear.

Party wear kurta:Find a kurta with embellished details or vibrant colors for a festive look.

Casual wear kurta:Choose a relaxed-fit kurta for a comfortable everyday outfit.

Ethnic kurta for women:Embrace traditional motifs and embroidery on your kurta.

Long kurta for women:Elongate your silhouette with a long kurta.

Short kurta for women:Opt for a shorter kurta for a more modern look.

Printed kurta for women:Add a pop of color and personality with a printed kurta.

Embroidered kurta for women:Elevate your look with intricate embroidery details.

Silk kurta for women:Indulge in the luxurious feel of a silk kurta for a special occasion.

Festive wear kurta:Find a kurta with embellishments and vibrant colors for festive celebrations.

Office wear kurta:Choose a well-tailored kurta in a muted tone for a professional look.

Traditional kurta for women:Opt for a classic kurta design with minimal embellishments.

Stylish kurta for women:Find a kurta with unique cuts or modern details for a trendy look.

With so many options to choose from, there’s a perfect kurta waiting for every woman. So, take inspiration from Khushi Kapoor and explore the endless possibilities of Bollywood ethnic wear with a white kurta, or any other style that speaks to your unique sense of style!

Beyond the Basics: Kurta Combinations

The beauty of the kurta lies in its adaptability. Here are some popular pairings to explore:

Kurta with pants:For a work-ready outfit, pair a workwear kurta for women with tailored trousers.

Kurta with skirt:Feeling feminine? Try a kurta with skirt for a flowy and elegant look.

Kurta sets for women:Simplify your outfit selection with a pre-matched kurta set for women that often includes a kurta, pants, and a dupatta (scarf).

Kurta Styles for Every Season:

Kurtas can be enjoyed year-round. Opt for a kurta for summer made from lightweight cotton or linen. For cooler months, choose a kurta for winter in a warmer fabric like wool or silk.

Dress it Up or Dress it Down:

Kurtas come in a variety of styles to cater to your needs. Here’s a look at some popular options:

Fancy kurta for women:Make a statement with a kurta with dupatta featuring intricate embroidery or embellishments, perfect for special occasions.

Elegant kurta for women:Channel timeless sophistication with a straight cut kurta for women in a muted tone.

Casual cotton kurta:Embrace everyday comfort with a casual cotton kurta.

Explore a World of Designs:

The world of kurtas offers a variety of unique styles to express your individuality:

Cotton printed kurta:Add a pop of color and personality with a vibrant print.

Chikankari kurta for women:Embrace intricate hand-stitched embroidery from Lucknow.

Handloom kurta for women:Support traditional crafts with a beautifully woven handloom kurta.

Anarkali kurta for women:Create a dramatic silhouette with a flowing Anarkali kurta.

A-line kurta for women:Flatter your figure with a flattering A-line cut.

Plus size kurta for women:Find stylish and comfortable options designed for all body types.

Modern Touches:

Kurtas can also be adapted for a more contemporary look. Try a sleeveless kurta for women for a summery vibe, or a trendy kurta for women with unique cuts or modern details.

From casual outings to formal events, the kurta is a versatile piece that belongs in every woman’s wardrobe. Explore the different styles, fabrics, and combinations to discover your perfect kurta look!

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

What are some comfortable kurta options?

Look for kurtas made from breathable fabrics like cotton or linen.

Consider a casual cotton kurta for everyday wear.

Pair your kurta with leggings or palazzo pants for a relaxed look.

What kurta styles are suitable for work?

Opt for a workwear kurta for women in a muted tone and professional fabric.

Choose a straight cut kurta for women for a flattering and polished silhouette.

Pair your kurta with tailored trousers or a skirt for a work-ready outfit.

Are kurtas appropriate for special occasions?

Absolutely! Look for fancy kurtas for women with embellishments or embroidery.

Anarkali kurtas or kurtas with dupattas are perfect for festive occasions or weddings.

Choose a richer fabric like silk for a more luxurious look.

Can I wear kurtas in the summer and winter?

Yes! Opt for lightweight fabrics like cotton or linen for kurta for summer.

In winter, choose a kurta for winter made from wool or silk for added warmth.

What are some trendy kurta styles?

Explore sleeveless kurtas for women for a summery vibe.

Look for trendy kurtas for women with unique cuts or modern details.

Experiment with vibrant prints or intricate chikankari embroidery.

Conclusion

The kurta’s versatility knows no bounds! From casual cotton kurtas to dressy Anarkalis, explore endless styles and pairings. Find your perfect kurta for any season or occasion, and embrace effortless elegance with this timeless Indian garment.

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Stylish Kurti Sets: Add Timeless Elegance to Your Style

No woman’s wardrobe is complete without kurta – with their comfort, versatility, and most importantly style, they have become one of the most elegant options for traditional as well as casual wear. If you look online kurta sets are available in a variety of options.

Be it a formal event, business meeting, family function, or an informal gathering, a kurti is an attire that can never disappoint. It is known to add a touch of elegance to your look and upgrading your style effortlessly.

In this blog, we will talk about the different types of kurti sets and how to style them to get the most timeless attires of all times.

Straight cut kurtis

If you are looking for simple kurti designs, straight cut kurtis are the best choice for you. These type of kurtis have an ordinary silhouette with a straight hemline. You can pair such kurtis with straight pants, denims, or churidars. Straight cut kurtis are perfect for all occasions – you can wear them to work, for formal gatherings, or even as an every day choice of attire.

Make sure to accessorise appropriately with dainty jewellery such as delicate bracelets or stud earrings that give your look an elegant feel. For footwear, you can go for low heels or flats for a more sophisticated look.

line kurtis

A-line kurtis are women’s favourites – with top fitting, they widen towards the hem, thus making the shape of an A. This makes them look good in all body types, shapes, and sizes. A versatile choice in kurtis, you can look for online stylish kurti sets for a variety of options. Such kurtis are comfortable, convenient, as well as fashionable to wear for all types of events.

You can style these type of kurtis for casual as well as semi-formal occasions. Add delicate and minimal jewellery to your look like a simple pendant or hoop earrings. For a chic look, you can pair this kurti with juttis or any simple, traditional footwear.

Designer kurtis

Weddings, family gatherings, and louder occasions call for embellished outfits, and what better than a designer kurti? These type of kurtis have become a norm for festivities – you can look for a designer kurta online and you will find a wide range of choices to pick from.

To slay in such designer kurtis, you can match it with statement jewellery that adds a touch og grace to your appearance. You can pair them with leggings, palazzos, shararas, or even long skirts for an enhanced look that is sure to make heads turn!

Asymmetric kurtis

Asymmetric kurtis are known for their irregular hemline and contemporary style. More and more women are opting to wear such asymmetric kurtis because they look modern and unique, all the while being comfortable to carry and stylish to look at.

You can wear such asymmetric kurtis by pairing them with leggings, straight pants, or even denims. These type of kurtis can be adorned mostly for casual events or occasions where you want to look fashion forward and up your style game. You can accessorise it with trendy jewellery and pair it with either flats or open toe heels.

Final thoughts

A versatile piece of clothing, a kurti adds a timeless charm to any woman’s wardrobe. You can search for online kurta sets to browse through a wide assortment of kurtis and kurti sets tailored to your liking. With thoughtful styling, gentle accessorising, and experimenting with a number of different prints, colours, and types of kurtis for different kinds of occasions, you can express you unique taste in fashion.

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Women's Cotton Blend Regular Kurta

🌟 Size: XXL || Color: Grey || Material: Cotton Blend || Style Type: Straight || Pattern: Printed || Collar Type: V-Neck || Sleeve Style: 3/4th

🌟 ELEVATE YOUR STYLE: Our Grey Women's Kurta is the epitome of elegance. Perfect for both festive occasions and everyday wear. Make a statement and stand out in this exquisite piece of ethnic fashion.

🌟 PREMIUM COTTON BLEND: Crafted from a comfortable cotton blend. This kurta offers unparalleled comfort and breathability, ensuring you stay comfortable all day.

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Yandere kurapika with a heavy heavy breeding kink. He’s absolutely obsessed with the idea of you being pregnant 👀👀👀

progeny // kurapika kurta

tw ⇢ dub-con, obsessive behavior, imprisonment/isolation, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of lactation, implied murder, drugging, handjob, grinding

wc ⇢ 7.3k

It had been six excruciatingly long years since the Kurta massacre. Six years of chasing empty leads, of doors slamming shut in Kurapika's face whenever he got close to the Phantom Troupe. His crimson eyes, once a source of pride amongst his people, now mocked him daily - glaring reminders of his failure to attain vengeance.

So when the encrypted message arrived with a potential location on a Kurta survivor, Kurapika could scarcely allow himself to feel hope. Too many times it had been cruelly dangled in front of him, only to dissolve into agonizing disappointment. He pored over the intelligence again and again, his hands shaking. This had to be legitimate. It simply had to.

Four sleepless nights later, Kurapika found himself on the first available airship to Yorknew City. His leg jittered anxiously the entire way, his mind cycling through every possible scenario. A trap from the Troupe? A sick game? Or could the near-impossible be real? When the ship finally touched down, Kurapika moved like a man possessed, following the coded coordinates to a dilapidated apartment complex.

His trembling hand barely registered the flimsy doorbell as he rang. Seconds ticked by like torturous eternities. Then, after what felt like a small age, the door creaked open to reveal...you. Kurapika's knees very nearly buckled at the sight of those telltale scarlet irises. Tears stung his eyes as he choked out a wavering, "You're one of my people."

That first night, he simply sat in reverent silence, studying the sacred eyes of his kinsman that he'd been deprived of for far too long. You seemed equally transfixed, if not deeply uncertain of this severe stranger's intentions. When you attempted to ask him to leave, Kurapika answered with a resolute headshake.

"I cannot do that. It's too dangerous to leave you here." His voice was thick with the weight of trauma, but також carried a steely undercurrent of determination. "I'm getting you somewhere safe, where no harm can befall you."

True to his word, Kurapika immediately went about securing a transport ship to whisk you away from potential threats. You didn't have a choice. He had failed his clan once before through negligence - he would not repeat that grave mistake. This time, he would smother any flicker of danger towards the Kurta with extreme prejudice before it could even spark.

