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tarotwithavi · 10 months

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You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

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after-witch · 8 months

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Best Regards [Hisoka x Reader]

Title: Best Regards [Hisoka x Reader]

Synopsis: You're tasked with looking for Hisoka on the Black Whale. You get more than you bargained for.

Word count: 3800ish

notes: violent noncon, sexual assault, violence against reader, descriptions of blood and injuries, victim blaming against reader

It was not in your nature to question Chrollo Lucilfer, and you weren’t about to do it now. Even when there was a small, hard, resilient pit in your stomach that wondered if this was the right move. Or if perhaps you should have said something earlier, before everyone separated. It’s not as if Chrollo was ever unreasonable, but everything was for the good of the Spider and if that meant acquiescing to his decision in this case, when he seemed so intent.

He had asked you to allow him to keep your nen until Hisoka was found and dealt with, and you handed it over without a complaint. Of course you did. It was the first time he’d ever asked for your nen, and if you were willing to self-reflect a little deeper, you might admit that it was at least a little flattering.

You weren’t, you knew, the strongest (or even close to it) of the Spiders. You couldn’t mow down a group with a sweep of your arm or lift up an oncoming car and throw it into traffic. When it came to delegating who was leading the charge in a mission that required anything like that, you were certainly not at the front.

You weren’t helpless. You could hold your own in certain types of combat, of course. Nobody in the Troupe was weak against the typical combatants you personally came across. Over-eager mafia guards with faith in their guns; greedy non-combatants eager to buy priceless forbidden trinkets… all could be dealt with using the knife in your pocket or a hard, horrible kick to their neck, cracking the bones like an egg.

But if push came to shove with a nen user, well… there was a reason you were not typically sent out alone. Your own nen was useful to the Troupe, but for reconnaissance only. Once you encountered a person, you could immediately identify them through their body heat signature through any surface.

All you had to do was activate your nen and begin to search, and spot the particular pulsating colors assigned to your target. From there, the rest of the Troupe could do what they needed. Which, admittedly, often involved the gruesome demise of said target--then or later, tied to a chair after all the information had been cut out of them.

Maybe you weren’t the strongest fighter. But you were loyal to the death, and Chrollo knew that. It was an attribute that one must have, in order to be a proper spider. That’s what brought the lot of you to this godforsaken ship, after all, isn’t it?

But now you were left without your nen, without that distinct advantage that gave you the upper hand when it came to finding your target. Chrollo would put it to good use. And he needed it more than you, because you certainly weren’t going to kill Hisoka, even if you managed to find him.

If you did find him… well. You were stealthy. You would slink away and find one of the others and set a beautiful chain reaction in motion, one that ended up with Hisoka exactly where he belonged.

But first… to find him.

To call the Black Whale a “ship” was an understatement. It was not a ship. No, It was an entire country, teeming with life; with people, fights, loves, friends and so many dirty little secrets.

Hisoka was one of those dirty little secrets. He was somewhere on this ship, and come hell or high water, he would be found. By Chrollo. By the others. By you, perhaps. And he would be dealt with, as others had been in the past.

The only problem was--how in the hell were you going to find him?

WIthout your nen, you were left to rely on your natural senses. They were heightened of course, but that didn’t necessarily make it an easy task. There were thousands of people on this tier alone… crowds and crowds, weaving in and out of public areas, arguing over this and that, laughing, yelling, calling to so-and-so over the noise.

In theory, Hisoka should be easy to spot. He was tall. He was outrageous. He never failed to make a splash, appearance-wise. If he was walking in a crowd, it wouldn’t be impossible to spot him, if you were looking for him. Yet no matter what room you searched, how many faces you scanned, he wasn’t there.

You’d wondered, though, if he might have altered his looks before getting on the ship. Maybe he toned them down to avoid being too obvious.

He had to know that the Troupe would follow him. He wasn’t stupid. He was many things, yes, but never stupid.

You pass yet another common area--this one even dingier than the last, which seems to be the trend--that proves to be fruitless, filled with only groups of people in varying states. Some look tired or hungry or sick. Some are arguing. Some holding hands. Some yelling after one another to come-back-so-we-can-do-this-and-that.

