As a virgin (both bc I'm bitchless and because I have an anatomical defect that would need surgery to have PIV sex) kurts like, the most comfortable of the X-Men for me lmao? Like yes he's a manwhore, he gets around. He's the opposite of me. He is Bitch-Full. There's no one in the X-Men that I think would be pushy about me putting out, but Kurt especially feels safe lmao. I think dating a virgin/someone that isn't a virgin but is relatively inexperienced is something he's never THOUGHT about but yeah
I'm a virgin myself, so I yeah, I get it.
To be frank, his lust and love for women would kinda scare me, because he's tried a lot and he's definitely into confident ladies who know what they want and how they want it, and I'm just not that. Yet at the same time I strongly believe it would never be an issue to him, you being a virgin, I mean. Perhaps he would even be able to tell based on your response to other forms of intimacy. He's smart and observant, not to mention a gentleman through and through, and when you finally tell him, he will just soften, you know? His usual bravado, his familiar flirtatious disposition just dipped in tenderness with which he'd approach you now, as if to show you that it's okay.
A womanizer he may be, Kurt is still a man with a feeling, generous heart, and he can absolutely love purely, without expecting anything in return. He enjoys sex, yes, but the amazing thing about sex is that it comes in so many ways. Penetration is an option, not a strict necessity, especially when one is creative, and he is ready to use the full power of his imagination if you want to be intimate while penetrative sex is out of the question.
Moreover, I believe Kurt understands the concept of virginity being very important to some, especially women, something they reserve to special people and don't treat lightly, so he won't treat it lightly either. He doesn't expect everyone to be as knowledgeable and experienced as he is, and he is absolutely thrilled to teach you, guide you, and help you.
(There is some darker side to it, perhaps — the one that whispers that he is molding you to fit his needs, but it's an intrusive thought. He has those too, I just know he does 👀)
As a matter of fact, speaking on the topic of virginity, I started working on a little Kurt x nervous virgin reader text a few days back, where instead of pushing through and having penetrative sex as he planned, he allows you to explore his body and enjoy yourself differently. Hopefully I'll finish it relatively soon 🫡
Giving Kurt three little devils. Do you think he'll act like a momma cat dealing with the triplets? Like, holding one with his mouth and the others with his tail? Teaching them to crawl in the walls/ceiling?
Yes!! Oh my god, it's been a guilty pleasure of mine for some weeks now — imagining Kurt teaching his little ones to climb walls and prance about like a bunch of kittens. Hanging them on chandeliers by their tails, to your horror, or taking them with him into the Danger Room for his usual warm-up routine on the swings, to your even greater horror. Thankfully, he's sensible enough to teach one at a time, leaving the rest to the worrying mother hen.
I believe his kids would skip the crawling stage almost entirely and get right to running around on all fours, which would make looking after them especially difficult. If you're a slow-paced person, be ready to immediately jump to your feet to catch them every thirty seconds or just never lag more than a meter behind, since these troublemakers are fast. And pray they don't inherit their father's teleportation, because even at twelve years old they will be a menace — but smarter and shiftier than ever.
Honestly, I think Kurt would spur them on sometimes, but he'd also be pretty good at getting their attention, since he loves kids and knows how to entertain them, something he learned back in his circus years. He's all for fun and games, yet the moment he sees you're overwhelmed, he takes the reins and calms the little imps down, making them behave (as much as they possibly can, of course). Also, given his own energetic self, he's perfect with exhausting the kids before bed. Just give him an hour outside with them, and he will hand them back to you fully drained and rubbing their eyes sleepily.
I don't think Kurt would actually carry them in his mouth, though, even if the idea does sound amusing: they simply don't have the loose skin on the scruffs of their necks like some baby animals do. And even if they did, Kurt would still prefer the boring human way of carrying his children — close to his heart, little butts fitting perfectly in his hands, tiny tails tight around his arms. They would try to crawl away, pull at his hair, slobber on the fur of his clavicle, bite his fingers with teeth sharp as needles, and he would absolutely let them, because nowadays being a dashing hero is not as important as it used to be to him. Not as important as being a good father, anyway.
I wish Kurt's room from "God loves, man kills" was an established canon because it's glorious and so funky and weird and just perfect for him. I wish to see it in fanfiction, have a whole chapter dedicated just to the fact that this rooms exists.
Imagine dating a guy and this is where he brings you for the best sex of your life.
And no, I'm not going to imagine the sheer amount of never performed before sex positions that were created in this room.
Kurt Wagner who is not abashed, not even one bit, of being nude around you.
Word count: 1.6k
It is with frivolity that he ambles around your sun-flooded room as the morning ripens and swells with warmth, and the great concrete gorges of the city of New York lie imposing and bleak-gray against the low-hanging skies. Rivers of car noise flow unhurried along the avenue, gurgling with intermittent horn hiccups and engine hisses, but it’s muted, sluggish, fading in the air laden with dust and slumber not quite shaken off yet. An eggshell of peace, easily cracked and peeled off; a halt of time between the first alarm and the next, when minutes stretch their limbs like drowsy cats yet seem to fly over your head just as swiftly as a flock of canaries. This wonderfully placid hour of gold, the one you’d keep sleeping through, none the wiser, if not for the promise of a vision that has become the favorite of your routine. A dark blue ink stain against the oranges that paint your mornings — a man basking in the sun’s glory in front of the window.