The following weeks were a fortified blur as Kurapika installed you in a veritable military bunker tucked high in the treacherous mountain ranges. He pulled every resource at his disposal to ensure your isolation and safety was absolute. Each day, he would rise before dawn to pursue his hunt for the Phantom Troupe, searching for that agonizingly elusive trail of vengeance. But like clockwork, he returned to the safehouse every evening, his frayed nerves only calmed by the sight of your scarlet eyes.

At first, Kurapika tried to keep things professional, nodding stoically whenever you greeted him. But the more time passed, the more you became his sole remaining attachment to a people he had lost. He drank in your every word, no matter how innocuous, wanting to ingrain the cadence of his kin on his psyche again. Your existence, your pure perseverance despite all odds, stoked something primal within him.

Eventually, Kurapika began staying later and later into the night, reluctant to abandon your presence, irrationally fearful something terrible may occur the moment he left your side. He started simpling...hovering. Watching you for long, unblinking stretches despite your visible discomfort. His fixation had been ignited, and it burned brighter with each passing day.

It was on one particularly humid summer evening when the stifling mountain air had you gasping for respite. You moved to crack open one of the safehouse's windows, hoping to coax in even the faintest whispers of a cool breeze.

The moment your fingers pulled against the latch, the electronic lock released a sad, mechanical whir of protest. You froze, realizing in that instant that the safety restrictions were not mere automated security protocols. They were under the total control of your increasingly overbearing guardian.

Slowly, you turned to find Kurapika shooting you a pointed look from the wingback chair across the room. His sharp jawline was locked, lips pressed into a severe line as he clutched the access fob in a white-knuckled grip.

"I wouldn't advise that," he said at last, his tone carrying curt reproach. "It's for your own safety to keep the windows secured at all times."

You opened your mouth to protest the blatant removal of your autonomy, but Kurapika silenced you with a mere arch of his brow. Heat prickled in your cheeks, flustered by his sheer audacity, his utter dismissal of your objections before you could even voice them. Who was he to declare what you could and couldn't do?

But as quickly as that spark of defiance flickered, it extinguished under the knowing weight of Kurapika's stare. He knew better than you, had spilled more blood and peered deeper into the abyss of human monstrosity. If he deemed something a risk, no matter how small, you didn't dare challenge it. Your very life rested on his prudence and protection.

So you bit back the fleeting urge to assert your independence. Instead, you gave a meek nod of surrender and retreated from the window with one last, regretful glance at the impenetrable night sky beyond the sealed glass panes. Your world had become startlingly small under Kurapika's wing.

He watched you like a lion scrutinizing its cornered prey until you sank back into the shelter of your designated space. Only once you had compliantly resumed your spot did that intense scrutiny finally ease, his body unsettlingly loose and calm again.

"There's fresh fruit in the kitchen if you need refreshment," Kurapika offered, as if making peace after the unspoken admonishment. "Let me know if you require anything else for your comfort."

You murmured a soft thanks, careful to not meet his pewter gaze for too long. The complex bundles of emotion they sparked - shame, defiance, loneliness, begrudging gratitude - were still too tumultuous to comfortably untangle.

With a slight dip of his chin, Kurapika turned his attentions back towards the scattered intelligence reports sprawled before him. But you could have sworn you caught the faintest wisp of a self-satisfied smirk playing across his lips as he resumed his nightly obsessive planning.

The message was clear: no matter how insular and temporary you hoped this arrangement was, he had no intentions of loosening his ruthlessly overprotective stranglehold. Not now, not ever. For in Kurapika's mind, he had already failed his clan once before.

He would not fail their legacy again, even if it meant eclipsing your every last freedom under his total, unwavering control. Your life belonged to him now.

What had begun as a flicker of protectiveness had been steadily stoked into an all-consuming obsession. And there would be no putting out that raging fire.

The next few days passed in their now familiar routine of forced complacency. Kurapika would depart each morning on his futile hunt for the Phantom Troupe's latest trail, leaving you confined to pacing the reinforced walls like a caged animal. You attempted to resist the itch of restlessness, but it clawed at your insides, making you increasingly reckless.

It was on one particularly moonless night when Kurapika was delayed by an anonymous tip that you decided to seize your fleeting window. You waited until the security monitors confirmed him still blocks away before punching in the override codes and disabling the safehouse's locks. You didn't have a plan or destination in mind - you simply needed to feel the sweet embrace of open air again, to remind yourself of the unfettered freedom you had lost.

The sleepy mountain town seemed almost haunted in the inky blackness as you strode its deserted streets. The crisp night wind caressed your face, and you reveled in the simple pleasure of being anything other than a prisoner in your own refuge. Eventually, your aimless wandering drew you towards the soft amber glow and faint music wafting from the local tavern.

A hand came to rest on the rickety oak door, then stopped as you wavered. Kurapika could return any moment now. But the fleeting indulgence of a cold pint and casual conversation with strangers was too tantalizing to resist any longer. Steeling your nerves, you pulled the door open and strode inside.

The raucous sound of drunken laughter and the thick fog of smoke immediately assaulted your senses. You wound through the crowd to the dingy bar, squeezing between bodies until you could flag down the bleary-eyed bartender. He poured you a tall glass of the darkest stout on tap without a second glance at your rumpled, out-of-place appearance.

As you nursed the first few sips, savoring the bitter familiarity, a rough voice lilted from behind you.

"Well aren't you a little ways from home?"

You turned to find a smarmy looking stranger waggling his brows lecherously. His breath reeked of stale beer and desperation.

"Just looking to unwind is all," you replied curtly, turning back towards your drink.

His calloused hand suddenly snaked out, gripping your forearm with surprising strength as he leaned in too close. "Well then how 'bout I buy the next round and we can 'unwind' together, sweetheart?"

You wrenched your arm away with a disgusted glare, preparing to hurl a blistering retort. But even as the first word formed on your lips, an eerie wave of dizziness crashed over you, blurring your vision. The tavern seemed to tilt precariously as you swayed on the barstool.

No...it couldn't be. That first drink. You made the mistake of leaving it unattended. As the horrible realization dawned on you, your faculties began to rapidly abandon ship.

"There's a good girl," the leering stranger's voice slurred as if underwater. "Just relax and enjoy the party favors."

You tried desperately to cry out, to raise even a tremor of alarm, but your voice failed you. The room pitched and spun until merciful darkness finally swallowed you whole.

The crisp slap of cool night air was like a bucket of ice water shocking you back to semiconsciousness. Your eyelids fluttered open to find yourself being half-carried, half-dragged down a dank alleyway by that stranger. The cloudy haze in your brain screamed at you to fight, to thrash and flee, but your body responded with only feeble murmurs.

Suddenly, a dark silhouette stepped out from the shadows up ahead, swiftly blocking your captor's path. The figure prowled closer, the dim streetlight glinting off a shock of brilliant blond hair.

Even in your drugged stupor, you immediately recognized the menacing aura radiating off of Kurapika. He had found you. Your heart should have leapt with relief, but your addled mind could only focus on the pure, unadulterated fury etched across his features.

"Let her go." His tone was low, practically subterranean with its seething intensity. "Now."

The stranger paused, seemingly taken aback by Kurapika's threatening presence despite outnumbering him. His grip on your arm only tightened stubbornly.

"This doesn't involve you, kid. I'd beat it while you still—"

He never got to finish that thought. Kurapika's knuckles connected with the man's nose with a wet crunch before anyone could blink. As he collapsed in a heap, clutching his bleeding face, Kurapika moved with terrifying fluidity.

A haze of fists and chains and guttural screams engulfed the cramped alley. You flinched with each tormented wail, hunched against the damp brick wall as your assailant's bones shattered piece by piece. The copper stench of blood flooded the air in thick, viscous clouds.

When it was finally over, the sickening sound of the stranger's gurgling breaths were barely audible above the drumming of your pulse thundering in your ears. Kurapika stood over him, chest heaving from exertion as he slowly retracted his bloody knuckles and Nen chains back into waiting.

Only then did his gaze fall upon your fragile, crumpled form. The molten rage simmering behind his eyes extinguished instantly, transposing into something akin to lucid fear. In a single deft motion, he scooped you up and cradled you against his chest.

"It's alright...you're safe now," Kurapika murmured, his voice dripping with the type of tender worry one reserves for a gravely injured child.

You opened your mouth to respond but only a pathetic whimper escaped your dry lips. Horror at your near miss quickly gave way to the warm comfort of Kurapika's secure embrace. Your eyelids grew impossibly heavy as you nuzzled against the soft linen of his blazer. Even as the world faded to black again, you felt utterly, inviolably safe within the confines of his sinewy arms...his obsessive protectiveness.

When you finally came to again, it was in the dimly lit familiarity of the safehouse's living quarters. Kurapika sat vigilantly on the edge of the mattress, his eyes two orbs of hollow, sleepless torment.

As you stirred, he immediately went into a flurry of doting. Cool rags were pressed to your clammy forehead. Chilled teas and electrolyte waters hovered against your lips, Kurapika tipping them carefully to soothe your sandpaper throat. His touch was insistently gentle, but you could sense the roiling tempest churning beneath that zen exterior.

In your addled state, you kept up a litany of small whining sounds and petulant fidgets. Kurapika bore each one with inexhaustible patience and care, stroking your hairline languidly as you grumbled childish complaints about your headache or an itch that needed scratching.

Even as the last vestiges of the toxin worked its way out of your system over the next several hours, you never felt fear or vulnerability - only the profound relief of being tended to so meticulously under Kurapika's hawkish devotion.

Several times, his gaze seemed to unconsciously drift down to your parted, pouting lips as you whined insistently. You thought you caught his throat bobbing ever so subtly, as if waging an internal war with some primal desire. But the moment never transversed, and he remained ever the devoted, if tightly-wound caretaker through the hazy night.

It wasn't until the first rays of dawn filtered in through the slitted windows that you drifted into a deep, restorative slumber. And in those last, fleeting moments of consciousness, you realized with dawning horror how completely and utterly co-dependent on Kurapika's obsessive protection you had allowed yourself to become.