But no Hisoka. The same as the other rooms, the other corridors. Countless people, blurry faces that you wouldn’t remember in a few seconds, none of them the person that you were desperate to find. If only you could see his damn body signature.

And really… but oh, the thought shouldn’t come to you, because Chrollo would not have brought any of you here (surely) were it not true. Yet here it comes anyway, slow and practical: Is Hisoka even on the ship?

You glance around you, taking in the mundane faces once more. He could be here. He could be in hiding. He could be in disguise.

Or he could be somewhere else entirely, and all of this was a trap meant to lure the Troupe onto the Black Whale. Or maybe he was--

“Found you~!”

There’s no time to react to the deceptively jovial nature of Hisoka’s voice before your body whips backward and your stomach lurches hard, yanked by the power of nen-induced gravitational forces that pull you completely against his chest and refuse to let you move forward.

But you’re not helpless, are you? No. Your hands move quickly, pulling out the knife in your pocket and preparing to jab straight into an artery. Chrollo might not be happy if Hisoka bled out here and now, but it’s better than letting him get away--alone or with you.

Hisoka is faster, and your knife is thrust out of your hand with a sticky sound. You can tell Hisoka is gripping the handle tightly when the point of the knife is pressed against your back. Not in subtle warning, but truly pressed, the point digging into your flesh with a flash of pain. You can feel blood trickling down, wetting against your shirt, where it will surely stick and stain.

“You never were the strongest, hm?” His voice is right in your ear, his breath a mixture of some sweet concoctions. Gum and candy and mints. “Why did dear Chrollo send you out alone…”

You feel your lips curl up in a sneer, for all the good it does you, but whatever insult your mind was going to conjure is lost when Hisoka lets off a soft little hum and begins to drag you--though the word is perhaps not quite correct, as you’re stuck to him with his damn Bungee Gum--away. All the while, the knife stays in the flesh of your back, burning every time he gives it a little twist.

No one in this part of the ship pays you any attention after they see who’s dragging you. Eyes glance over you and quickly look away. Someone skitters off--maybe to find whatever passes for law enforcement, though they had precious little presence in this part of the Black Whale--but you don’t place faith in them. You never placed faith in anyone but Chrollo and to a different extent, the other members of the Troupe.

Present company excluded, of course.

Before Hisoka dips into one of the winding corridors past the common room, you jerk your hand behind your back. Hisoka easily bats it away, keeping you from grabbing the knife--or so he thinks. You let the blood you’ve gathered from your wounded back drip down your fingers onto the floor. You leave another smear on a wall just before Hisoka turns.

Blood, deep and red--your version of Hansel’s pitiful breadcrumbs.

With any luck, someone from the Troupe will find it.

The maze of the Black Whale has never been as irritating as it is now. Soon enough, Hisoka has taken you away from even the outskirts of the level, into what must be some little-used crew spaces. The room he seems to decide upon is sparse and dark, with metal walls and a few gas lamps giving the room a soft glow. There are no beds or furniture, only the lamps and a barred clock. Maybe it was meant to be a crew quarter before it was abandoned.

Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that once Hisoka has locked the door (where did he get a key? The question is tucked away for later, for Chrollo, for the others) he releases you from his hold and you stumble forward. Your back aches and the damn knife is still in his hand, twirled easily with his fingers.

He doesn’t quite look like himself. Gone are the ostentatious clothing and styled hair. Instead, he’s wearing something simple, a dark shirt and trousers, and his hair hangs loose. He’s still Hisoka, there’s no doubt about that. The smile alone is enough to give him away, now that you’re up close. But it’s enough to make him blend in with the masses, when you aren’t sure who you are looking for.

“Well?” He asks, splaying his arms out, holding the knife carelessly--like a toy. “Do you want to play? Or shall we wait for the others?” The light of the gas lamps makes his visage even more irritating to you. You want to shine a spotlight on him, show him for what he is.

You take a fighting stance, and he only quirks his head at you before his smile grows wider. More indulgent. But there’s no judgment on your end for that, no need for a bruised ego or snapping words. You’re not a combative fighter, and you never were. You could hold your own sometimes but… against Hisoka? The thought isn’t even worth entertaining.

But what else were you supposed to do?

