βΛ. π°π'π₯π₯ π¬ππ | kurt kunkle
gif creds go to: chariotgifs
pairing: kurt kunkle x reader summary: Kurt never meant to become that guy online. He just wanted someoneβanyoneβto look at him like he mattered. So he hit record, posted a few late-night videos, and somehow it worked. You werenβt even looking for him. One accidental scroll turns into watching every video, then following, then a DM you definitely shouldnβt answer. wc: 5.7k tags/warnings: 18+ ! MDNI ! smut, fem!reader, camboy!kurt, virgin!kurt, sub!kurt, light dom/sub, fluff & smut, strangers to lovers?, casual sex, sexting, AFAB reader, dirty talk, praise kink, mutual masturbation, photo exchange, loss of virginity, oral sex, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, creampie, reader is on BC, body worship, slightly breeding kink, edging?, aftercare. author's note: hey! this is my first smut fanfic ever + my first post on tumblr π, so please be kind :( I tried to write Kurt as canon as possible! I had so much fun writing it :) enjoy, and thank you for reading! feel free to share your thoughts :) Iβm always glad to receive some feedback! (pics used are from pinterest, everything is fiction). ao3
Until recently, Kurt had only ever filmed himself.
He'd tried the "normal" path firstβ painfully earnest tutorials, vape unboxings that nobody asked for, daily vlogs where he'd ramble about nothing like it was profound wisdom. Shoot. Edit. Upload. Repeat. The views stayed stuck at double digits. Comments were mostly bots or people straight-up telling him to delete his account and disappear.
So he pivoted.
If the internet didn't want him informative or relatable, maybe it wanted him raw. Exposed. Desperate.
He didn't think it'd actually work. Why would it? He'd never been the guy anyone noticed. In school he was background staticβor worse, the easy punchline. No girl had ever looked at him like she was starving. No one had ever wanted him like that.
Still, he hit record.
Three videos. That's literally all it fucking took.
Three shaky, harshly lit, way-too-long clips dumped at 3 a.m. like dirty confessions.
And somehow⦠it clicked.
Followers started climbing. DMs flooded in. Notifications pinged with tips, subs, custom requests. People started typing his name like it tasted good in their mouths.
It wasn't love. It wasn't real connection.
But it was attention.
And for Kurt, attention was enough.
You found him by accident.
You barely touch Twitter anymore. You were just killing time, thumb flicking mindlessly, when a thirty-second clip auto-played. You almost swiped past.
Almost.
Something made you pause. Then tap.
@KurtsWorld69 8,418 followers. Cam link pinned. OnlyFans in bio.
Instant cringe crawled up your spine.
That username alone should have ended it.
The bio was somehow worse.
Yet you kept scrolling.
It was pathetic.
The emojis. The fake-laugh confidence. The way he tried to play it off like he wasnβt literally jerking off for strangersβ validation.
And stillβyou didnβt close the app.
It was cringey. Stupid. Borderline embarrassing.
But you watched every single video that night.
Curiosity? Sure. Morbid fascination? Definitely. Same Kurt every time: flushed cheeks, messy hair flopping into his eyes, staring straight into the lens like it could touch him back. Like he needed the camera to tell him he was good. Needed someoneβanyoneβto want him.
By the third video your thighs were already clenched tight. Heat coiled low and heavy in your belly. Your breathing turned shallow, uneven.
You didnβt even register your hand slipping under the waistband of your panties until your fingers met drenched, swollen heat.
βFuck,β you breathed, barely audible.
You didnβt stop.
On screen, Kurtβs shirt was bunched between his teeth, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. His tummy flexed with every rough pump of his fist around his cockβthick, flushed, leaking at the tip. He was loud. Shamelessly loud. Broken moans and whimpers spilling out like he couldnβt cage them anymore. No fake porn-star groansβjust raw, needy, unfiltered sounds that hit you like a punch.
It shouldnβt have worked.
It did.
You propped the phone against your pillow, volume low, his ragged breathing filling the dark room like he was panting right against your ear.
You hit follow before common sense could catch up.
Then killed the light.
You lasted maybe thirty seconds in the pitch black before your hand was back between your legsβslower now, deliberate. Fingers dragging through your own slick before plunging inside. You gasped when your fingertips grazed your clitβalready so sensitive it almost hurt. Your hips rolled up instinctively, back arching off the mattress.