In the aftermath of the nearly tragic incident, there would be no venturing outside again...not without him. Not ever. The fire of his obsession had been stoked into a conflagration - one he wholeheartedly welcomed if it meant never going through such terror again.

You had been rescued from the depths of pitiful frailty, only to become irrevocably entangled in the dark, singular orbit of Kurapika's unhinging fixation on you. And from that point on, fleeing its gravitational pull would be inconceivable.

In the days following your terrifying brush with tragedy, Kurapika became an utterly inescapable presence in every waking moment. Where there was once at least a semblance of periodic solitude as he attended to his Phantom Troupe hunt, now there was only the soft footfalls of his eternal proximity.

He lingered in the periphery like a silent, hollow-eyed sentinel as you tentatively went about your daily routines. If you retreated to the bathroom to bathe, Kurapika wordlessly trailed just beyond the cracked door - near enough to instantly intervene at any prospective threat, far enough to preserve a facade of privacy. You found yourself instinctively avoiding the mirror, unable to meet the shame of your own reflection exposed under his vigilant leer.

At night when you crawled between the sheets, Kurapika took up an immovable post in the wingback chair at your bedside. You lost track of how many dawns you awoke to find him stock-still in that exact position, eyes open but untainted by even the slightest hint of slumber. His piercing stare studied your sleeping form with the rapt diligence of a memorial statue guarding a crypt.

You stopped attempting to dissuade him from these nightly vigils. The few feeble protests you voiced only caused his jaw to hinge tighter, a muscle throbbing with mute ferocity. He would not be deterred or negotiated with - this was the price to pay for the grave lapse that nearly severed you from his obsessive care.

If you shuffled into the kitchen to prepare meals, Kurapika's shadow would materialize just behind your periphery. You quickly learned to suppress any instinctual startles at his sudden appearances, lest you mistakenly provoke his haunted man's nerves. He never spoke or impeded your chores, but the mere imposition of his intense presence transformed even the most banal acts into ordeals of hyper self-consciousness.

Some evenings as dusk cloaked the mountain safehouse, you would chance hopeful glances out across the perimeter's reinforced windows. Vast forests of pine and spruce swayed in hypnotic tandem with the coastal breezes sweeping up from the sapphire horizon. Your gaze traced every contour of the landscape beyond that glass barrier - drunkenly drinking in the beauty and vast freedoms you had once taken for granted.

Without fail, Kurapika would seem to materialize at your side during these morose ritualistic dances. Not an inch separated your arms as you stood wordlessly, noting how his chest would slowly rise and fall in mirror-sync to your own. His quicksilver irises carefully studied the longing etched across your features, probing for any fragile cracks that may signal another reckless bid for escapism simmering beneath the surface.

You soon discovered it was easier to not meet his needful, imploring stare on those evenings. To instead lose yourself in the melancholy meditation of what lay on the other side of that glass partition - the lush, unfolding world of oxygen and wilderness and infinite possibilities now forever sealed away from your grasp by this compound's fortifications. The reckless abandon that landed you in such peril in the first place.

Even during the sporadic moments you managed to steal for idle time - curling up with a borrowed novel or simply staring vacantly at the safehouse's sterile walls - Kurapika's presence would pervade your space like a congealing, inescapable vapor. You became aware of every infinitesimal motion in your peripheral field, each aborted gesture from him laden with fierce meaning and scrutiny.

He would simply materialize in your blind spots, folding that lithe frame into the nearest chair or loveseat until his entire posture radiated a single, silent statement: I'm here. I will always be here to watch over you from this point onward.

And you lacked the will to protest this gradual dissolution of personal boundaries. Not when the memory of that squalid alleyway still haunted your subconscious with visions of shadowy hands groping, of Kurapika's knuckles shattering bone in retribution. You were in his custody now, for better or for worse.

Even as the weeks blurred indistinguishably together, Kurapika seemed to only swell with more unquenchable determination. Daily you witnessed his demeanor oscillate from the gruff stoicism of a jaded warrior, to the endearingly focused worry of an overly-fretful parent, then finally the predatory ruthlessness of a beast safeguarding its sickly litter from any prospective encroachment.

There was a possessive ferocity igniting behind those slate irises anew each time his gaze passed over you. As if merely looking upon your face, your chest inhaling each breath, was an involuntary ritual - the only reassurance that could momentarily dull the roaring anxiety in his psyche.

So Kurapika kept vigil, and you stopped attempting to politely deflect his obsession. Better to accept this isolated existence under his ever-watchful protectionism than risk another lapse that may invite that same violence and horror down upon you both. At least here, within these confining walls, remained the unshakable constant of his presence...his dominion over your absolute safety.

The weeks crystallized into cold months, Kurapika's fixation only intensifying like a caged flame feasting on its own limited oxygen supply. Until eventually, you struggled to remember what life could have possibly looked like before this arrangement - before his utterly uncompromising ownership of your personal inviolability became the sole, inescapable pillar of reality itself.

You mustered up what little courage remained and approached Kurapika one evening as he pored over the dwindling stack of intelligence reports.

"Kurapika...I need to get out of here, even if just for a little while," you said, trying to keep your tone measured. "Taking a walk through the village, feeling the sun on my face. Please, I'm going stir-crazy cooped up."

His pewter gaze slowly lifted, boring into you with an inscrutable intensity. You braced yourself for the immediate dismissal, the curt rebuff that your pleas for a shred of freedom were selfish folly in the face of your security.

Instead, Kurapika simply gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Very well. But I will accompany you. My presence is non-negotiable for your safety."

Your heart leapt at his acquiescence, yet you knew better than to voice any objections to his stipulations. That, too, was non-negotiable when it came to Kurapika's obsession.

The next morning, you ventured out with Kurapika at your side, his eyes sharply scanning every alleyway and passerby like a starving falcon scrutinizing the underbrush. You tried not to let his overdone protectiveness dampen your elation at breathing fresh mountain air and ambling aimlessly without the barriers of steel and concrete constraining you.

At one point, you stopped to admire a young mother cradling her newborn along the village square's central fountain. The infant was swaddled snugly in a pale yellow blanket, their tiny face completely ensconced in peaceful slumber. You couldn't help the wistful pang that tugged at your heart watching the scene.

"Would you like to hold them?" the mother offered warmly after catching your enamored glances.

You looked to Kurapika, almost reflexively seeking his permitting nod as if he were your warden. To your surprise, he simply watched in pensive silence as you gingerly supported the bundle's head and brought the sleeping babe into your embrace.

A serene calm washed over you as the newborn's warmth and weight settled against your chest. Your body seemed to instinctively know all the coddling motions - the gentle swaying, the soft shushes, the protective tuck of the blanket over their tiny frame. For a fleeting moment, everything from the outside world evaporated - the threats, the walls imprisoning you, even Kurapika's hawkish presence. There was only the simple perfection of cradling new life, so pure and unblemished by the world's cruelties.

All too soon, the spell was broken as the mother reached to take her child back. You surrendered them with one last, regretful look into their peaceful slumbering features. As you turned back towards the path, you caught an indecipherable look swimming behind Kurapika's silvery irises. Was that...yearning?

The walk continued in loaded silence until you reached the safehouse again. Ever vigilant, Kurapika checked and triple-checked all security parameters were active before allowing you both back inside. He then insisted on giving you a full body inspection, tutting over any prospective scratches or bruises you may have sustained.

Night fell, and you began your usual bedtime routine of winding down with a book on the living room's plush sofa. Right on cue, Kurapika appeared to take up his self-appointed post in the chair alongside you.

Rather than lapsing into his typical reserved observation, he seemed...restless this evening. You caught his gaze flicking over your face and abdomen several times, his stare carrying an uncharacteristic intensity more akin to hunger than mere study. Finally, just as you were about to question his odd distraction, Kurapika leaned forward in his seat.

"You looked quite natural with that baby earlier," he stated in a low, ruminative tone. "I could envision you as a tender, nurturing mother. The image....suited you."

You felt your cheeks flush hotly despite yourself, ears straining to detect even the faintest undercurrents of impropriety in his demeanor. Just what was he implying?

When you finally found your voice to respond, Kurapika cut you off by rising abruptly to his feet.

"Get some rest. That's enough activity for one day."

With that, he swept towards the bedroom, leaving you to simply blink owlishly in his wake. You worried your lower lip, unable to voice the nagging feeling that his comments carried some suggestive subtext your mind simply couldn't piece together.

For now, it seemed Kurapika's ever-watchful protectionism had evolved to encompass...other considerations. Ones that, given his increasingly mercurial obsession over you, prompted entirely new uncertainties to send your heart murmuring apprehensively against your ribcage.

In the days following Kurapika's unsettling comments about motherhood, an inscrutable new energy seemed to permeate his already intense obsession over you.

His customary silent vigils persisted as always - the motionless sentrylike presence shadowing your every action, the sleepless nights spent unblinkingly patrolling your bedside like a fanatical bodyguard. But there was also something... else underlying those mercurial silver irises whenever they washed over your form.

Kurapika's gaze had shifted from the typical hyper-focused studying for dangers into outright lingering. You began noticing his line of sight would unapologetically rake up and down the curves and lines of your body whenever you moved about the safehouse. As if he were committing to memory every last dip and swell, documenting it alongside the myriad threat assessments constantly churning through his mind.

His comments, once clipped and strictly pertaining to your security, started carrying strange insistences that left you disquieted.

"You have such a patient, calming presence," he remarked one afternoon while you lounged with a book. "The kids would love you."

You shot him a bewildered look over the rattling chains of innuendo in his tone, but Kurapika simply arched an expectant brow as if awaiting your acquiescence.

Another evening, you bent to retrieve a dropped utensil from the kitchen floor only to straighten and find his towering presence hunched mere inches away, studying you with unrestrained focus.

"Carrying a child would suit your figure," he stated in a detached, clinical murmur. Before you could even formulate a flustered response, Kurapika simply turned and strode off to catalogue more intelligence reports.