With your back bleeding and your nen (such as it was) gone, you launched yourself at Hisoka with just the faintest hope of lasting long enough for backup to arrive.

How quickly it ends would be laughable, if you could find any of this funny. The knife he pilfered from you flies through the air, aimed at your chest--my heart, you think--and you manage to dodge just enough for the knife to slice your shoulder, cutting your shirt and taking off a layer of skin. It was thrown so hard that the blade slides right into the metal wall.

You could whirl around and try to grab it. But it’s smarter to keep an eye on Hisoka, so you do.

And… so does he. His eyes roam up and down, and it makes your stomach begin to harden, your thoughts turning to things they normally didn’t in a situation like this.

“Ohh,” Hisoka says, voice slow and sticky as his telltale trick. “Well, that’s a sight.”

You don’t know what he means at first. But when the sting of your missing skin catches up with you, you glance down at your injured shoulder. The knife cut through the fabric of your shirt as well as your bra strap, both of which now hang limply down, exposing one bared breast.

There’s only so fast your thoughts can go, trapped in a metal room with Hisoka, no clear way out, and a knife firmly embedded into the wall. Your eyes dart here and there, desperate for options. If you could get the knife out, you might be able to keep him occupied long enough for someone else to spot your blood, and if they did--

Hisoka sighs, interrupting your thoughts, and it’s almost like a croon which makes the hairs on your arm stand on end. Sensing danger was a skill you developed as a child, and it was no less fine-tuned as an adult. Something was going to happen. Something awful.

“Well, well--why not?” He asks himself. There’s a smile on his face and his voice and it sets your nerves on edge. “We’ll be here for a while. Don’t want to get bored, do we?”

You only have time to get out a gruff “What are you tal--” before Hisoka swoops in, extending his leg for a kick, and breaks your leg with his foot. It’s as simple as breaking a twig for him, and for you there is a bright flash in your vision just before you go down. The sound of the crunch is almost worse than the pain, but only for a moment, when you land hard and awkward and the pain bursting in your ribs sends stars into your eyes.

But you don’t cry out. You’re better than that, at least, it’s the one thing you hold onto in the moment as adrenaline and pain compete for attention in your racing mind.

Something else elbows in, as well, almost literally--Hisoka, pouncing down on you, tall and looming. His wrists grab your arms and pin them down to the ground. The carpetless floor is cold but you can feel sweat--or perhaps it’s the blood from your back--underneath.

“Should I break these too?” Hisoka muses, not quite addressing you. He’s smiling softly, almost serenely. It makes you hate him more. “I do so want to hear all your pretty noises.”

Hot breath pushes in and out through your nose and you grit your teeth.

“Fuck you,” you say, before spitting right in his satisfied, smiling, smug face.

But the bastard doesn’t change his expression at all. The thin dab of spit sits on his cheek and he just beams down at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Well, it was your idea.”

You see his hand curl in a fist just before he punches his wrist out, short and swift, and breaks your nose. The sound of the crunch is registered first, before a heavy, sharp pain--the pain of splitting bone fragments--spreads across your face. Unbidden tears stream down your eyes, and you feel and taste the blood that pours from your nose rather than smell it.

“You know,” Hisoka says, leaning close, his breath hot on your bleeding face, “on some women, this might make them look less pretty. But on you?” He sticks out his tongue and laps at the spot underneath your nose, teasing your upper lips. “It’s darling. Really.”

“Fuck you,” you repeat, a hint of bubble in your tone from the blood that makes its way into your mouth. You spit, managing to dribble some of it out. It oozes down your chin with your drool and tears.

Hisoka reaches out and tucks a sweaty piece of hair behind your ear.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

Somehow, it didn’t register before, what Hisoka meant. What Hisoka was planning.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen him act vulgar before; seen him groan and wet his lips in battle, flirting, cooing, sometimes even sporting an erection visible through his pants.

Speaking of--you glance down and see that “sometimes” has occurred now. And it’s then that things seem to click into place in your frazzled mind, pushing through the pain in your back and your leg and your face.

He’s going to…

The word doesn’t come, because Hisoka busies himself by tearing off the rest of your shirt, the bra flying to the wall with it. You have the presence of mind to strike out when his fingers dance along the waistband of your pants, but it does you no good. He grips your fingers firmly--they might be fractured, but there’s a rush of humiliating adrenaline that keeps you from focusing on it--and peels off your pants and underwear in a surprisingly swift motion. At least, you think dimly, he didn’t rip them.