You pictured him.
That same pleading stare aimed at you instead of a lens. That same desperate edge. All that pent-up hunger with nowhere to go except his own fist⦠until you imagined it going somewhere else.
What if those shaking hands gripped your thighs instead? What if that wrecked voice begged against your throat while he fucked into youβdeep, frantic, like he couldnβt get close enough?
Your fingers curled, thumb circling tight. You matched the rhythm from memoryβthe wet slap of his hand, the hitched βfuckβyeahβpleaseββ leaking from the speaker.
You told yourself it was just curiosity.
Curiosity doesnβt make your thighs quake like that.
Curiosity doesnβt make you bite your knuckles raw to keep quiet.
When you finally came it wasnβt gentle. It ripped through youβsharp, sudden, almost violent. Your cunt clenched hard around your fingers, slick dripping down your wrist, a choked whimper of his name muffled into your palm.
Your body stayed hot. Oversensitive. Breath still ragged.
You lay there staring at the ceiling, aftershocks pulsing faintly, the room heavier, quieter.
Thenβ
Buzz.
You flinched.
Another buzz.
Heart slamming back into your throat, you rolled over. Screen glowed in the dark.
@KurtsWorld69 followed you back.
You stared. Blinked. Stared again.
No fucking way.
You hadnβt liked. Hadnβt commented. Justβ¦ followed.
Pulse roaring, you tapped anyway.
His profile loaded. Same dumb bio. Same try-hard energy.
Except now: Follows you.
Your mouth went dry.
Had he scrolled your page? Seen the unfiltered youβthe beach pic with the crooked bikini top, the blurry concert selfie where youβre laughing too hard, the candid where you look soft and real?
Another notification.
A DM.
From him.
You waited three full heartbeats before opening it.
βHey :)β
Too casual. Probably automated. A funnel script. βHey cutie, special discount just for you πβ
You shouldβve ignored it.
You didnβt.
You typed. Deleted. Typed again.
You: Hi
Sent.
Typing bubble instantly.
Heβd been waiting.
Kurt: oh shit hi Kurt: didnβt think youβd actually reply lol Kurt: youβre real right?? not a bot π
You huffed a quiet laugh through your nose. Not what you expected.
Kurt: sorry that sounded dumb af Kurt: i just get so many fake accounts Kurt: but your pics are⦠normal. like actually normal
Normal.
Heβd seen them.
Your skin prickled, suddenly hyper-aware heβd looked.
Kurt: anyway Kurt: hi :)
That stupid smiley again.
For a second you considered blocking him. Thumb hovered over the dots.
This was stupid. Humiliating. Dangerous in the pettiest, most pathetic way.
Youβd literally come five minutes ago fantasizing about him.
And now he was here. In your DMs. Acting like some awkward guy saying hi.
Shame hit late and hardβcrawling up your neck, burning your cheeks in the dark. He didnβt know. Of course he didnβt. But you did.
You could end it. Block. Pretend it never happened.
Heβd think you were a bot.
Your thumb dropped.
You typed instead.
You: yeah Iβm real You: promise Iβm not here to sell you crypto
You cringed at yourself.
Typing bubble popped up immediately.
Kurt: LMAO okay good Kurt: that would be actually tragic π Kurt: imagine getting scammed by my own followers π₯Ίπ₯Ί #notcool
A pause.
Then:
Kurt: soooooβ¦ Kurt: what made you follow me? π
Your stomach twistedβdifferent heat now. Sharper. More exposed.
What the fuck do you even say?
I binged your whole page and came so hard thinking about your cock I forgot how to breathe?
You shifted under the sheets, bare skin sliding against fabric, still slick between your thighs.
Kurt: wait !! donβt ghost pls Kurt: i was just curious π₯Ί Kurt: i meanβ¦ iβm just asking π nothing weird unless you want it to be weirdβ¦ then iβm 100% in π³
Heat flooded your face. He was terrible at thisβawkward, over-explaining, spiralingβbut god, it was working. Your cunt gave a traitorous throb.