The most overt advancement came one evening as you diligently prepared dinner, muscles burning from chopping and stirring the hearty stew. You were so engrossed in your motions that you failed to notice Kurapika materializing behind you until his sinewy arms snaked insistingly around your midsection.

A startled gasp seized your lungs as his palms came to rest possessively over your abdomen, his firm chest pressing flush against your arched back. For a dizzying moment, you were overwhelmed by the masculine heat and musk of him surrounding you so utterly and inescapably.

"Don't linger over the preparations," Kurapika's lilting voice reverberated against the nape of your neck. You shivered despite yourself as his warm breath danced across your skin. "I'm...starving this evening."

His hips unconsciously canted forward ever so subtly, enough to insinuate himself deeper into the negative space behind you. The unmistakable prominence of his semi erect cock nestled with shameless insistence against the supple curves of your ass through the thin linen of his trousers.

Just as your befuddled mind scrambled for any coherent reply, Kurapika abruptly extricated himself and strode off with the same unruffled collectedness as always. As if he hadn't just allowed the most salacious depths of his obsession over your body to rupture, however briefly, to the surface.

You stood rooted in place, blood pounding deafeningly in your ears as a dozen frantic impulses warred within you. Outrage, indignation, fear, reluctant curiosity... and horrifyingly, something darker and more primal still that responded with undeniable want to the memories of Kurapika's powerful, unapologetic dominion over your personal space.

When you finally managed to recompose yourself and carry the pot of stew to the dining table, Kurapika was waiting with his customary inscrutable expression. No hint of the previous violation lingered in his pewter irises - only that same boundless, soul-deep need to protect and provide that had morphed into such zealous, all-consuming obsession.

As you picked warily at your bowl, hyper-aware of his eyes drinking in your every move, you knew there would be no acknowledgement or discussion of the incident. He had simply exercised another disquieting assertion of ownership over your body and intimate personal freedoms. Just as he had with everything else in the vise of his self-appointed guardianship.

With a smoldering pit of unease taking root in your core, you realized this new dimension to Kurapika's fixation was only beginning. What fresh transgressions would his possessive appetites attempt to justify through the warped lenses of security and obsession?

Only time would tell what depraved lines he may be willing to cross... all in the name of protecting the last remaining embers of his beloved Kurta legacy.

Over the following days, Kurapika's comments about you having children took a disturbingly frank turn. Gone were the veiled observations about motherhood - replaced by straightforward statements that left no room for interpretation.

"Feels like you'd make a good mom," he mentioned offhandedly one evening as you cleaned up after dinner. His eyes shamelessly raked over your body. "Got the hips for it, that's for sure."

You froze, heat prickling your cheeks at his brazen appraisal. Before you could formulate a flustered response, Kurapika simply continued.

"We should think about making that happen sometime. You know, for the clan's sake." He gave a nonchalant shrug, as if discussing something as mundane as laundry plans.

Your mouth opened and closed, utterly stunned by his audacious suggestion. But Kurapika didn't linger or acknowledge your discomfort. With a final weighted look, he turned and strode from the kitchen, leaving you rattled to your core.

The inappropriate remarks only escalated from there. Kurapika seemed to grab any available opportunity to leisurely speculate about you bearing his child in graphic detail.

"Pregnancy's gonna do amazing things for those breasts," he mused one morning while you brushed your hair. You could feel the heated trail of his stare lingering on your chest in the mirror's reflection.

You very nearly dropped the hairbrush, whipping around to gape at him in disbelief. Kurapika simply held your flustered glare, his expression infuriatingly impassive.

"What? Just being honest here," he stated with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. "Don't act so scandalized. This is a big damn deal for preserving our people."

His dismissive indifference towards your obvious mortification only fanned the flames of your humiliation. You wanted to shriek at him, to demand he stop vocalizing such disturbingly personal thoughts. But Kurapika's piercing stare maintained its unwavering intensity, extinguishing any momentary flicker of outrage before it could take root.

You knew better than to protest his obsession. Raising objections now would only make his intentions that much more overt...and quite possibly hostile. The thought chilled you to your core.

So you suffered in whip-tailed silence as Kurapika's indelicate comments plagued nearly every interaction. No activity, no matter how innocuous, seemed off-limits for him to unsubtly speculate about you becoming his breeding mate in graphic vernacular. And with each new remark, you saw the feral glint smoldering brighter and brighter behind his slate irises.

It was only a matter of time before he outright admitted the depraved depths of his fixation upon you. You dreaded that inevitability, but decided playing meek and obedient remained the wisest strategy for self-preservation. At least until you could formulate an escape plan from under his obsessive watch.

You did your best to hide any discomfort at Kurapika's increasingly frank comments about you having his children. Outward protests only seemed to egg him on with even more graphic remarks. So you kept up a facade of calm obedience, hoping it might discourage him from acting on his unhealthy fixation.

But Kurapika wasn't so easily deterred. His obsession had morphed into an all-consuming hunger that chipped away at his restraint day by day. You saw the signs - his jaw clenching, fists balling up as he inwardly battled those urges. Sometimes you'd catch him staring at you with undisguised longing, his gaze hungrily tracing your curves.

It all came to a head one autumn night as you pretended to read, keenly aware of Kurapika's presence lingering nearby. The tension was suffocating, his pent-up intensity rolling off him in waves. Several times you felt him move closer, only to sense him forcibly checking himself. Finally, you decided to try excusing yourself to the bedroom.

The moment you stood up, Kurapika pounced with startling speed. In one fluid motion, he gripped your shoulders and shoved you back into the armchair, caging you in as he straddled your hips. His lithe body was coiled like a panther pinning its prey.

"Enough games," he growled, his voice low and gritty with want. "No more pretending."

You gazed up at him wide-eyed, taken aback by the naked hunger etched across his chiseled features. This wasn't the restrained Kurapika - this side of him was feral, unrestrained. Arousal and obsession burned in his dilated pupils.

He leaned in close, the hard planes of his body hovering over yours as his hot breath fanned your flushed cheeks. You could feel the thrum of his hammering heart against your own chest.

"You know how obsessed I am with continuing our legacy," Kurapika rasped with grit-toothed intensity. "I'll do whatever it takes."

One calloused hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back as he asserted his dominance. You instinctively froze, trembling at his overwhelming presence and display of power. Kurapika drank in your fear and captivation with a ruthless gleam.

"Don't fight it," he warned in a husky timbre. "By morning, you'll be pregnant with my kid whether you like it or not."

A shudder rippled through you at the grim finality of his words. Yet some primal part of your psyche still couldn't help responding to the masterful undercurrents of his seduction, your body warming despite your trepidation.

Kurapika's eyes narrowed, sensing that fractional flicker of reluctant arousal. With taunting slowness, he closed the gap until his lips hovered a hairsbreadth from yours. His tone took on a dangerous, velveteen purr.

"That's it...just accept what's going to happen," he murmured, the barest brush of his mouth against yours. "Don't fight my obsession growing inside you."

Then with a predator's swift strike, Kurapika's mouth crashed into yours with smothering, impatient desire. He hungrily devoured your gasp of surprise, his fervent onslaught of lush dominance overwhelming your senses.

His mouth moved hungrily against yours, hands roaming over your body as if mapping every curve. Kurapika broke the heated kiss for air, eyes glazed with undisguised longing.

"Do you have any idea how gorgeous you'd look pregnant?" he murmured with awestruck reverence.

One of his hands drifted down to splay possessively across your lower abdomen. Kurapika's gaze followed, drinking in the feminine plane as if he could somehow envision it swelling with new life.

"Carrying my child..." he continued in a hushed, wondrous tone. "Your body nurturing the next generation of our people."

He leaned in to trail feverish kisses along the slender column of your neck, causing you to shiver.

"It's all I've been able to think about," Kurapika rasped against your skin. "Just imagining how radiantly fertile you'd look, swollen with my baby..."

His hand stroked tantalizingly over your abdomen again as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent like an intoxicating elixir.

"I want that so damn badly," he admitted in a throaty rasp thick with yearning. "To see you heavy and glowing with our future growing inside."

Kurapika's kisses wandered across your jawline until his smoldering gaze locked onto yours again, pupils blown wide with naked obsession.

"Say you want it too," Kurapika pleaded, thumb tracing maddening circles low on your belly. "Tell me you'll let me put a baby in this luscious body..."

He drank in every microexpression flickering across your features with rapt focus, hanging on your every reaction. Kurapika leaned in closer until you were sharing the same heated breaths.

"Can't you just picture how incredible you'd look?" he murmured, voice strained with longing. "Tits getting heavy and full, that stomach finally swelling outward with our child growing inside..."

One of his hands cupped your breast almost reverently, like weighing the promise of its future maternal fullness. Kurapika's thumb brushed over your peaked nipple, drawing a soft gasp from you.

"Fuck...you'd be so unbelievably sexy carrying my baby," he groaned, utterly transfixed. "A goddess - all ripe, fertile curves and that beautiful glow mothers-to-be get."

He nuzzled his scruffy cheek against yours, peppering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses until you squirmed beneath him. Kurapika's palm stroked insistently over your abdomen again, as if willing his fantasies into reality through sheer habit.

"I can see it so clearly, feel how soft you'd be..." His voice dipped into a gravelly timbre. "Just imagine me waking you up with a nice, hard fuck every morning. How many times would I have to breed you before it finally took?"

A jolt of arousal coursed through you, your cunt clenching at his crude, possessive words. You bit back a whimper as Kurapika's hand snaked down between your thighs. His fingers expertly sought the sensitive nub of your clit, coaxing it with languid strokes.

"Maybe I'd just stay buried inside you all night," he growled, grinding his stiffening cock into your hip. "Keep that pussy nice and filled up with my cum, see if that does the trick..."

Your eyelids fluttered shut as Kurapika continued stroking your sensitive folds, his other hand kneading your breast. You felt utterly lost in the haze of his carnal need, swept away by his possessive lust.

"Fuck, that's the sexiest thought," he rasped, grinding his bulge against you. "Imagining you all stuffed and swollen with my kid, knowing I'd bred you..."

Kurapika's lips sought yours, tongue slipping inside to explore and claim. You whimpered into his kiss, helpless to the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. He finally broke the kiss, his eyes smoldering with naked want.