Before your half-lidded eyes Kurt is bare and candid. A stolen sliver of dusk given form and seemingly for the sole purpose of bewitching impressionable lasses such as yourself. He's all litheness and supple flesh, woven of lax muscle, adorned with ridges and grooves, and as he flexes his neck with a stifled groan, the indigo sea of his pelt moves in languid waves, sheen rippling across the expanse of his back. He yawns, cracks his joints, twists his tail in a mock show of checking its mobility; leisured poise softens every move in a manner that speaks of deliberateness: he knows you are awake and mesmerized by the tango of shadows and morning light on his body.
And who wouldn’t be when the dishevelment of his fur draws a map of your night rendezvous?
Shoulder blades splay like wings — between them furrows of raked hairs mark your nails' trail in a broken line. Your gaze climbs down the soft crest running along his spine, travels past the ravines of his waist and the slopes of his hips, slides across delicate hollows that shape his buttocks, and lingers for a moment too long in the canyon of his mighty thighs. There, beneath the crease of folded skin, shadows lurk, veiling his flesh in a display of modesty of sorts — as feigned as it could be, for the taste of him still coats your tongue in a musky tang, strangely soothing in its bitterish familiarity. You do not hurry to breathe with your mouth, savoring, keeping it in, smeared on the inside of your cheeks.
When you inhale, it’s through your nose, a barely there flutter of air that could have been a rustle of curtains caught in the breeze to anyone else but the man before you. You inhale, the chemical scent of clean sheets swallowed by the fragrant, rain-washed smell of August withering in its cage of brick and glass, and Kurt turns away from the window. Gold outlines the confident, sharp edges of his profile as if attempting to confine the darkness that clings to his features in a half-mask.
Tufts of clumped hair — held together by the remnants of your joined pleasure — frame the curve of his belly and seduce your eye like bold criss-crosses that lead to hidden prizes. His pose is open and blunt, uninhibited with confidence that only comes to those whose soul thrives in its shell, tail coiling and uncoiling in a hypnotizing dance, and a stray glimpse at the shadow-draped softness weighing between his thighs is enough to make you blink away any drowsiness that still lingered.
“Ah, guten Morgen, Dornröschen." Kurt’s voice is a chime, and the settled mischievous coquetry in it rings muted just a tad by unconcealed fondness.
The sun rests its slim palms on the width of his shoulders, running its fingers through his fur, and every hair of it is swathed in gossamer gild. Thick honey of daybreak poured into the blue milk of midnight — like a minuscule solar eclipse. Here he is, standing in front of your window, the light a cloak behind his back and a crown atop his head, and you know not in whose image the Lord could have created such a being, but whoever he was, he was fucking ethereal.
Words are slow to brew in your mouth, so you respond with a stretch of your arms instead. The strain is warm in your muscles, and as you sit up, the duvet slides down helplessly, bunching up at your waist, and the sigil of Kurt’s gaze is almost as tangibly hot on your bared breasts as the fondle of the sun’s hand. His breath doesn’t quite catch, but the flexion of his tail betrays the interest just as plainly. An involuntary little flick up and down — a mental caress born of muscle memory. The shadows swirling between his thighs can’t hide the faint twitch, and you can’t shoo away the smugness from your grin. Two can play at that game.
“Guten Morgen auch dir, Prinz Charming," you sing-song, and Kurt snorts, stepping away from the window.
It is with confidence that he moves around your room, shameless like a cat spoiled rotten, and flakes of dust caught in the golden net float up, disturbed by the movement. His dark figure is a cutout of space amidst the jumble of old furniture you never got around to throwing away and sentimental trinkets, yet your tiny apartment in the heart — or rather in the atrium — of New York City has never felt more like home, this welcomed unearthliness slotting into its dull mundanity like a missing puzzle piece.
Lumps of the tight suit lay cold and crumpled on the floor like patches of shed skin; you watch, head tilted to shoulder in lazy curiosity, as Kurt bends to pick them up and toss them on the chair for later, and the sight of the frizzy fur of his ass is the most tantalizing.
Somewhere in the hallway, one floor above, a front door slams shut, and your ceiling vibrates with the sheer impact of it. Kurt eyes the plaster, cracked enough as it is, and notes with mischievous casualness, “I believe we gave your neighbors quite a headache last evening, Schatzi."
"Headache" would be an understatement. At this point the scandalized side-eyes during elevator rides barely even scald your face with embarrassment, although at first you forced yourself to take the stairs every morning for two weeks straight. Mind-blowing sex and thin walls of American apartment complexes do not mix well, and to everyone else’s misfortune, Kurt is an amazing lover.
You groan.
“We did, yet it is I who will have to apologize to poor Mrs. Tuffin. Again.”
Kurt only chuckles at that — the carefree posture of someone who is not obliged to face a sweet elderly dame next door with a surprisingly keen ear for her age every Sunday. His smile is a scimitar unsheathed, a sharp blade to your poor heart, and the shadows on his face move and fold into lovely crinkles around his mouth. Oh, how shallow your indignation runs for this sly devil, and he knows it all too well, treading in its waters without a worry in that blue head of his.