Kurt: be honestβ¦ Kurt: you followed cuz you think iβm hot right? Kurt: β¦donβt you? π
Your heart hammered. Shame and want twisted together until they were the same thing.
You: maybe
Instant.
Kurt: oh π³ Kurt: okayβ¦ wow Kurt: thatβsβ¦ uhβ¦ really flattering lol Kurt: and also kinda hot that you just said it π
You rolled your eyes, fighting a stupid grin even as your cheeks burned.
You: donβt get used to it
Kurt: lol i wonβtβ¦Kurt: unless you want me to π
You leaned back against the headboard, thumb hovering, smiling despite yourself.
You: weβll see.
He didnβt reply right away.
Maybe he was already stroking himself againβthinking about you this time. About the βmaybe.β About what your voice would sound like moaning his name instead of just typing it.
You set the phone down, heart still racing, thighs still slick.
Because whatever this was, it definitely wasnβt over.
The silence after βweβll seeβ settles like fogβthick, quiet, impossible to ignore.
Thursday is empty. No ping at dawn with some frantic βyou still there???β No panicked voice note rambling apologies. No blurry selfie begging βpls donβt hate meβwith big puppy eyes and messy hair. You wake up half-expecting it, half-dreading it, and when nothing comes you feel oddly off-balance.
During your mid-morning coffee break you check his profile anyway, telling yourself itβs just curiosity. Follower count now 9,312. A pinned post from yesterday teases:
hey kurties ! late night live in 20 π come say hi πβοΈ
You close the app fast, cheeks burning with how ridiculous you feel. Heβs a cam guy. Thousands watch him every week. Youβre just some random who stumbled into his orbit.
You spend the rest of the day telling yourself to block him. Delete the chat. Go back to normal lifeβspreadsheets, endless traffic, burnt office coffee. But you donβt unfollow him on Twitter. You just leave it. Like a door youβre not ready to slam shut.
Friday afternoon, 3:58 p.m., he finally breaks through.
Kurt: hey β¦ Β π₯Ί Kurt: didnβt wanna doubletext like a desperate loser but iβve been staring at our chat since that night Kurt: βweβll seeβ is officially haunting me LOL Kurt: sorry if thatβs pathetic :/
Youβre home now, kicking off your heels in the entryway, still in the wrinkled pencil skirt and blouse that smell faintly of toner and stale meetings. The message lands low and warm, like fingertips brushing the back of your neck. You change into soft shorts and a tank top, buy yourself time by staring into the fridge like it holds the answers, then reply anyway.
You: Hey You: Not pathetic
Kurt: FR ??! Β π³ Kurt: okay okay that just Kurt: made my whole day hehe Kurt: did a live last night actually π Kurt: peaked at like 1,180 viewers Kurt: some girl tipped big for a custom but i kept restarting bc my head was elsewhere π
You huff a quiet laugh into the empty kitchen. You saw the teaser post. He knows youβre still following even though you didnβt reply all day, didnβt engage, didnβt tip, didnβt do anything. Still here. Still watching from the sidelines.
The chat drifts for a long whileβeasy, almost normal.
You complain about the 405 traffic that made you twenty minutes late and the coworker who βforgetsβ to mute every single call. He sends a blurry photo of one of his dogs on the floor by his gaming chair, tongue lolling out like heβs judging the whole situation:
professional distraction,, he thinks the whole apartment is his throne !! π‘π‘
You reply laughing and a picture of your half-dead succulent on the windowsill:
Tired as fuck zzzz
He asks what kind of music youβve been replaying lately; you mention that one indie playlist thatβs been on loop. He sends back three voice notesβhis voice softer than in his videos, hesitant and stumbling over his words, a little raspy as he laughs at himself and admits he tried to film earlier but couldnβt focus on anything except your messages. You send a short one back, teasing him gently. He floods the chat with heart-eyes and:
your voice is literally perfect WTF iβm smiling like an idiot now LOL π₯²
Itβs comfortable. Too comfortable.
Saturday night, 9:42 p.m., youβre already in bed scrolling when he shifts the tone.