There’s a slow thought process that begins to weave its way into your brain. What should you do, now? It wasn’t something that happened, wasn’t something even on the radar, of previous assignments and missions and heists. People who hated the Troupe wanted all of you dead. No one had--to your knowledge--tried to do something like this before. No one had been strong or smart enough to even get this close to you, much less the members who were physically stronger.

But this was Hisoka, and a completely different scenario. One that you found yourself unprepared for, physically and otherwise. Do you fight? You won’t win. Do you seethe and tell him exactly what you think of him? He might get annoyed and kill you, and then you’d be useless to everyone.

At least if you live, they’ll know Hisoka is on the ship. You can still help. You can still--

There’s a condescending gentle pat to your cheek--then another, and another. It doesn’t hurt directly but it jostles your face, causing fresh, sharp pain to shoot up your nose.

“Are you still there? Don’t pass out on me now… you should be able to take a few broken bones.”

You feel your gaze harden and it only makes him laugh. He traces a shape--a heart, the fucker--on your cheek with his finger before taking both of your wrists and pinning them next to your head on the floor.

When you glance down again, you realize he’s pulled down his trousers, which must be discarded somewhere in the room. You can see his naked, erect cock and there’s a strange realization that comes over you.

He’s going to fuck you. Here, in this isolated room, underneath the ocean. He might kill you after. Or during, who knows. It’s a fact that this will happen and that these are possibilities. The logical part of your brain holds onto this fact, as if it might make it easier.

“Ready?” He smiles down at you.

You’re not ready, and he knows this, and that’s what makes it fun for him.

He pushes inside with a single hard thrust, and you feel a burning sear on your insides as he presses his cock fully inside you with no attempt to ease himself (or you) into things.

“Mmm,” he groans, pulling out just enough to thrust back in again. “Tighter than I thought. The boss hasn’t had you?”

There’s a blossoming pain in your chest. Broken ribs or humiliation or some terrible mixture of both.

You grit your teeth and you don’t say exactly what you want to say, because it might make him angry enough to kill you, but you can’t let things slide entirely.

“Don’t--” Your breath hitches when he thrusts inside you harder than before, you’re sure you must be bleeding between your legs now. But you force yourself to continue.

“Don’t talk about him… you… you traitor.” You wish the word had some weight, but you can tell it means nothing to Hisoka.

At least nothing bad. Because you can feel his cock twitch inside you and it makes bile rise in your throat, hot and stinging.

Hisoka runs his fingers through your hair. There’s something sticky on his fingers--your blood?--that makes you wince. The deceptive gentleness only lasts a moment before he backhands you, catching your broken nose on his fingers. Tears fall from your eyes against your will, and you feel fresh blood trickle out of your nose.

“So mouthy! I love it!”

His cock twitches again and you feel him sigh at the sensations it must give him, to be forcing himself on you, thrusting himself in and out of your abused sex.

You don’t know how long it goes on. Long enough for the searing pain to turn into burning ache, for the pain between your legs to blur together with the pain everywhere else.

But eventually he must be reaching his limit, because he begins to speed up his thrusts, pressing the fingers on your wrist down enough to hurt.

“Tell Chrollo,” he says, a hint of an uncontrolled, breathy pant in his name finally creeping in at the direct use of Chrollo’s name, “that this is his fault.”

HIsoka’s fingers tighten on one of your wrists as he increases his force and his speed, and you feel and hear the crunch, the sharp pain joining the ache of your battered body.

“He sent you alone,” he continues, thrusting harder with every word. “He took your nen, semi-useless as it is.”

There’s no grand finale to his orgasm, only the feel of his muscles tensing above you, a single final push as he emptied himself inside you. And then Hisoka himself, leaning in to whisper in your ear, voice dripping with deceitful honey.

“He should have known better than to send a weak thing like you to look for me. He could have at least let you keep your nen… then you might have seen me coming, no?”

A chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek. You feel the stickiness of clear lip gloss left behind. Ah, you think, a dull, slow, stupid thought. Then he didn’t give up his vanity entirely on the ship.