He makes it to the doorway, an open maw where the sun doesn’t reach, and you call for him in hesitation as well as acceptance.
“You could always come with me, you know. She bakes great wafers”.
Kurt stops momentarily and something smolders in his gaze.
“I’m sure I’m missing out on the fun, Liebling, but you know I can’t." He lingers for another second and offers like a consolation, “I can make breakfast, though. Your favorite, what say you?”
He winks and casts off his golden mantle as the dark hallway swallows the outline of his body, and you swallow your disappointment.
He may not stay as long as you’d want — he barely ever does — but you know he tries to for as long as he can allow. And you know that when, unconcerned with covering yourself, you follow his trail into the cramped kitchen, he will be dancing to some ditty he heard on the TV a few nights back, tail swishing along the whole humble length of the room; that he will use it to pull you closer, your nakedness warm and yielding against his own, and that one of his hands will travel. You know his lips will be creamy with butter, tingly with the fizz of laughter, but just in a matter of half an hour, when the indigo is hidden underneath scarlet and black and the gold is faded pale, they will taste of bitter coffee with one sugar cube and tender oaths.
And you know that one evening — not this one, perhaps not even the next, but some evening — you will walk into your apartment, looming with shadows, dull with quietness, and the bathroom door will be left ajar, just enough for a strip of light to dash the darkness. Inviting wordlessly. And Kurt will be there, a tang of iron dusting the air, exhaustion fogging the crescents of his eyes, yet the sharpness of his smile not blunted and the ambiguity of his pose not concealed with discomfort. You won’t remember who reached out first, but the yearning will run through your fingers in a tremble that will hinder unbuttoning your blouse and make you pull a little too harshly on his hair. He will press himself against you, fur to skin, soothing, warm with rushing blood, and the breathy chuckles will make your skin prickle with adoration. With anticipation of yet another of your personal solar eclipses.
He may not stay as long as you’d want, but you know that he will always come back to you.
Alright venting time. I read and reread this piece so many times, yet I'm still not satisfied with it and I don't think I'll ever be. It was supposed to be a collection of different situations where Kurt is not, quote, "abashed of being naked around you" because we all know he is a freak, but halfway there it transformed into something else entirely, so yeah. I don't like it at all, but I do like the image of butt-naked Kurt walking around my room so I had to get it out of my system in a form of a text that was at least coherent and legible. It's a clumsy attempt but an attempt nonetheless, so that's what counts right?
Anyway I apologize for any grammatical, syntactic, and punctuation errors or any weird phrases, given that I'm not a native English speaker. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Kurt Wagner who is not abashed, not even one bit, of being nude around you.
Word count: 1.6k
It is with frivolity that he ambles around your sun-flooded room as the morning ripens and swells with warmth, and the great concrete gorges of the city of New York lay imposing and bleak-gray against the low-hanging skies. Rivers of car noise flow unhurried along the avenue, gurgling with intermittent horn hiccups and engine hisses, but it’s muted, sluggish, fading in the air laded with dust and slumber not quite shaken off yet. An eggshell of peace, easily cracked and peeled off; a halt of time between the first alarm and the next, when minutes stretch their limbs like drowsy cats, yet seem to fly over your head just as swiftly as a flock of canaries. This wonderfully placid hour of gold, the one you’d keep sleeping through, none the wiser, if not for the promise of a vision that has become the favourite of your routine. A dark blue ink stain against the oranges that paint your mornings — a man basking in the sun’s glory in front of the window.
Before your half-lidded eyes Kurt is bare and candid. A stolen sliver of dusk given form, and seemingly for the sole purpose of bewitching impressionable lasses such as yourself. He's all litheness and supple flesh, woven of lax muscle, adorned with ridges and grooves, and as he flexes his neck with a stifled groan, the indigo sea of his pelt moves in languid waves, sheen rippling across the expanse of his back. He yawns, cracks his joints, twists his tail in a mock show of checking its mobility; leisured poise softens every move in a manner that speaks of deliberateness: he knows you are awake and mesmerized by the tango of shadows and morning light on his body.
And who wouldn’t be, when the dishevelment of his fur draws a map of your night rendezvous?
Shoulder blades splay like wings — between them furrows of raked hairs mark your nails' trail in a broken line. Your gaze climbs down the soft crest running along his spine, travels past the ravines of his waist and the slopes of his hips, slides across delicate hollows that shape his buttocks and lingers for a moment too long in the canyon of his mighty thighs. There, beneath the crease of folded skin, shadows lurk, veiling his flesh in a display of modesty of sorts — as feigned as it can be, for the taste of him still coats your tongue in a musky tang, strangely soothing in its bitterish familiarity. You do not hurry to breathe with your mouth: savoring, keeping it in, smeared on the inside of your cheeks.
When you inhale it’s through your nose, a barely there flutter of air that could have been a rustle of curtains caught in the breeze to anyone else but the man before you. You inhale, the chemical scent of clean sheets swallowed by the fragrant, rain-washed smell of August withering in its cage of brick and glass, and Kurt turns away from the window. Gold outlines the confident, sharp edges of his profile as if attempting to confine the darkness that clings to his features in a half-mask.