Kurt: can i like be honest for a sec Kurt: you donβt have to answer if itβs weird π₯Ί
You: Go ahead
Kurt: i keep wondering what you look like when youβre Β .. Kurt: alone ?? Kurt: like thinking about me Kurt: maybe like Kurt: touching yourself Kurt: thatβs creepy right Kurt: iβm SORRY ππ
You set the phone face-down on the nightstand. Walk to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, stare at your reflection in the mirror. This is insane. He comes on camera for strangers every week. Thousands watch, tip, beg for more. You barely know him. What if heβs recording this? What if tomorrow he posts a screenshot somewhere? What if you regret every single second? Your pulse is already racing, heat pooling low despite every warning light in your head. You come back to bed, hesitate a full minute, thumbs hovering.
You: Itβs not creepy You: I do think about you
Kurt: fuck Kurt: okay thats Kurt: wow Kurt: iβm getting hard just from you saying that Kurt: is that too much ??
You hesitate againβthumb frozen over the keyboard. Part of you wants to type βyes, too much, goodnight.β The other part is already soaked, thighs pressing together under the covers, imagining him right now in that dim room.
You: No You: Show me
The photo loads almost instantly. Dim bedroom light, hoodie shoved up to his chest. Slim, soft torsoβno cut abs, just pale skin with a faint happy trail of dark hair trailing down from his navel. Scattered moles dot his chest and stomach like tiny perfect beauty marks, the kind that look almost deliberate, warm and human under the lamp glow. Boxers pushed low, hand wrapped tight around a thick, flushed cock curving upwardβtip glistening and dripping pre-cum. Heβs clearly been stroking for a while; the head is dark, slick, flushed deep.
Kurt: fuck Kurt: thats what you did to me Kurt: just from you saying you think about me β¦ Kurt: iβm shaking rn Kurt: your turn?? Kurt: pls? Kurt: only if you want Kurt: no pressure I SWEAR π₯Ί
You stare at the photo longer than you should. Heat floods your belly, insistent and undeniable. Your clit throbs even before you touch. You stand, tug your shorts and panties down just enoughβdark wet spot already soaking through the fabric, clinging to your swollen folds, a visible damp patch spreading. No face. Just the evidence. Send.
Kurt: OH MY GOD Kurt: youβre fucking soaked Kurt: that wet spot Kurt: shit Kurt: i can see how puffy your lips are through the fabric Kurt: iβm literally shaking harder now
You sit on the edge of the bed, heart hammering. Your hand slips between your legs over the fabric, slow hesitant circles over your clit through the cotton. Youβre dripping already, slick seeping through. The hesitation is still thereβloud, screamingβbut your body doesnβt care.
You: Tell me what you would do if you were here with me right now
His typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again. Then the messages start flooding in, frantic and explicit.
Kurt: fuuuckk Kurt: ookay Kurt: my hand is shaking so bad i can barely type Kurt: iβd walk in and kiss your neck first Kurt: then drop to my knees Kurt: spread your thighs wide Kurt: drag my tongue over your panties first Kurt: just to taste how soaked you are for me Kurt: pull them aside Kurt: bury my face Kurt: lick slow circles around your clit suck it into my mouth Kurt: push two fingers inside you, curl them while i keep eating you out Kurt: make you come on my tongue Kurt: iβve never done this irl so iβd probably be messy AF Kurt: but iβd try so fucking hard to make you feel good
You: You wouldnβt be messy You: Keep going
You push your panties aside completely nowβtwo fingers sliding deep into your dripping cunt, curling, pumping slow while your thumb grinds tight circles on your swollen clit. Breath coming faster.
Kurt: o ok Kurt: okay Kurt: then iβd stand up Kurt: rub my cock against your clit Kurt: teasing Kurt: push in slow inch by inch watching your lips stretch around me Kurt: yk iβm a virgin LOL Kurt: i know thatβs kinda pathetic, no one ever wanted me irl Kurt: but you do, right?
You: Yes
Kurt: fuck Kurt: okay Kurt: iβd go slow at first Kurt: then once iβm all the way inside iβd lose it Kurt: fuck you deep and messy and hard Kurt: probably come embarrassingly fast the first time Kurt: but iβd stay hard for you, keep going Kurt: i want to be good for you Kurt: fill you up Kurt: watch it drip down your thighs Kurt: breed you so deep you feel me for hours Kurt: idk why that part gets me so fucking hard
The confession hits like gasoline on fire. You add a third finger, stretching yourself, pumping faster, thumb frantic on your clit. The room feels too hot, too small.