You don’t move from your spot on the ground. You’re not sure you want to try, just yet. You hear Hisoka’s footsteps receding, hear the whining of the metal door opening and the clang of it shutting behind him.

For a while, you hear nothing at all. Nothing except your ragged breath.

And then your grunts and irritatingly soft whimpers as you slowly, agonizingly sit up. You don’t want to be found like this. Weak and bleeding and…

Your fingers fish around on the floor until you find your torn shirt, your underwear, your pants. It takes you a long time to get redressed. Your shirt doesn’t even cover you fully, and you fumble with your aching fingers and likely broken wrist to tie it off, giving you an ounce of modesty.

Every part of you aches. Some parts of you are broken. There’s a horrible soreness between your legs, and you know without checking that it’s not just Hisoka’s seed that’s leaking out of you but blood.

But you manage it. Carefully. Painfully.

Sometime later, the door opens again, a metallic whine.

But it’s not Hisoka, come to brag or finish you off. It’s Chrollo, standing alone, the lights of the hallway obscuring everything but his silhouette, which wavers despite the fact that he’s standing in place. Your vision is spotty, dizzying--from the blood loss or the pain or the stress or all of it at once.

His footsteps to you are slow, careful. You dimly register him kneeling in front of you and saying your name. You feel his eyes looking you over, and it’s a different feeling than Hisoka staring at your exposed, broken, bleeding body. But it’s just as open, and you only just resist the urge to curl up on yourself and hide what little that you can.

It would just aggravate your wounds, anyway.

You don’t see Chrollo’s expression when everything clicks into place, but oh, damn it all. You hear his breath hitch and somehow that hurts more than your broken ribs.

“Look at me,” he says finally, his voice soft but commanding.

And you do. Chrollo’s expression is neutral, calm. It’s what you need, maybe. What he thinks you need? You’re not sure if there’s a difference.

“Hisoka.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and he doesn’t need to.

You nod.

“I’ll have you taken care of,” he tells you. His words are slow and deliberate, and there’s an inkling of shame in your chest at them. You shouldn’t be in this position, not in front of Chrollo or at all. You’re meant to be above this weakness. Aren’t you?

There’s a few moments, and you’ve been around Chrollo to know what he’s going to ask next. It doesn’t make the way it turns your stomach sour any less unpleasant.

“Did he say anything important to you?”

You think. You wet your lips, tasting blood and mucus.

And then you shake your head. No. You won’t tell Chrollo what Hisoka said, because despite the way his words twisted something in you, deep down--it’s not true. You’re an adult. You joined the Troupe, fought for your place in it. You joined the mission. You agreed to go alone, agreed to hand over your nen.

Chrollo sighs. He inspects you, again, looking for tell-tale signs of what you won’t say to him.

And then he tells you, simply--

“You don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

It’s not an order. It’s not even a request, not really. It’s an admission of the fact that he trusts you and you trust him and you don’t have to keep things from him.

In the end, you don’t know what’s more bitter. Your failure, the mucus-tinged blood on your tongue, or the stilted admission that comes next.

"He said it was your fault. He said you shouldn't have sent me alone without at least my nen so I could at least see him coming.”

Your words sound robotic, even to your ears. How does Chrollo hear them? Hopefully for the mechanical repetition that they are. You don’t want the words to carry any weight, because you don’t believe them.

Chrollo closes his eyes. Then he looks at you, and it might just make you cry. Because his expression, just for the moment that he allows you to take it in, is absolutely dreadful.

It passes, and you’re glad, and maybe it’s the blood loss but you swear there’s a euphoric relief when Chrollo’s expression returns to neutral and he merely wraps his arm around you and assists you up.

You let him, biting your cheek to keep quiet with all of the pain in your broken, used body as he assists you to your feet--or rather, your one unbroken foot--before lifting you into his arms to carry you out.

You don’t want to wince. Or whimper. Or do anything but let your mouth fill up with fresh blood from the blisters from your teeth, the consequence of keeping quiet now.

Because above all, you don’t want to see that look in Chrollo’s eyes ever again.

In fact, you realize, grim--you’d rather die than see that look once more.

#hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #darkfic #afterwitch writes

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