Tufts of clumped hair — held together by the remnants of your joined pleasure — frame the curve of his belly and seduce your eye like bold criss-crosses that lead to hidden prizes. His pose is open and blunt, uninhibited with confidence that only comes to those whose soul thrives in its shell, tail coiling and uncoiling in a hypnotizing dance, and a stray glimpse at the shadows-draped softness weighting between his thighs is enough to make you blink away any drowsiness that still lingered.
“Ah, guten Morgen, Dornröschen”, Kurt’s voice is a chime, and the settled mischievous coquetry in it rings muted just a tad by unconcealed fondness.
The sun rests its slim palms on the width of his shoulders, running its fingers through his fur, and every hair of it is swathed in gossamer gild. Thick honey of daybreak poured into the blue milk of midnight — like a miniscule solar eclipse. Here he is, standing in front of your window, the light a cloak behind his back and a crown atop his head, and you know not in whose image the Lord could even create such a being, but whoever he was, he was fucking ethereal.
Words are slow to brew in your mouth, so you respond with a stretch of your arms instead. The strain is warm in your muscles, and as you sit up the duvet slides down helplessly, bunching up at your waist, and the sigil of Kurt’s gaze is almost as tangibly hot on your bared breasts as the fondle of the sun’s hand. His breath doesn’t quite catch, but the flexion of his tail betrays the interest just as plainly. An involuntary little flick up and down — a mental caress born of muscle memory. The shadows swirling between his thighs can’t hide the faint twitch, and you can’t shoo away the smugness from your grin. Two can play at that game.
“Guten Morgen auch dir, Prinz Charming”, you singsong and Kurt snorts, stepping away from the window.
It is with confidence that he moves around your room, shameless like a cat spoiled rotten, and flakes of dust, caught in the golden net, float up disturbed by the movement. His dark figure is a cutout of space amidst the jumble of old furniture you never got around to throwing away and sentimental trinkets, yet your tiny apartment in the heart — or rather in the atrium — of New York city has never felt more like home, this welcomed unearthliness slotting into its dull mundanity like a missing puzzle piece.
Lumps of the tight suit lay cold and crumpled on the floor like patches of shed skin; you watch, head tilted to shoulder in lazy curiosity, as Kurt bends to pick them up and toss on the chair for later, and the sight of the frizzy fur of his ass is the most tantalizing.
Somewhere in the hallway one floor above a front door slams shut and your ceiling vibrates with the sheer impact of it. Kurt eyes the plaster, cracked enough as it is, and notes with mischievous casualty, “I believe we gave your neighbors quite a headache last evening, Schatzi”.
Headache would be an understatement. At this point the scandalized side eyes during elevator rides barely even scald your face with embarrassment, although at first you forced yourself to take the stairs every morning for two weeks straight. Mind-blowing sex and thin walls of American apartment complexes do not mix well, and to everyone else’s misfortune Kurt was an amazing lover.
You groan.
“We did, yet it is I who will have to apologize to poor Mrs. Tuffin. Again.”
Kurt only chuckles at that — the carefree posture of someone who is not obliged to face a sweet elderly dame next door with a surprising for her age keen ear every Sunday. His smile is a scimitar unsheathed, a sharp blade to your poor heart, and the shadows on his face move and fold into lovely crinkles around his mouth. Oh, how shallow your indignation runs for this sly devil and he knows it all too well, treading in its waters without a worry in that blue head of his.
He reaches the doorway, an open maw where the sun doesn’t reach, and you call for him in hesitation as well as acceptance.
“You could always come with me, you know. She bakes great wafers”.
Kurt stops momentarily and something smolders in his gaze.
“I’m sure I’m missing out on the fun, Liebling, but you know I can’t”, he lingers for another second and offers like a consolation, “I can make breakfast, though. Your favourite, what say you?”
He winks and casts off his golden mantle as the dark hallway swallows the indigo outline of his body and you swallow your disappointment.
He may not stay as long as you’d want — he barely ever does — but you know he tries to for as long as he can allow. And you know that when, unconcerned with covering yourself, you follow his trail into the cramped kitchen, he will be dancing to some ditty he heard on the TV a few nights back, tail swishing along the whole humble length of the room; that he will use it to pull you closer, your nakedness warm and yielding against his own, and that one of his hands will travel. You know his lips will be creamy with butter, tingly with the fizz of laughter, but just in a matter of half an hour, when the indigo is hidden underneath scarlet and black and the gold is faded pale, they will taste of bitter coffee with one sugar cube and tender oaths.
And you know that one evening — not this one, perhaps not even the next, but some evening — you will walk into your apartment, looming with shadows, dull with quietness, and the bathroom door will be left ajar, just enough for a strip of light to dash the darkness. Inviting wordlessly. And Kurt will be there, a tang of iron dusting the air, exhaustion fogging the crescents of his eyes, yet sharpness of his smile not blunted and the ambiguity of his pose not concealed with discomfort. You won’t remember who reached out first, but the yearning will run through your fingers in a tremble that will hinder unbuttoning your blouse and make you pull a little too harsh on his hair. He will press himself against you, fur to skin, soothing, warm with rushing blood, and the breathy chuckles will make your skin prickle with adoration. With anticipation of yet another of your personal solar eclipses.