You: Iβm so close already
Kurt: fuck yes Kurt: me too Kurt: stroking faster now Kurt: picturing your pussy clenching around my fingers Kurt: or my tongue Kurt: or my cock Kurt: iβm Kurt: shit
You shatter hardβback arching off the mattress, thighs trembling violently, a choked βKurtββ breaking into the dark room before you clamp your hand over your mouth. Slick gushes over your fingers, soaking your hand and the sheets beneath you.
His messages flood in seconds later, messy and frantic.
Kurt: coming Kurt: fuck Kurt: so much
A photo loads; thick ropes of cum streaked across his soft stomach, caught in the happy trail and those scattered perfect moles like little stars, pooling in the dip of his navel. His cock still twitching in his loose grip, last bead dripping from the slit. Chest flushed.
Kurt: β¦ holy shit Kurt: iβm actually shaking π Kurt: came so hard i think i blacked out for a second LOL Kurt: that was insane Β .. Kurt: but idk i donβt wanna keep doing this over text Kurt: weβre both in LA right?? Kurt: i could drive over tomorrow night after you get off work Kurt: protection or not i donβt care ATP π Kurt: i just need to feel you for real Kurt: no recording stuff ofc !! Kurt: iβll be SO good i swear Kurt: PLEASE say yes π₯Ί
You lie there panting, thighs sticky and trembling, heart hammering against your ribs. Every rational thought screams noβthis is a stranger, a cam guy with thousands of fans, what if heβs not who he seems, what if itβs awkward or worse, what if you regret opening this door you canβt close? But your body is still pulsing, clenching around nothing, and the image of him showing up at your doorβnervous, inexperienced, desperate and realβmakes you clench again.
You stare at the ceiling for a long minute, phone heavy in your hand. Then your thumbs move before the doubt can win.
You: Yes You: Tomorrow night. My place. Around 11. You: Iβll send you the address You: Donβt overthink it. Just show up.
Kurt: fuck Kurt: yes Kurt: iβll be there Kurt: thank you thank you thank you !!!!!!! π Kurt: i canβt believe this is actually happening
You set the phone down in the dark, city lights flickering through the blinds outside. Tomorrow. No more screens. Just himβawkward, needy, painfully real despite everything.
And no matter how many times you tell yourself this is crazy, youβre already counting the hours.
The apartment feels too quiet in the hour before 11:00 p.m.
Youβve spent the day channeling anxiety into motion: scrubbing counters that were already spotless, remaking the bed with fresh sheets that still carry the sharp, clean bite of detergent. In front of the mirror you stood far too long, holding up jeans, then a tighter top, then leggingsβeach option feeling wrong in its own particular way: too deliberate, too casual, too obvious, not obvious enough. In the end you pulled the black cotton sundress from the back of the closet. Sleeveless. Thin straps. Hem skimming just above mid-thigh. Loose enough to pretend this was casual, light enough that the fabric would slide up easily if things went that way. Nothing desperate. Nothing calculated. You were lying to yourself the whole time.
You almost texted him to cancel. Draft after draft: actually maybe not tonight, headache, long day. Every time your thumb hovered over send, you remembered last nightβhis cracked βthank youβ like youβd handed him something fragile and rare; the photos he sent; the way youβd come whispering his name into an empty room like a secret you werenβt supposed to keep.
You didnβt cancel.
At 11:01 p.m. three soft knocksβcareful, almost scared, like heβs afraid of waking someone who isnβt even asleep.
Through the peephole: Kurt, green hoodie zipped to his chin, hair falling messily into his eyes, shifting from foot to foot. A small paper bag dangles from his white-knuckled grip.
You open the door.
And there he is.
The guy you found by pure accident on Twitterβ@KurtsWorld69, the one with the ridiculous username. Real. Not a clip. Not a thumbnail you tapped out of curiosity. Him.
Your stomach flips, a quick, dizzy rush of disbelief. A soft, almost amused laugh slips outβmore exhale than anything. βCan't believe this is happening.β You mouthed.