He didn’t say anything, just studied your features intently as he slowly unzipped his fly. Kurapika's hand disappeared beneath his trousers, pulling his rock-hard length free. He gave himself a few languid pumps, hissing softly at the contact.

You stared, transfixed. His cock was just as you imagined - thick and veiny, pulsing with a hungry need to plant his seed.

"Go on...feel it," he ordered gruffly.

Your hand reached out on instinct, fingertips ghosting tentatively over the engorged flesh. Kurapika let out a hiss, his hips bucking into your touch. You felt a thrill at his response, a surge of feminine satisfaction.

He pressed his cock firmly into your palm, forcing you to curl your fingers around the warm girth. You stroked him experimentally, relishing the velvety-smooth skin stretched tight over his pulsating hardness. Kurapika let out a guttural moan, eyes fluttering shut as his head lolled back in pleasure.

"Get a good look, honey ," he purred. "This is what's gonna put a baby inside you."

His hands reached out to grasp your hips, yanking you down on the armchair until you were splayed before him. Your dress rode up to your waist, exposing your slick-drenched cunt to his ravenous gaze.

Kurapika's cock bobbed excitedly at the sight, already drooling an obscene amount of pre-cum. He gripped your hips, dragging you flush against him. The swollen head nudged your soaked slit, smearing its sticky promise against your heat.

"Gonna make you a mommy tonight," he breathed, eyes glazed with lust. "My sexy little wife, full and round with my kid."

With that, he plunged inside your cunt in one rough, impatient thrust. You cried out as his thick cock stretched you impossibly full. It was a delicious, overwhelming ache, like your body was being molded and shaped to his whims.

Kurapika set a punishing pace, fucking you with relentless intensity. He was like a man possessed, driven by a singular purpose. His hands dug into your hips, nails scoring your skin.

You clutched desperately at his broad shoulders, fingers raking his skin. You were completely overwhelmed by the sensation of him dominating your body, filling you up over and over again with his need.

Kurapika's face was contorted with lust, eyes screwed shut as he pounded into you. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat-slick chest heaving with exertion. You could feel the raw urgency in his movements, the desperate need to spill his seed deep inside.

Your fingers threaded through his silken hair, gripping the roots as you held his fevered gaze. Kurapika's eyes widened, pupils blown wide with arousal at the display of submission. He gave a guttural groan, his pace faltering as he struggled to stave off his imminent release.

"So fucking sexy," he growled, teeth gritted as he fought to hold himself back. He pistoned into you harder, deeper. His thumb reached down to furiously circle your swollen clit. "Come on, honey. Let me hear you scream..."

You arched into him, the friction of his thumb on your sensitive nub and cock pistoning into your cunt pushing you towards the edge. Kurapika's hips slammed into yours with bruising force, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his orgasm neared.

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, body tensing with anticipation. His hand gripped your thigh, hiking it higher for deeper penetration. That last bit of delicious pressure was all you needed to send you careening over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him, milking his throbbing cock. You came with a strangled cry, body spasming as you squirted onto his cock. Kurapika gave a ragged gasp, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

With one final, primal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. You felt the warmth of his seed flooding your womb, painting your inner walls with his virility. Thick, creamy spurts of cum filled you to the brim, his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied every last drop.

Kurapika's hips rolled languidly into yours, prolonging the aftershocks of his climax. You clung to him, legs trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. Your bodies were entwined, sweat-slick skin pressed flush against each other.

As the haze of lust ebbed away, Kurapika's gaze softened, taking on an adoring warmth. He caressed your cheek, his voice thick with emotion.

"I hope I got you pregnant," Kurapika murmured, voice hushed with naked longing. He leaned down to trail openmouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

"Can you imagine?" he rasped against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Your belly swelling with our child, my obsession made flesh and blood?"

He nuzzled the crook of your neck, inhaling your mingled scents with an almost spiritual reverence. When Kurapika pulled back to meet your gaze again, his eyes were alight with feverish yearning.

"I'm going to dote on you relentlessly," he vowed in a low rasp. "Worship every curve, every new glow you get from carrying my baby."

His palm stroked over your lower abdomen, fingertips committing every plane and whisper of definition to memory.

"You'll let me, won't you?" Kurapika's tone edged towards pleading. "Let me obsess over you morning, noon, and night while you nurture our offspring?"

He dipped down to trail reverent, openmouthed kisses along the valley between your breasts.

"These are going to swell up so full and ripe..." he muttered thickly, voice muffled against your fevered skin. "I can't wait to taste how sweet your milk will be."

Kurapika's smoldering gaze met yours again, pupils blown wide with naked obsession. His hand splayed possessively over your abdomen once more, relishing the possibility of it bearing new life.

"Just stay right here with me and make my fantasy a reality," he rasped, the barest hint of a plea entering his gravelly timbre. "Let me put a baby in you and finally satisfy this all-consuming obsession."

His thumb stroked over the hint of your hipbone, gaze following the motion with rapturous focus.

"I'll take care of you both..." Kurapika vowed, voice dropping to a rugged murmur. "Mind, body, and spirit - you'll want for nothing beyond my total devotion."

With that, he sealed his promise with a searing, breathtaking kiss that made his singular obsession for impregnating you resoundingly clear.

[shaadiwish]

Payal Rohatgi And Sangram Singh Mehendi Ceremony Picutres

[winxanity-ii]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

╚»★«╝ 𝐇𝐱𝐇 𝐌𝐞𝐧: 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐚 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: angst/fuff-ish

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, fate hears your prayers of hurt and pain and you're saved in more ways than one.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 4.6k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Lololo I lowkey wandere how long it was gonn a be before i pop out with a HxH one-shot.

★·.·´🇭‌🇺��🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ × 🇭‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You're a shadow among shadows in the 247th Hunter Exam, another face in the crowd, but with a secret that sets you apart.

Behind the dark glasses you wear lies a secret—your eyes, usually a simple shade of brown, transform into a deep, vivid crimson when your emotions surge. This striking change is a remnant of your Kurta heritage, a beautiful yet haunting reminder of a past steeped in tragedy. You're a lone survivor, the massacre by the Phantom Troupe a scar that never fades.

You've learned to hide your eyes not only to blend in but to shield yourself from unwanted attention. The fluctuation in color from brown to red is a giveaway of your emotional state, a vulnerability you can't afford in situations that demand composure. These glasses are your armor, concealing the turmoil within and helping you maintain an air of normalcy amidst the chaos of the exam.

You watch them from a distance. There's the boy with the innocent face and spiky black hair—he exudes an unmistakable aura of purity. Beside him, a silver-haired kid, his demeanor screams 'trouble', but there's a hint of loyalty in his eyes. A tall guy in a suit, barking louder than his bite, is impossible to miss.

And then, there's him—one who unknowingly mirrors a part of your hidden past.

You don't know his name yet, but he's different. He has hair like sunlit gold and eyes of a striking gray, eyes that don't miss much. He moves with a certain calculated precision, every step, every gesture steeped in purpose.

You feel an inexcusable urge to go over and make friends with the group, but you don't. Sadly, you've learned the hard way—trust is a luxury, and solitude is your best friend. So, you watch and listen from a distance, absorbing fragments of their conversations as much as you could—their dreams, their fears, their determination to win. Despite the bustling environment of the exam, you're like a ghost—always there, unseen, unheard, yet moving through the exam with a silent vow to keep your identity and your pain securely locked away.

☆

☆

In the suffocating confines of Trick Tower, you're caught in a psychological battle, the air thick with tension. Your adversary is no ordinary opponent; he's a prisoner, his smile not just cruel but dripping with wicked intent. The game's rules are simple, yet twisted in their own way: he has five minutes to provoke you into attacking him. The rule is clear—the quicker you lose your cool, the more hours you'll owe. If you somehow manage to withstand the full five minutes without lashing out, you'll escape any penalty. But this guy knows exactly how to push your buttons.

At the start, his insults are mere jabs, testing your defenses...

"Look at you, trying to act all tough." he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "Why so quiet? Afraid you'll break a nail, sweetheart?

...however, as the clock ticks, his words turn increasingly vile and misogynistic....

"Aren't you going to entertain me? Don't be shy. Come over here so I can show you what a real man is."

You feel a twitch in your jaw, your calm facade beginning to crack. You scoff as you lift your head in defiance, your glasses slip, revealing a flash of crimson. It's only a moment, but he catches it.

He falls silent, and for a moment, you think he's done. But then, slowly, almost thoughtfully, he speaks again. "Never thought I'd see the famed Kurta fire in person," he says, a twisted awe in his voice. "Bet the Phantom Troupe had a field day with your kind getting those." His words crawl under your skin, each syllable laced with malice.

The timer hits around 5 minutes and 30 seconds when he crosses the final line. "Man, I should've bought a pair off the Phantom Troupe before landing in here. Would've made a nice trinket to gaze at and pass time," he smirks.

That's the last straw.

Your restraint shatters. You're on him before you know it, driven by a surge of raw, unbridled fury. Your fists are relentless, each strike a release of years of pent-up anger and grief. The world turns a shade of red, both from your eyes and your rage.

As the guards pull you off, his laughter turns into a painful gasp, a sound that echoes in your mind long after. "You lose," he chokes out, his twisted grin the last thing you see before he passes out.

Your short victory is hollow as you're given a swift verdict by the Tower Guard for losing he game—a penalty of ten lost hours, ten hours of isolation. Forced into isolation, you find yourself in a room shared with the very individuals you've been silently observing.

It's a bizarre twist of fate.

You learn their names in snippets of conversation. Gon, with his boundless energy. Killua, always cool and collected. Leorio, loud and passionate. And Kurapika, his voice a soft, determined thread in the tapestry of their chatter.

Oh, and this weird fat guy named Tonpa, as well.

The room feels smaller with their presence. You curl up on the other side of the room, a silent, watchful presence. Your body aches from the fight, your heart heavy with the weight of your past. As sleep tugs at your consciousness, you drift off, missing Kurapika's confession about his own quest for revenge, his own clan's tragedy.