He may not stay as long as you’d want but you know that he will always come back to you.
Alright venting time. I read and reread this piece so many times, yet I'm still not satisfied with it and I don't think I'll ever be. It was supposed to be a collection of different situations where Kurt is not, quote, "abashed of being naked around you" because we all know he is a freak, but halfway there it transformed into something else entirely, so yeah. I don't like it at all, but I do like the image of butt-naked Kurt walking around my room so I had to get it out of my system in a form of a text that was at least coherent and legible. It's a clumsy attempt but an attempt nonetheless, so that's what counts right?
Anyway I apologize for any grammatical, syntactic, and punctuation errors or any weird phrases, given that I'm not a native English speaker. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Summary: Nightmares have been bothering you since joining the X-mansion, but soon after developing an odd crush on a certain blue friend the “nightmares” became something you looked forward to.
Pairing: Nightcrawler x fem!reader
Content/Warnings: {MDNI 🔞} Smut, piv, wet dreams, profanity, nudity, oral, Odaxelagnia (biting kink), reader is female with female parts
A/N: Oooof, finally out of a writer funk. I wish I was more active honestly, but if you’re still here thank you🤍 this year I’m really gonna try and get these drafts cleared for real. Anyways, please enjoy this good food
Honestly, not fully proof read..sorry💀
Kurt Wagner was a saint.
Strong, but soft blue arms held you close as you cried from yet another nightmare. He whispered delicate prayers into your hair and rubbed your shoulders. You didn’t mean to wake him, though it was probably impossible from how close your rooms were.
He’s been bamfing in the second he hears you screaming. The first night you were sobbing. It was cold when your eyes shot open, and you soon realized it was because you were on the ground. Your bed was a mess like you were fighting, maybe you were. The nightmare was the same, Sentinels destroying your home and killing your family but not before torturing the X-men. Their screams filled your ears as you were helpless. You’re still weak, but before said weakness you were scared.
You’ve been in the mansion for a few years now. Slowly, after a first full year of therapy, you’ve gotten stronger. There was an attack on the mansion about a few months ago however, and that is when the nightmares started. They were often bloody and dark.
You told Xavier you might need to start therapy again. It was driving you mad waking up in sweat or on the ground.
It started to get to you and that’s when Kurt started coming in. He was worried sick that first night. He comforted you in any way he could, but this was primarily prayer. You didn’t argue. Especially, since it honestly helped you get back to sleep. Part of you swore the prayers were laced with some melatonin. Some nights he bamfed you on the roof and you two spent time counting the stars or looking at the moon if it was full. He told stories about his time at the circus, but sugarcoated nothing. When that topic came up he always reminded you of perseverance.
He nothing short of patient when you couldn’t speak but only cry. He never judged you for being grown and acting like this.
Could you really blame yourself when you started developing feelings? At first, you were freaked out. He was only being nice. This is just how Kurt Wagner was.
Then you started paying more attention to him throughout the day. The way his body moved and muscles flexed when he trained and swung around. Or his smile when telling jokes to other X-men. Soon, whenever he was around your heart beat so quick you knew Xavier or Jean could hear it. This was confirmed when she literally winked at you during dinner one time and he accidentally brushed up against you at the table.
If it was so obvious then how could he not tell?
Then your mind started to wander, and this is where you started feeling really guilty. During team training, you started getting distracted by his charm. He’d pass you a ball or catch you from falling and he was just so damn gentle with you, but so strong at the same time. You started to mentally undress him. You’ve seen his abs before so that wasn’t hard to imagine. His pecks were next. You already knew how his “skin” felt. Soft and like silk, almost like velvet.
It wasn’t fair to him, you thought. Why did you feel this way about him? You thought about him so much that, yes, he started manifesting in your nightmares.
First, he was the one dying and getting hurt with the rest of the team. Then, it was solely just him and those nights were the hardest.
One of said nights, he came in your room the normal way. He was slightly ill, but determined to be by your side. It was dark as the moon wasn’t full anymore and the only light source came from the hall which was dimmed itself during quiet hours.
So, maybe, it was the lighting or the fact you just woke up…but Kurt didn’t look soft and sweet when he was in your doorway this particular night. His yellow eyes glowed like usual, but the rest of him was dark especially the top half of his face. The light behind him highlighted his frame as well as his pointy ears and that tail. You hated even more to admit that in that moment as he slowly walked towards you, you felt fear.
Of course, it only lasted a moment as once he was close enough and you could see him better he was the same kind man.
But the moment and feeling never left your mind no. In fact, you started to explore that side of him. The dark, “scary” side. This didn’t help your guilt, though. You were aware that Kurt struggled with his demonic appearance as it was something he could never truly hide. It was just something about it..that moment, that really just turned you on. As fucked as it was.