He freezes. Eyes widen behind the fringe. Mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
βHeyβ¦β The word cracks. He clears his throat, tries again softer, grin too big. βHi. Fuck. You lookβ¦ insanely good. Yeah. Hi. Sorry, Iβm already short-circuiting.β
You step aside. βCome in before the neighbors think Iβm harboring a fugitive.β
He huffs a small, relieved laughβreal this timeβand slips inside. Door clicks shut. Outdoor light dies. Just the warm amber glow from the living-room lamp now, soft and forgiving, turning the edges of everything golden.
He stops two steps inside, clutching the bag like armor. Eyes flick everywhere: couch, windows, the faint mix of your perfume and yesterdayβs takeout. He looks ready to bolt, then squares his shoulders, summoning the same bright energy he uses on camera.
βBroughtβ¦ stuff,β he says, lifting the bag a fraction. βCondomsβobviously. Waters. And gummy bears. I panicked at the store trying to guess what youβd actually want afterβ¦ yβknow. Or during. Fuck, saying it out loud sounds so dumb. Sorry. I ramble when Iβm nervous. Like right now. Hi again.β
You lean back against the door, arms loosely crossed. βYou okay?β
He nods too quickly. βYeah. Totally.β He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. βOkay, maybe freaking out a little. In a good way. Thousands watch me jerk off on stream every week, but this? This is you. In your apartment. With gummy bears. Iβmβ¦ stupid happy Iβm here.β He swallows, voice dropping lower. βAlsoβ¦ been hard since I left my place. Like, painfully. Had to sit in the car reciting license plates just to calm down enough to walk up here.β
You study him. Taller than the camera angles ever made him look, but still slimβlean shoulders, soft middle you already know by heart. His handsβsurprisingly largeβflex nervously at his sides. The nervous buzz rolling off him is electric, but underneath it that familiar extroverted spark flickers.
You push off the door and close the distance slowly. He doesnβt step back. Just watches, dark eyes tracking every step.
When youβre close enough to catch the faint woodsy bite of his cheap cologne, you reach up and ease his zipper down a few inches. His breath hitches.
You can feel it alreadyβthe unmistakable hard line of him pressed against your thigh through the denim, straining, insistent. Youβve known since the moment he stepped inside; the way heβs been shifting, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his eyes keep darting down to your mouth and then away like heβs trying not to stare. Heβs not subtle. Heβs never been subtle.
βSo... you've been hard since you left your place, am I right?β you say, voice low, teasing. Inside, doubt spins quietly: stranger, bad idea, what if he ghosts, what if tomorrow feels empty? Your body ignores all of it, already warm and tightening, pulse heavy between your legs.
His eyes snap to yours, wide and glassy. A choked sound escapes himβhalf laugh, half whimper. βYeah,β he breathes, voice wrecked already. βFuck yeah. Since I locked my door. Since I got in the car. Kept having to adjust myself like some desperate teenager. Iβmβ¦ sorry? I meanβnot sorry. Justβyeah. You do that to me.β
He swallows hard, Adamβs apple jumping, cheeks burning brighter under the lamp glow.
You let your hand linger a moment longer, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, the faint twitch when your fingers curl just slightly. Then you slide both palms under his hoodie instead, pressing flat against the warm, trembling skin of his stomach.
βGood,β you say quietly, thumb brushing the soft line of hair trailing down from his navel. βI like knowing.β
His whole body shudders at the words. Eyes flutter half-closed.
You kiss him firstβslow, careful, testing.
He melts into it with a helpless little noise, kissing back messy and hungry at firstβtoo eager, a little sloppyβthen softer, like heβs terrified of ruining it. His big hands find your waist, fingers curling, pulling you flush until thereβs no space left between you, until you can feel every inch of how badly heβs been aching for this.
Foreheads resting together. Breathing ragged.
βBedroom?β you ask.
He nods fast. βYeah. Lead the way.β
You turn. He followsβstumbles once on the edge of the rug in the hall, catches himself with a quiet βshitββ and you both huff soft laughs under your breath like teenagers sneaking around.
Bedroom door open. Lamp low. Gold light pooling across the sheets. You push him gently until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He drops to sit, knees spread, looking up at you with those huge honey eyesβpupils blown, lips parted, cheeks blotchy red.