Coming to, you're gently roused by Gon's voice, tinged with his usual cheerfulness. "Hey, your time's almost up!" he informs you. Gratefully, you murmur a soft "thanks" and sit up, stretching out the stiffness in your muscles.

Your gaze drifts across the room, taking in the scene. Killua is by himself, idly fiddling with Gon's fishing line, lost in thought. Leorio and Tonpa are sprawled on a sofa, an amusing picture with their feet comically entangled in each other's faces. Kurapika sits in quiet repose, absorbed in a book.

As your eyes linger on Kurapika, he seems to sense it, lifting his gaze from the pages to meet yours. Despite your shades, his piercing look makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. Quickly, you shift your gaze away.

Turning to your side, you notice Gon still sitting beside you, a slight blush on his cheeks. "Sorry," he begins hesitantly, "I was just wondering... why do you always wear those shades?" His finger points innocently at your glasses.

You reflexively reach up to your shades, ensuring they're in place, covering your revealing eyes. With a reassuring smile, you answer, "I have sensitive eyes. The shades help protect them from bright lights."

Gon's response is full of childlike wonder. "Like vampires?" he asks, his eyes wide.

Your laughter is soft, a rare sound amidst the tension of the Hunter Exam. "Yeah, kind of like vampires," you agree, amused by his analogy.

As you're chuckling, the Tower God's announcement interrupts, declaring the end of your penalty. Standing up, you gather your things, including a hoodie draped over a chair. You nod to Gon in appreciation. "Thank you... Gon, right?"

"Yup! My name's Gon! What's yours?" he asks with an infectious enthusiasm.

"Y/N," you reply with a smile. "Thanks again, Gon. Hope to see you in the next phase."

Gon's giggle rings out as you pat his head gently. "You too, Y/N!" he replies, still chuckling.

As you step out of the room, leaving behind the peculiar mix of companions, a sense of readiness fills you. The next phase of the Hunter Exam awaits, and with it, new challenges and opportunities. But for now, the brief interaction with Gon leaves a small, warm glow in your heart amidst the trials ahead.

☆

☆

Sweat trickled down the side of your face as you raced through the dense underbrush of the forest.

C'mon Y/N! You got this! Phase 4! You've come so far! You kept repeating the mantra in your head, pushing yourself harder.

Phase 4 of the Hunter Exam, taking place on Zevil Island, was unlike any challenge you had faced before. Each participant was assigned a target, their badge the key to progressing further. Your assigned target: number 405.

Gon.

As soon as you saw the number, recognition flooded you. The thought of hunting down the boy and taking his badge didn't sit right with you. Besides, you knew better than to underestimate the solidarity of his group. So, you chose the alternative route—gathering three badges to compensate for not pursuing Gon's.

So far, you had managed to collect two other badges. But your success had drawn unwanted attention. A mercenary, furious that you had inadvertently taken his target, was now hot on your heels, seeking both vengeance and the badges you carried.

You pushed through the forest, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sounds of the island were a distant blur, the rustle of leaves and distant animal calls fading behind the adrenaline-fueled pounding of your heart. You had to lose him, had to be smart. This wasn't just about survival in the exam anymore—it was about surviving period.

You glanced back, catching a fleeting glimpse of your pursuer weaving through the trees. His determination matched your own, but for vastly different reasons. With a deep breath, you surged forward, your mind racing as fast as your feet. You needed a plan, and you needed it fast. The stakes were high, and failure wasn't an option.

Your legs burned with exertion, each step more labored than the last. Realizing that running wasn't a sustainable option, you made a split-second decision. It was time to face your pursuer head-on. The alternative—constantly looking over your shoulder for the next three days—was a prospect filled with dread and uncertainty.

You veered off the path, heading towards an open field nearby. There, you turned to face the direction you had come from, your breathing heavy, but determined. This was it—a confrontation was inevitable.

Moments later, the mercenary emerged from the break in the trees, his approach confident, almost cocky. He sauntered into the clearing, a sly grin plastered on his face, clearly thinking he had the upper hand.

As he stepped into the open, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the field, creating an almost surreal backdrop for the impending battle. The air was still, the usual sounds of the forest seemingly holding their breath in anticipation.

You stood your ground, eyes fixed on the mercenary. Your hand instinctively reached for your weapon, gripping it tightly. The tension was palpable, a tangible force in the air between you two.

"You think you can take me?" the mercenary taunted, his voice a low hum in the heavy air. "A nobody thinks they can best me for a badge?"

"I don't think," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of nerves inside you. "I know."

The battle commenced without another word. The forest became an arena, the trees pillars in the hall of combat. As you weave through the forest, the battle intensifies. The mercenary's knives are more than mere steel; they're extensions of his will, each strike aimed with deadly intent. You can almost feel the air parting as they whistle past, a mere hair's breadth from your skin.

"Can't touch me," you taunt under your breath, your voice a mix of bravado and focus. Your feet barely touch the ground as you dodge, pivot, and retaliate with a series of calculated blows and kicks.

The forest, with its towering trees and dappled sunlight, transforms into a blur around you. You're in the eye of the storm, where every breath is measured, every movement a dance with destiny. The mercenary lunges, and you hear the sharp intake of breath, the rustle of leaves underfoot—a symphony of survival.

Suddenly, pain sears through your shoulder, a sharp, hot line where his knife finds its mark. "Gotcha," he hisses, a shadowy figure with a smirk that chills your blood.

You grit your teeth, feeling the warm trickle of blood, a stark reminder of your mortality. You're a whirlwind of motion, each step an intricate part of this deadly dance, but the mercenary is a step ahead, his knives a blur of silver and shadow. You hear the slicing of air, feel the sting as one blade after another grazes your skin, leaving behind a trail of shallow cuts; blood beading on your arm creating a vivid contrast against your skin.

"I'm impressed," he taunts, his voice a low rumble in the chaos. "But not enough."

You dodge another swipe, the air humming with the missed connection. It's a relentless assault, and you're pushed to your limits, each movement driven by sheer willpower. The forest around you is both arena and witness, the rustling leaves a hushed audience to your struggle.

Then, a sharp pain seizes your side—a knife, lodged deep. You gasp, the shock almost buckling your knees. Your vision begins to blur, edges fringing with black. You hear your breathing, ragged and wet, each inhale tainted with the metallic tang of blood. It's like drowning on dry land, the taste of iron filling your mouth, a stark reminder of the blood you're losing. Your head spins, the forest around you swaying in a nauseating dance.

The mercenary looms closer, a shadow preying on your weakened state. "Looks like I got you, again~" he smirks, already reaching for another blade to finish the job.

The pain is intense, a burning fire in your side...but in this moment of despair, something within you stirs. A distant echo, the cries and shouts of your clan, resonating through the haze of pain. Their voices, filled with courage and defiance in their final stand against the Phantom Troupe, ignite a fire in your soul. It's a call to arms, a call to honor their memory.

You shake your head, clearing the fog of pain and despair. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of survival. "For my clan," you whisper, the words a lifeline pulling you back from the edge of defeat.

Time seems to slow, each second stretching out as you summon the last reserves of your strength. With a deep, shuddering breath, you focus. The pain is still there, a constant companion, but now it fuels your resolve. You grip the hilt of the knife in your side, a grim determination setting in your features. With a swift, decisive motion, you pull it out, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that threatens to overwhelm you.

The mercenary pauses as his eyes widen, a flicker of surprise at your unwavering spirit. You can see the calculation in his gaze, the reassessment of his prey. But you don't afford him the luxury of time. With the last of your strength, you launch forward, using his momentary hesitation. Your movements are a blend of instinct and desperation, a final stand against the inevitable as you channel your pain into action

There's a clash of steel, a grunt of effort. The mercenary staggers back, his knife clattering to the ground. You stand there, breathing heavily, the pain in your side a constant throb, but you're still standing.

"You're... not bad," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice as he eyes you warily, reassessing you at a closer distance as he tries to puts a few feet between the two of you.

You don't have time for words. You're wounded, every breath a battle, but this fight is yours. With a last effort, before he can gather his bearing and attack you once more, you advance, your own blade steady in your grip. The forest holds its breath, the final act about to unfold.

In a blur, you twist, your foot sweeping out in a calculated arc, knocking his legs from under him. The world tilts as you both crash to the forest floor. With a desperate, precise thrust, you drive your blade into the side of his neck.

The mercenary lets out a choked laugh, a grotesque symphony of pain and disbelief, as blood blooms from the wound and stains his lips. "Good luck, doll. You're gonna need it," he gasps, his voice a gurgling whisper.

Stiffly, you snatch his badge off of his shirt before staggering back, your legs shaky and unreliable. The forest spins around you, trees blurring into indistinct shapes as you bump into them, each impact a jolt of pain. Your vision dims, the edges closing in, a tunnel of darkness encroaching as blood loss takes its toll.

You push forward, each step a battle against the relentless pull of your injuries. The forest, once a vibrant tapestry of green and gold, now seems muted, the colors fading as your strength wanes. Your breathing is ragged, a harsh symphony punctuated by the throb of your wounded side. You can taste blood in your mouth, the iron tang a stark reminder of the price you've paid.

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, as if you're walking through a dream. You lean against a tree, its bark rough under your palm, seeking a moment's respite. The texture under your palm is a reminder of that you're still here, despite the overwhelming pain that roars in your ear. You close your tightly eyes, willing yourself to stay conscious, to keep moving.

In the haze of exhaustion, your mind drifts, not to the pain or the blood you've shed, but to the deeper meaning of your struggle. You realize—even in this weakened state—that your victory extends beyond the physical realm. You've honored your heritage, upheld the values and legacy of your clan. Their voices, which once echoed faintly in the recesses of your memory, now resound within you, clear and strong, filling you with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

And in this quiet moment, if you focus just enough, you can almost sense the presence of your parents. It's as if their voices whisper in the wind—congratulating you—their words a soothing balm to your battered spirit. You imagine the warmth of their hands enveloping you in an embrace of love and approval. Their presence, though intangible, is a vivid sensation that momentarily lessens the physical pain, filling you with a sense of peace and the strength to persevere.