Eventually, your nightmares evolved. Now Kurt was the bad guy and would hunt you in the night as you ran through streets. His body moved swiftly in the dark as he prowled. Your brain turned it into an adrenaline rush game of cat and mouse. The dream you always ran, but deep down wanted to be caught just to see what he’d do. Maybe you were not scared of him, but more wildly interested and attracted to him. His three fingered hands honestly never bothered you, and that tail? Your mind went to a dirty place imagining what he’d do with it in bed.
The media called him a monster because of his eccentric features, but you called those same feature sexy. He enthralled you truly.
When the nightmares gave you the results of wet dreams you knew you had a huge problem on your hands. Touching yourself immediately afterwards was the only solution you had. Though it never satisfied the craving for him or the need to be treated like prey. A twisted part of you just wanted those sharp canines of his in your neck, or anywhere on your body. To be held down as he drew blood.
He noticed. Thank God the truth wasn’t obvious.
He’d ask you about how your nights have been. Have the nightmares gone away? Were you okay? You lied and like always he reminded you that he was there.
But when he smiled at you your heart pounded. There were those teeth again. That kindness that drew you in. The same demeanor that made you feel sick because of how your mind has framed him in recent times.
You’d never come clean, but eventually you wouldn’t have a choice.
You were having another nightmare, this one more seductive than any of the previous. You didn’t know you were moaning his name in your sleep or tossing around as he fucked you in the dream. You were weak compared to him, and he took advantage of that. He thrusted with a brutal pace, one that would overstimulate but enjoyable enough.
The familiar sound of your door creaking when it opened pulled you from the dream slightly frustratingly. You felt the familiar wetness between your legs first, then as you looked towards the door you saw him. Just like before, almost completely shadowed with only the light from the hallway to highlight his silhouette. You heart skipped a beat at first, not expecting to see him especially after such a pornographic dream.
Your mind flipped between fear and wondering if this was a reality.
“Kurt..?”, You timidly whisper. You sit up a bit more trying to see not fully looking into his amber eyes.
He took a few more steps, unknowingly exciting you more and responded, “I heard my name.”
How can you answer that? What could you say? Your brain short circuited trying to come up with some sort of a lie.
“Sorry, I must’ve been..dreaming again.”, You say shaking your head and looking away. “Did I wake you?”
He’s closer by the time you look up again, almost towering you. The dark making him look just as sexually menacing as dream Kurt. There was a brief pause and then a husk, “Yes.”
Nothing else.
You weren’t stupid and neither was he. You knew over the past weeks you were hiding things well. You could barely make eye contact and you knew that he knew what a moan sounded like. Wondering what will happen next worried you deeply. Would he be disgusted for lusting after him? Kurt was not a prude but he definitely was more reserved regarding expressing himself when it came to anything sexual in nature. Everyone knew this.
What you didn’t expect was for him sit on your bed and slowly lift a hand to your face. The second he touched you, you wanted to lunge at him and kiss him, literally inhale him if you will, but you fought the urge.
After a while, “I know what you need now.”.
Your heart beats faster. “What do you mean?”
He scoots closer and you swore he was giving you slight bedroom eyes. The suggestion made you feel a familiar tingle between your legs and excitement throughout your body you hated but also loved. You wanted him to admit it, but you knew he wanted the same from you before anything. Consent, also, really turns you on.
He looked away for a second himself and then back into your eyes, almost like he was contemplating. His hand moved to hold yours, and then even more quietly, “I heard it in your voice, I’ve noticed it when you are around me. You vant something…”
You don’t respond, but you do nod slowly.
“I…I am drawn to you as vell..”
And again you nod, scared to say anything.
Then suddenly and huskily, “Say it.”
“Say…?”
“Say vhat you vant. Vhat you need. And I vill.”
You look away and you can’t contain your smile. It’s almost like you’re a giddy teen again. These are moments that happen in stories, but here you are.
At this point you’re so horny you don’t even care if it’s real or not. So you look back at him and say, “I want you, yes. Carnally.”
And when he doesn’t move you quickly add, “Please.”
“I cannot believe I turn you on. Many think I am some monstrosity. A freak. But, you….”
“Kurt, you turn me on in ways I cannot even explain.” You lean back against your headboard, biting your lip. “Please, please take me.”
He doesn’t say anything. He slowly lets go of your hand and slowly pulls the sheets off of you. There’s a new hungry look in his eye that gives you the theory that he’s felt the same way for a minute. What confirmed it was how quick he started to kiss you.
You took the opportunity to bite his lips surprising him, but drawing him in. He satisfyingly got the memo and started to bite back. His hands moved on your body like maybe he was dreaming as well. They were frantic, but firm. Just the way you craved. You didn’t realize you weren’t breathing until he moved to your neck and you took a gasp for air immediately. He searched for your sweet spot, finding it rather quickly like he somehow studied you. When you respond and called his name he took advantage and started to bite there as well.
Then it slipped, “Harder. Please, Kurt. Harder.”
Heat rushed to your face as he looked up, but he didn’t say anything. There was a slight concern behind his eyes, but you figured he was looking or listening for consent so you nodded. Then again, “Please. It’s okay.”
Then he’s back on your neck, kissing you a few times in the same area and then biting harder. There’s sound that escaped you was involuntary, but it made him respond with a moan as well.