βCan I see you?β Voice cracks on the last word. βThe dressβ¦ please? No pressure. I justβ¦ youβre so beautiful.β
Doubt flickersβquick and brightβbut you step back and pull the black dress over your head in one smooth motion. No bra. Just the black cotton panties already clinging damp between your thighs. His gaze drops, pupils blowing wide.
βFuckβ¦β Almost reverent. βYouβreβ¦ holy shit. Perfect. Actually perfect. Can I touch? Please?β
You nod.
His hands come upβshaking at firstβcup your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over nipples that pebble instantly. He exhales like heβs been punched. βSo softβ¦ so warmβ¦ fuck, your skinβ¦β
You climb into his lap, straddle him, roll down once against the bulge in his jeans. He groans deep, head tipping back, hands flying to your hips.
βOff,β you murmur, tugging his hoodie.
He yanks it over his head in one frantic motionβhair staticky, wild. Bare chest now: lean but soft in the middle, moles like stars, happy trail dark and inviting. You drag your nails lightly down his sternum; he shivers hard, goosebumps rising.
You tug at his belt loops. βJeans.β
He fumblesβbuttons, zipper, shoves denim and boxers down in a rush. Cock springs freeβheavy, flushed dark, tip slick and leaking steadily. Thicker than the pics. Harder.
Heβs trembling just from being exposed. βShitβ¦ look how hard I am. All for you. Been like this since I left home.β
You shimmy out of your panties. He stares, chest rising and falling fast.
You wrap your hand around himβfirm, slow stroke. He jerks up into your grip with a choked βoh fuckβyour handβso much better than mineββ
You chuckle softly. βFirst time anyoneβs touched you like this, huh?β
He nods frantically. βYeah. Neverβ¦ fuck. Feelsβ¦ unreal.β
You guide him to your entrance, sink down slow. The stretch is exquisiteβthick, hot, filling you inch by inch until heβs seated fully inside. Your inner walls flutter around him instinctively, adjusting to the fullness, the heat radiating from him. Heβs trembling beneath you, every muscle locked tight.
βBreathe,β you whisper.
He tries. A shaky laugh escapes. βIf you move Iβm gonna lose it so fast. Swear. You feel too good.β
You start smallβtiny rolls of your hips, grinding in slow circles so your clit drags against the coarse hair at his base. Pleasure sparks low in your belly with every motion, building in lazy waves. He groans low, hands gripping your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks.
βYeahβ¦ fuck, roll like that. Just like that. Donβt stop. Feels perfect.β
You lift and drop onceβharder this time. The sudden depth makes you gasp, a sharp bloom of sensation spreading through your core. He bucks up on instinct, chasing the feeling, and the friction sends another jolt straight to your clit.
From there itβs rhythm: steady at first, then faster, grinding down so every stroke rubs you exactly right. His hands roamβwaist, hips, breastsβholding on like you might vanish. He doesnβt talk much nowβjust short, desperate sounds: βfuck,β βso good,β swallowed moans when you clench around him deliberately, testing how it makes him twitch inside you.
βSo good,β he pants. βBetter than anything. FuckβIβmββ He stills you suddenly, hands gentle on your hips. Panting against your throat. βWaitβwant you to come first. Can I taste you? Please? Need to make you feel good. Really need it.β
You nod, pulse racing.
He flips you carefullyβsettles between your thighs, spreads you open slow, reverent. βSo prettyβ¦ so wetβ¦ all for me? Fuck, thatβs hot. Tell me if I mess up, okay?β
Broad lick up your folds. The first contact is electricβwarm, wet tongue dragging slow and deliberate. Then focusedβsoft sucks, tongue circling your clit in tight, patient loops. You thread fingers through his hair; he moans into you, the vibration traveling straight through your core. Pleasure coils tighter, building in slow, insistent pulses.
βLike that? Tell meβ¦ fuck, you taste so sweetβ¦ driving me crazyβ¦β
βCircles,β you gasp. βSlower.β
He obeys instantly. βLike this? Godβtell me if itβs goodβ¦ wanna be perfect for you.β Two fingers slide inβcurl slow, searching, pressing against that sensitive spot inside until your hips lift off the mattress. βTightβ¦ wetβ¦ fuck, am I okay? Please tell me.β
βGood,β you breathe, voice shaky. The combination is overwhelming: his tongue flicking steady, fingers stroking in perfect rhythm, the soft, needy sounds he makes against your skin. Heat surges, coiling low and tight until it snapsβyour thighs clamp around his head, back arching, his name spilling out in a broken cry as waves crash through you, sharp and consuming.