You reach into your pockets to fetch the source of your physical pain—those stupid badges. And since your recent victory with the mercenary, you know had all the points needed to succeed to the next phase.

"...you're gonna need it..." The mercenary's last words rings in your ears, haunting you; a prophecy or a curse, you can't tell.

You clutched the badges like a lifeline as your vision blurred, the edges darkening, and in that encroaching shadow, you saw him—Kurapika.

At first, you thought he was a figment of your imagination, but his gasp cut through the silence of the forest, a soft but sharp intake of breath that seemed to pierce the veil of your pain.

"Your eyes..." Kurapika's voice was a thread of sound, woven with shock and a dawning realization as he approached cautiously, his footsteps barely a whisper on the forest floor. "...Kurta?" Kurapika murmured, the word laced with uncertainty and disbelief.

As your eyes met his, a visible change overtook him. His gaze intensified, the hue of his eyes deepening into a vivid red, mirroring the tumult of emotions within as he recognized the truth before him.

Your state was dire, a vivid canvas of your recent battle. Blood was smeared across the side of your face, stark against your skin, and your eyes were unfocused, hazy with pain and the effort to remain conscious. Kurapika's steps faltered, a mix of shock and concern etching his features as he kneeled beside you.

You couldn't help but look into his eyes—praying that your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. And there you saw it, a reflection of your own—a crimson shade that told a story of loss and of a lineage almost erased from the world. The sight of his crimson eyes ignited a glimmer of hope within you. You weren't alone; another Kurta still walked this earth.

His hands hovered over your broken form, trembling slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. He was mumbling, words lost in a stream of consciousness, as if he were trying to piece together the reality before him.

You attempted to speak—to express your happiness—but the effort was too much. Blood trickled from the corner of your lips, and a pained sigh escaped you as you tried to shift away from your injured side. Kurapika's reaction was immediate, a soft, soothing coo escaping him. "It's okay, don't push yourself; you don't have to saying anything. I'm here," he reassured, his voice a calming presence in the chaos of your agony.

But the darkness was calling, an embrace that promised respite from the pain. You leaned into it, even as Kurapika's voice became the anchor trying to hold you in the light. "No more worries," he whispered, his hands warm against the cool touch of your skin. "You'll be safe with me."

With the last of you strength, you whispered a faint, "...okay..." before falling unconscious.

As the shadows embraced you, Kurapika's world became a whirlwind of emotion, and you slipped into unconsciousness, cradled in his arms. His hands, now protectors, held you close, your head against his chest. His fingers grazed your skin, feeling the rise and fall of your labored breaths, his touch a silent vow against the dark.

"No, not again," he murmured to himself, a haunted lullaby for two souls intertwined by fate and tragedy. His arms tightened around you, as if his embrace alone could shield you from the world's cruelty. "I can't... I won't let it happen again."

The memory of his clan—of crimson eyes dimmed forever—flashed in his mind, an echo of the past threatening to repeat itself. He rocked gently, a motion born from an instinct to comfort, to soothe, even as his own heart screamed in anguish.

In the quiet forest, he leaned back and beheld your face—brown skin illuminated by the moon's touch, your hair a soft crown of twisted locks framing your peaceful expression. His fingertips traced the contours of your face with reverence, a silent apology to every moment he had unknowingly left you alone in a world that had taken so much from both of you.

"You're here," he whispered, more to himself than to you, a prayer in the solitude. "You're alive, and as long as I breathe, I will fight for you... with you. I will not let this light go out."

Kurapika's breath was a warm whisper against your skin as he nosed the side of your face. His hands, trembling with an intensity born of fear and love, cupped your cheek gently, as his eyes fluttered closed, savoring a fleeting moment of bliss amid the chaos.

A rustle in the underbrush broke the stillness, and Leorio's voice cut through the quiet. "Kurapika? What happened? Are you—"

His words hung unfinished as he stumbled into the clearing, his eyes landing on the two of you. Kurapika's head snapped up, his eyes glowing fiercely, a reflection of the turmoil within.

"Kurapika, your eyes..." Leorio's voice was thick with concern and confusion.

"They are the eyes of my clan," Kurapika stated, the flames in his eyes not dimming but burning brighter with resolve. "And she shares them. She shares my pain, my burden. She is Kurta, and I will not fail her as I failed... the others."

Leorio stepped forward, his intentions clear and his resolve unshakable. "We'll help her, Kurapika. We're going to get through this. Together," he stated firmly, ready to extend his hand and offer his strength.

But Kurapika's reaction was immediate and sharp, a sudden tension seizing his body. "No," he said quickly, almost vehemently, his voice low and possessive. "She's mine to protect. She's a Kurta—my responsibility." His words cut through the air, a clear boundary drawn in the wake of Leorio's offer.

Leorio halted, confusion etching his features as he assessed his friend's guarded posture and the fierce, protective glare that seemed out of place on Kurapika's usually composed face.

"Kurapika, we're all friends here," Leorio tried to reason, his concern growing with each passing second. "We want to help—"

"No, Leorio!" Kurapika's interruption was firm, brooking no argument. "She's not just anyone. Our pain is shared, our past... our vengeance." His arms instinctively tightened around you, his movements a physical manifestation of his unspoken vow to protect you.

Leorio's brow furrowed, the weight of Kurapika's isolation dawning on him. Yet, he understood the unspoken language of trauma that seemed to emanate from Kurapika's every pore.

There was a silent promise exchanged in the look that passed between them, a pact made under the witness of stars and stillness. With a slow nod, he stepped back, giving space and respect to the silent plea for solitude and stewardship that Kurapika was asserting.

"We'll be here... when you're ready," Leorio conceded, offering support in his retreat, an acknowledgment of Kurapika's unyielding will to be the shield, the keeper of the last of his clan.

In the quiet that followed, Kurapika's gaze softened as he looked down at you, his demeanor shifting from defensive to tender. "I will keep you safe," he whispered, as if the words were a talisman against the world. "You are mine to defend, and I will lay down my life before I see this light extinguished."

He gently cupped the back of your head, drawing you in closer, until your head nestled securely beneath his chin. The side of his chin acted as a shield, a subtle yet powerful barrier, symbolizing his determination to guard you against any harm.

He would keep you safe, no matter what storms may come, for in you, he had found a piece of hope—a precious echo of a home lost to whispers and to time.

🙈🙈hehehe just me being delusional as usual, carry on

[rotten-pomegranate]

I loved your Chrollo x Kurta headcanons. Could you please write headcannons of Hisoka promising to free the Kurta in exchange for her body.

Hisoka “helps” kurta reader

I love all these asks y’all

Fallow up to this

Warnings: dubcon, Noncon, past Noncon, past abuse, threats, reader is yet again taken and abused by a man way stronger then her

Illumi gets a turn with reader in this

/|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\

He breaks into your room when chrollo is out shortly after the fight that left him mangled

You don’t even know what to say, it’s been so long sense you’ve seen another person other then chrollo who only hurt and terrorized you

He comes over and just left you cry with no real comfort other then his being there

You’ll soon learn you should’ve been crying for other reasons when he starts telling he’ll get you out of this horrible prison and away from your warden but you have to do something for him to

You expect he’s just gonna get you to do something basic and simple, not that he’s gonna take you away from your captor just to become your new one that does much worse things

He gets you out and right away takes you to a new prison, it’s his apartment, where your free to go wherever you want but if he catches you trying to leave it will be hell

Even if you don’t break his rules it’s like hes punishing you, he brands you with a hot iron on the side of your hip

Pinning you down every chance he gets so he can have his way with you

Makes you out on a collar and walk on all fours when he has people over, your in constant distress so your pretty eyes are always red

He gets a pear of kurta eyes fake or not just to terrify you more then you already are

Uses you as a flesh light whenever he can, will 100% drug you so your still awake and feeling everything it can’t move and he’ll let illumi come have his way with you while you can’t even try and defend yourself

Makes you sleep beside his bed on the floor or at the bottom of his bed with a thin blanket like a pet

If you ever ask to leave he’ll let you, but he will talk about what chrollo might do to you when he finds you and you always get to scared and just run right back into his arms

His abuse slowly gets worse, goes from gently smacking you in the back of the head to kicking you until you break ribs

One of he favourite punishments is to hang you up by the arms and tie your legs together while you hang from the ceiling and just use you as a punching bag

He feeds you well compared to Chrollo, you always get healthy local food, he needs you to be healthy

When he finally breaks you and your eyes finally go out he brings you back to Chrollo just to see then light up again even if just for a moment before your dragged away

[cult-of-the-eye]

@itisonlyeyes your henna design has made me think about jmart south Asian wedding and I'm Not Ok

Jon in a beautifully gorgeous deep green, bedazzled kurta/lehenga hybrid so like slightly more masculine kurta with some small, neat embroidery on the edges with a flowy huge lehenga skirt

He didn't go for the dupatta/orna/scarf cause hes still not great with potential restrictions of movement

He's all decked out in the bridal jewellery - my man is wearing the Biggest silver earrings, he's got the massive fake nose piercing that connects to his hair and hes SLAYING. (Maybe his grandma passed them down??)

You bet he's got that brooding bridal look down!! Although he sees Martin and he cannot keep it up for the life of him he's just a smiling mess

There's no loud music. (I know I'm sorry but it's them, the music is simple and meaningful and the guest list is small so its not quite the usual south Asian wedding but they enjoy themselves)

Martin is dressed very smartly in a light blue kurta, with billowing embroidery etching it's down up the kurta's sleeves and following in henna down his hands

He'd wearing light blue nail polish to match and his hair is dyed the same colour at the edges

I like the idea of Jon and martin sitting down and talking about what they wanted and coming up with the rituals not cause of the religious or cultural significance but because of what it meant to them specifically.

Like they do vows cause Martin has always loved that part of weddings and let's be honest, he just wants a chance to say nice things about Jon without him protesting and Jon agrees cause of literally the same reason (they're not good at compliments)

They do the turns around the fire but they hold hands instead of being tied to each other cause they feel like it represents how they chose each other and they do 15 turns cause it's Martin's lucky number (they first met on the 15th October 2015)

They skip the haldi cause sensory issues

They instead get everyone to make their own flower garlands and give them to each other and obviously Jon and Martin make each others flower garlands and Jon mostly agrees to it cause Martin seemed enthusiastic about it and he did want to keep the giving each other flower garland ritual but he gets the Most Excited about it in the end cause hes super detail oriented about his, making sure each flower is specifically positioned how he wants it to and Martin's going off just vibes. They must be the correct vibes but vibes nonetheless.