You could feel his teeth sink into your skin and that beautiful pain immediately turned into pleasure. It was better than in your dreams because you could feel it all. The weight of his sculpted body, his hands sinking into the curves of your hips, his tail playfully brushing against different areas of exposed skin…
You didn’t notice he drew blood until he started to lick the spot he was biting. It felt warm and tingly and you knew it would cause a mark later, but you didn’t care.
He moved to pull his shirt off rather quickly before kissing you once more, just deeper this time. Quickly, it became sloppy when his tongue slipped into your mouth. The sensation was almost overwhelming. His tongue was stronger than yours and it felt like he was trying to eat you.
“Vait.” He said pulling away quickly out of breath. “I vant to kiss you naked.”
You don’t even say anything and immediately start pulling off your clothes. You wore no bra and this night no underwear either. Kurt pulled the rest of his clothes off while you did and once you both were bare he threw them to the floor, out of the way.
A moment passed and you lean back against the headboard and your pillow. It suddenly hit you that you were naked, in front of the man you’ve been dream about sexually for weeks. It’s real.
You’re shy as he practically devours you with his eyes, mutter swears.
“You are truly beautiful. Really. I…Ido not deserve to see this…”, he sighed. He grabbed your fae once more and turned your head so you’d face him. It took a minute before you met his eyes.
He was sexier than your blurry wet dreams for sure.
“Yes, you do. I don’t deserve to see you like this if anything.” You smiled looking away again.
He titled his head, “Vhy?”
“I..I’ve been having..dreams. About you and I. I just feel guilty and weird. You’re like, the mansion saint.”
“No, no, no. Do not feel guilty.” He said while holding your hand with his. “You could not control it, and it is not real.”
You nod not knowing what to say, but your heart melts because of his sweetness.
After a few second he adds while laughing, “And trust me, I’m no saint.”
You softly giggle at that, and then, “I dream of you differently, you know. It’s almost like a sexy cat and mouse game.”
“Ahh, so that is vhy you like me biting you..”, he smirked. You can’t help but blush a bit at the playful tease.
You feel his hand move off your face and start lowering on your body, feeling the softness of your skin. He stops on your upper thigh. It excites you and heat rushes between your legs once more as you feel his eyes staring there.
“Kiss me again?” You whisper coyly.
His tail wraps around your arm, replacing his other hand as it moved to your other thigh. Slowly, he used a bit of strength to open your legs.
Licking his lips and lowering his head he purrs, “I’d rather kiss you here…if that is okay.”
Your answer is caught on the tip of your tongue as your breath hitched, feeling his lips meet your wet clit. He kisses it a few times and then gives it a few kitty licks, fluttering against it.
“Kurt-!”, you start but he shushes you and proceeded to lick a long stripe against your folds.
You squirm and mewl as he savored the taste of you on his tongue, collecting all the wetness that accumulated there. He groans against you, like your get best thing he’s ever tasted. He flicks his tongue skillfully while simultaneously holding your writhing hips down tightly. You try not to say his name too loudly as you realized the door was still open. In your head, you prayed no one was awake or would walk down the hallway.
“I’ve vanted this for days.” He rasped between licks. “I vanted this so bad.”
You’re at a point of not being able to answer as it all just felt too good. He even added a finger at some point which really was bring you close to an orgasm. You felt it in the pit of your stomach, intense and waiting. It’s almost like he knew too, as he got even more ravenous it seemed.
Wet squelching sounds and your soft moans fill the room. Your mind starts to get fuzzy as pleasure over takes you. You tug a bit on his tail to let him know you’re very, very close. His tongue lapped quicker and unrelentingly. His hands held you down tighter and his brows furrowed in concentration.
Soon, you were arching your back quietly sobbing as you came against his face. Your thighs clenched his head between them and your body jerked in his grip. A hand clenched the pillow behind you tightly as fluid dropped from you. It didn’t last long, but by the end of it you went limp.
“Very very good, love.” He praised rubbing your side. “You tasted nicely.”
“Yeah…?” You breathed watching him climb on top of you.
He moves his head and starts to kiss your neck once more. “Yes. Very.”
He lets you rest for a bit, simply kissing and admiring your post orgasm glow. Your mind was fuzzy, but you still wanted more.
After a while you muster, “I want you inside me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please,”, you nod quickly. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”
His fingers intertwine yours as he kisses your forehead gently. There’s a brief pause before he answered.
“If you wish.”
He moves to position himself and you lay back on the sheets all the way. You never paid much attention to his dick until now. It was definitely not small, or thin. Not that you expected to be, but you didn’t expect it to be on the bigger side either. Two veins ran up across the side and even in the dark you could see a bit of a glisten with pre-cum, which ran down the side a bit as well.
He nuzzles his tail under your chin so you’d look into his eyes again. Then softly, “Are you ready? Are you sure?”
You hold onto his bicep and nod, “Yes.”
He kisses you for a final time and carefully teased your folds with his tip. After a bit of anticipation, he begins to push inside. Both your breaths hitched. The feeling was immediately pressure and once he was halfway you felt the slight burn from the stretch. He noticed you wince and stopped to give a you a second to adjust.