He pulls back slow, chin glistening, grinning wide and dazed. βYou okay? Fuckβ¦ you came so hard. Felt it. So hot.β
βYeah,β you pant, chest heaving. βReally good.β
He crawls up, kisses you deepβlets you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and intimate. βInside again? Please? Need to feel you. Need it bad.β
You pull him close. He settles on top of you, weight comforting, grounding. He pushes in carefully, groaning the whole way down. βSo tight. Warm. Perfect.β
He bottoms out and stays still, trembling, forehead pressed to yours. βCan I move? Please?β
You nod.
Slow thrusts firstβdeep, careful, savoring every slide. Words spill between breaths: βFeels so goodβ¦ love how you squeezeβ¦ tightβ¦ perfectβ¦ donβt stopβ¦ gonna lose itβ¦ so fucking goodβ¦β
You whisper βGood boyβ once.
He shudders hard. βFuckβsay it again? Please? Makes meβ¦ yeah.β
βYouβre such a good boy, Kurtβ¦β The words come between soft whines as he hits deeper, the praise making him thrust harder, more desperate.
Pace builds. Then he snapsβharder, deeper, hips snapping with raw need. βGonna come,β he rasps. βInsideβcan Iβplease? Wanna fill youβ¦ need toβ¦ please say yes.β
βYes,β you breathe. βPill.β
He buries himself deepβcomes with a long broken moan, hot pulses flooding inside you. The sensation tips you againβclenching hard around him, gasping as another orgasm ripples through, softer this time but no less intense, your body milking every last tremor from him.
You collapse togetherβsweaty, shaking, hearts slamming against each other.
He stays inside a minute longer, kissing your shoulder, collarboneβsoft, open-mouthed. βYou okay? Was Iβ¦ too much? Too fast? I talk too much, I knowββ
You lace fingers with his. βYou were perfect.β
He exhales, shaky relief. βReally?β
βReally.β
You feel him smile against your skin. He pulls out gentle, grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleans you bothβcareful, tender, almost worshipful.
Climbs back under the covers, curls around youβface in your neck, arm across your waist, leg slung over yours.
You hum, tracing lazy patterns on his back. His breathing evens out slowly. You card fingers through his damp hair. βStay tonight. Sleep here.β
He stills. Lifts head just enoughβeyes searching, vulnerable. βYou sure? Likeβ¦ really sure?β
βYeah. Want you to.β
Something soft and wrecked flickers across his face. βThank youβ¦ Fuckβ¦ thank you. For this.β
Quiet stretchesβwarm, easy. His breathing slows, body heavy against yours.
Then, sleepy murmur: βHeyβ¦ random thing.β Thumb brushes your hip under the blanket. βWhat ifβ¦ sometimeβ¦ we recorded something? Just us. Youβd be totally anonymousβno face, no voice, nothing. Could be hot. Fun. No pressure. Justβ¦ putting it out there.β
You stare at the ceiling a beat. His heart thumps steady against your side.
βWeβll see,β you say softly.
He laughs quiet against your throatβhappy, sleepy. βThere it is again. βWeβll see.β Those are my favorite words nowβ¦ for real!β
You turn your head, meet his eyes. βMaybe,β you murmur. βWeβll see.β
He chucklesβlow, warmβpulls you closer. βThatβs enough for me. For now. But, seriously, likeβ¦ You would totally get so much clout! I mean, youβre so pretty and Iβm sure my followers would love toβ¦ know you? I mean, like your sexy-anonymous-internet sona, or whatever.. so thereβs thisββ
He starts rambling again, words tumbling out in that familiar, nervous rush. You simply listen, letting the sound wash over you without paying close attention. Something in your chest feels warm, at ease, comfortableβquietly surprised by how right it all feels in this moment.
The lamp glows. City hums outside.
Night stretchesβwarm, quiet, open-ended.
author's note: I hope you enjoyed my fic ! If so, reblog, comment or share please π«Άπ» it motivates me to write more !