I love the idea of doing the bride's side has to steal the grooms shoes and the grooms side has to stop this from happening so we can get Shenanigans (Tim is the most intense about this. Gerry comes a close second. Sasha wins though.)

There aren't so much sides, cause everyone's friends with both, which makes the shoe game even more intense cause you never know when people will swap sides.

Gerry does their henna. He just gives off good at drawing vibes I dunno.

[etiquetteapparel]

Say Hello To Summer With COTTON KURTIS for women

With the summer season steadily approaching, the temperatures have been steeply rising, making it imperative for all of us to say goodbye to the layers of woolen clothing and embrace lighter, breezier outfits. When such summer heat is at its peak, the best choice to stay the day comfortably is donning a cotton kurti for women. They offer not just comfort to live through the day without inconvenience, but also unmatched style and elegance that everyone is fond of. In this blog, we will dive deep into why rocking such cotton kurtis is the perfect choice for women.

Comfort

It is needless to say being fashionable in summer is all about comfort – it has an unsaid precedence over all else. Everyone looks for clothes made from fabric that lets your skin breathe, and what better breathable fabric than cotton? Unlike other materials, cotton is a fabric that allows for air to circulate throughout, ensuring that the body stays cool and free from sweat, even when the temperatures around you are high. Due to this reason, stylish kurtis for women made from cotton are the ideal choice if you want to stay fresh and comfortable throughout the day.

Style

Cotton kurtis have this inherent traditional charm that adds to their style – it is one of the aspects that attracts most women to wearing such kurtis. It is a versatile piece of clothing and adds a cultural, yet contemporary vibe to your outfit, making it ideal for various occasions and events. For regular use kurti made from cotton is a perfect choice in the summer, and so is it for fancier occasions if you add dainty accessories and intricately embellished jewelry. They can be paired with a number of bottom wear options, such as denim, leggings, palazzos, and more to mirror your style.

Ease of maintenance

Another aspect of going for cotton kurtis in the summer season along with the comfort and style it offers is the ease of its maintenance. You do not have to make any extra effort or go through any tedious hassles to keep such kurtis in good and wearable condition. They are a practical choice in summer to wear every day as they require no special care to maintain their color and shape even after a number of washes. Such convenience in maintenance is one of the reasons why people go for cotton kurtis in the summer season.

Embracing our culture

Cotton kurtis are a reflection of the rich cultural heritage of our country – they connect us to our roots irrespective of our physical location. The craftsmanship that goes into the making of each type of kurti, be it handloom, embroidery, prints, or even a formal kurta, is extraordinary and impeccable and it is a direct translation of who we are. Its timeless appeal is loved by all, making it a preferred choice for many Indian women.

Concluding thoughts

To wrap it up in a nutshell, as we approach the summer season, it is important to embrace style, comfort, functionality, as well as sustainability in the form of cotton kurtis for women. Be it for everyday use or a festive gathering, such cotton kurtis add just the right amount of elegance to help you stand out and make a statement wherever you go.

[ihatealimore]

Baking Gone Wrong

It gets spicy (Nothing too graphic). (word count: 1,493)

Your boyfriend is a pro at baking and that's no secret to anybody, especially you. While you may be okay with cooking simple meals and desserts, baking more complicated things still confuse you. Kurapika works late today, giving you the perfect opportunity to surprise him with a delicious dessert.

You've decided on making a red velvet cake, nonetheless, you've been struggling with following the directions from the beginning. Not to mention, that you've had to make a trip or two back to the store to pick up frosting and eggs. Already, you've had to remake the batter twice after accidentally burning the cake as well as mixing in too much flour.

You let out a long huff as you slide the cake pan back into the oven after deciding that it was still too runny in the middle. Your eyes fall on the messy kitchen in front of you. Batter droplets are spattered onto the floor and the countertops, while flour is also littering the floor. Your apron itself is covered in flour and cake batter as well as your face.

But this cake is the one! This one is going to turn out just the way you want it to. Luckily, you still have an hour or two before your loving boyfriend returns home, giving you time to at least frost the cake before he sees it. You're hoping that he'll be impressed by your skills when he finally sees and tastes your concoction.

While the cake is baking, you decide to start cleaning up the mess you've made of the kitchen, only stopping when the oven timer finally dings. You're quick to grab an oven mitt and pull the pan out of the oven, turning the oven off as you do. After waiting an appropriate amount of time, you begin to frost the cake, hearing the front door open when you're nearly halfway finished.

"(Y/N), my treasure, are you in the kitchen?" Kurapika's voice echoes out to you from the living room, "Were you cooking something?"

You can hear his footsteps nearing the room, prompting you to shout back in response, "Don't come in here yet! You'll ruin the surprise!"

"What surprise could that be, I wonder...?" He says to himself with a sly smile on his face as he holds a hand against his chin, "It could not possibly be something you baked, could it?"

"Shhh! You'll find out when I finish!" You frost the cake at a faster pace than before, glancing up to peek at the door every couple of seconds. After a few more minutes of this, you look back over your handiwork, deciding that the cake is worthy of being seen now, "Okay, you can come in!"

The door handle turns and the door slowly opens as Kurapika takes a few steps into the kitchen. He's still wearing his suit from work, although the tie is loosened just a tad, and his jacket is nowhere to be found.

He approaches the counter with a loving smile on his face as he closely examines your cake, glancing at you afterward, "This is an amazing surprise, my love. It looks delicious."

"Do you really think so?" You ask him with a hopeful, yet, tired smile on your face, "I messed up the first couple of attempts I had."

He can't help but chuckle at your confession, "Yes, I believe you did a great job. You always manage to somehow impress me."

"That's exactly what I was hoping you would say!" You let out a sigh of relief, wiping some sweat and flour off of your forehead, "I hope it tastes okay."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Kurapika takes a few steps closer to you, gently wiping some batter off of your face with his thumb and licking it off. His smile widens after his taste test, "Just as I thought, it tastes delicious."

You try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks, although your flustered state isn't left unnoticed by the Kurta, "H-hey! I haven't even been able to taste it yet!"

"Oh?" A devious smile appears on Kurapika's face as an idea comes to his mind, "Shall we fix that?"

You nod a few times in response, albeit you can tell that he's definitely up to no good.

He scoops some frosting off of the cake and onto his thumb, holding it up near your mouth, "Now, say 'Ahh'," You open your mouth, allowing him to smear the chocolate onto your tongue as you lick the frosting off. He smiles at you mischievously, wondering, "How does it taste, (Y/N?)"

"I-it's good!" This man truly knows how to fluster you and leave you caught off-guard so easily. By the looks of it, he's really enjoying teasing you, much to your chagrin.

"I would like another taste myself," He says, glancing at the cake before his eyes fall back on you. Within a few seconds, he's pressed flush against you, causing you to back up into the counter, "Not of the cake, though."

He has an evil glint in his eyes before he places a hand on your cheek, tilting your head upwards. Kurapika leans into you, his lips crashing into yours. You melt into the kiss, your hands landing on the countertop behind you to steady yourself. His tongue hungrily enters your mouth, exploring for a few moments before he finally pulls away from you, leaving both of you gasping for air.

"Where did that come from...?" You question the blonde-haired man as you pant for breath.

His soft laughter fills the room, his face flushed red as he wonders, "Ah, did you not enjoy my boldness, my treasure?"

You avert your eyes from him as you mumble under your breath, "I did."

"What was that?"

"I said that I liked it," You say louder as you cross your arms with a pouty expression evident on your lips.

"I was hoping you would say that," The Kurta places his hands on either side of your hips, lifting you up to set you down on the countertop, much to your surprise, "Care for another taste, my dear?"

You turn back towards him as you bashfully nod. Your eyes fall on the tie dangling from his neck, giving you a fiendish idea of your own, "I would love one," Before he can lean in to kiss you again, you've already grabbed on to his tie, pulling him up to your level as you passionately kiss him.

His hands roam your sides as he deepens the kiss, your tongue finding a way into his mouth this time. He pulls away from you briefly to take a breath of air but you quickly pull him back into another heated kiss. You let his tie fall from your grasp as your hands move to undo the buttons on his shirt. Your actions prompt the Kurta to slide the apron over your head and throw it aside as he continues his merciless attack of frenzied kisses.

Your hands find his exposed abdomen as you let your hands roam free, his own fingers now undoing the first few buttons of your blouse. You guide one of his hands to one of your breasts, allowing him to gently cup it in his own hand. He pushes you further back onto the counter as this exchange becomes more heated, his lips rarely disconnecting from yours.

When his lips do part with yours, they find your neck instead, as he begins to leave small kisses trailing down your neck, stopping at your clavicle. He bites down on the skin of your neck, albeit softly, as he reaches around your back with his free hand to undo your bra.

Right as he begins to remove the piece of clothing from your body, the doorbell rings over and over again. The loud shouting of your friend can be heard muffled through the walls. He pulls back from you, etching the image of how flustered and beautiful you look right now in his mind. He's panting profusely, his face completely red.

"It seems as if I forgot that I had invited Leorio over to help him study today," Kurapika explains to you while he tries to catch his breath, "I apologize for having to cut our fun short," He wipes some saliva away from your lips with his thumb, a seductive look in his eyes, "You look so beautiful, my treasure."

"I-it's fine," You choke out through your own gasping breaths, "We'll just have to continue this later."

"I can promise you that I already intended on doing so," He responds with a devilish smirk evident on his face, "I just cannot help myself when it comes to you."

You button your shirt back up as Kurapika does the same. After he's straightened out his outfit, he turns to leave the room, however, he stops before he can pass through the doorway, "And (Y/N)?"

"Hmm? What is it?"

He turns back to you with that same grin on his face and a lustful gaze in his eyes, "I believe that you taste much more delicious than the cake."