When the burn became pleasure you tapped his shoulder to continue. He rested his head between your shoulder and neck as he pushed all the way in, groaning deeply. His hands were back on your hips tightly.
“Ah, now I need a minute…”, he laughed.
After a few seconds and exciting filling your body once more, you decide to tease him. “Trying not to cum?”
“Sh-shut up. Please.”, he whined gripping tighter. “Because I will.”
It feels like forever before he slowly starts to thrust into you. Immediately pleasure fills your nerves. Your pussy clenches around him, making quiet slick noises whenever his dick moves in and out of you. You’ve longed for this for so long and all thoughts about feeling vulnerable went out the window. Over time, thrusting became ramming. His hips move desperately, chasing a high. Your back is already arching once more and he moves a hand to hold you down by your stomach.
You get the brilliant idea to fight against this, continuously trying to arch your back more and more.
“Stay down, love.” He husked, but you ignore it and started deliberately squirming more. His thrusts stammered as he struggled against you trying to hold you down.
After a while, he gave up being nice finally and pulled out of you quickly to flip you over on your stomach. You grin into the pillow as he holds your arms behind your back and push down, hard.
Hissing, “You will listen to me.”
Slowly, he pushes inside once more not waiting for an answer. It was so gratifying to feel his full body weigh against yours, filling you with immense pleasure. It satisfied an itch you didn’t know needed scratching.
You start letting out muffled unrestrained moans as he filled you completely. Above you, you heard Kurt’s strings of curses and hungry growls. His nails dug into your arms as he aimed for the sweet spot inside you. Something to send you over the edge.
Several more minutes passed as the room not filled with husky breaths and sounds of skin slapping. Both of you tried to hold out as long as possible, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. This time there was no real way to warn Kurt before you came.
He could tell just like before you were close and his tail started to rub against your clit quickly. He whispered encouraging you to finish, as he was right behind you. You could tell by how he started whispering quick in german and by how his thighs started to tremble more over time. His claws sunk a bit into your flesh in the most intoxicating way.
You body twitched once more as you came undone. This time harder than before. As your muscles clenched around him tightly, you squealed and moaned his name not caring if anyone heard anymore.
He slows his thrusts to you could ride the wave of your orgasm and then slowly pulled out of you just in time to cum on your lower back and ass. He groaned sounding almost animalistic as he came, throwing his head back.
You had already plopped onto the bed by the time he finished. Your body was sore already in the most delicious way. Blissed out you didn’t notice him move to grab something off the ground to clean your backside with, but you did hear his sweet praises.
“Waz I…good?” He whispered laying next to you. His hand rubbed your back just about the curve of your ass.
You turned your head to stare into his eyes and smiled, “Otherworldly.”
He chuckled, “I have never heard of that one before..”
You move to snuggle closer to him. The ache between your legs told you that you probably will be limping slightly tomorrow but you didn’t care. All that matter right now was being in his strong arms.
“We should probably close the door at some point, Kurt.” You murmur starting to fall asleep. “Y’know before someone sees us?”
He doesn’t say anything and bamfs quickly to close the door. The smell of sulfur fills your room by the time he’s back in your bed and wrapping his arms around you.
“Better?” He whispered.
You nod against his soft chest. His fur was almost softer than your sheets. It was hard to rid it the urge to fall asleep. You feel him kiss your temple as you closed your eyes.
After a few seconds, his deep voice woke you just a bit, “I’m going to wake you up to pee soon, just letting you know.”
You groan but ignore him. Inside your heart flutters at the small detail of him even knowing about that. He really cares about you, you wondered how you got so lucky with him.
His heart beat and his warm body heat lures you to sleep once more, but not before he lovingly kissed your temple one more time.
i just can’t stop thinking abt a perverted version of kurt where he’s just obsessed with you and does anything to be close to you. and then when you trust him enough, you’re letting him into your room in the evenings after dinner and you start your wind down process in front of him, continuing the conversation.
and he’s listening, yes. but he’s also staring at your ass as you bend down to grab pajamas from your drawers and at your chest as you pull off shirts and throw them in the hamper. sometimes he steals pieces of your clothing. because they smell like you. and yes, this includes underwear.
he’s calculated enough to understand how to sneak them out. he’ll bamf! into his own room with them and hide the clothing quickly while you brush your teeth in your bathroom. and then by the time you’re back, dressed down and all, he’s sitting there still on your bed. perfect posture like he didn’t just steal your clothes so he could jerk off while inhaling your scent later.
and this touch starved man loves when you touch him playfully. he has to mentally fight the urge to sport a boner when you do for longer than 3 seconds. it’s harder when you do something and your shirt lifts and some skin peaks out. he has to advert his eyes, but also mentally saves that image for later.
he’ll beg for forgiveness at night by his bed after he leaves. but he can’t help it. it’s like he is addicted. how you make him feel is beautiful. hell, you’re beautiful.
he thinks you’d look better, though, in his bed, flushed, panting and with his cum all over your bare body.
So like....do yall think Kurt (nightcrawler) lowkey has a knot....or am i alone in this i have a couple headcannons abt him and tht being one of them...tell me im not alone....like you guys agree with me right.....RIGHT?!
blakekathryn
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
vaporwave
stormborns
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
