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teddypines · 3 months ago

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The pretty things in life

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Summary: Y/N needing comfort after a long day and Logan being a carrying husband. Making sure his wife got all the love she deserves after a tough day.

Lost of fluff and use of multiple nicknames (Bub, kitty, Kitten).

Husband!Logan x Wife!Reader. Reader is a snow leopard mutant/hybrid in this, other feline creatures are possible too.

Note: happy New year everyone!! (This was totally not posted on accident). The little poem at the end is from the book 'Pillow Thoughts' by Courtney Peppernell. Words: 2097

Pictures and art from Pinterest, credits to the artist. I just put it together.

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Today wasn’t the greatest day, everything just seemed to go wrong. The children were louder than other days, the noise being a bit too much for Y/N’s sensitive ears, but she was going to finish her lessons. Already looking forward to cuddles in the nest with Logan after dinner. Needing her hubby for comfort, wanting to be wrapped in his arms and sent. But that sadly had to wait for a bit, only two more lessons to give and then she would be done.

“Next slice, please, Kurt.” Y/N said before Kurt tapped the laptop for the next slide of the presentation. “And here we see a painting of heterochromia. See how the artist put detail into every little coloured dot on the eyes.” Y/N explained as she looked at Kurt, giving him a little sign to put on the next slide. Until one of the teen’s put up their hand. “But miss what does this have to do with art?”

“Good question, Alice, we are going to try and paint something as close to it's real life counterpart. Get it to look as realistic as you can, put in details that someone might not see at first. You can try to use different perspectives, see it in a different light and color. Just put on canvas what you see as best as you can.” Y/N explained as she showed the children a piece of art she did showing the beauty of something small yet so bright in color because of the lighting, in this case Beast's blue fur. “And if this doesn’t work for you, then do something else, be creative but keep the overall details in mind, it doesn’t even have to be big. Just paint or draw what you see.”

With this the children went to work on their art as Y/N left the classroom to get a cup of tea and a few moments alone. Of course giving a few students the job to keep the others in check. Not wanting to come back to a destroyed classroom.

Standing in the kitchen as the kettle boiled, thinking about how she could make it to the end of the day without feeling too overwhelmed. Unconsciously rubbing the ears on top of her head. Her tail moved around nervously in a way to try and calm herself down. She was so deep in though she didn’t even notice Logan slipping his arms around her waist.

“What ya thinking about, bub?” He asked, making Y/N jump out of her thoughts. “Just what I have to do to survive the rest of the day.” She answered while leaning back against Logan, her tail going around Logan's leg to ground herself against him. “Awh, is my kitty a little overwhelmed and overstimulated?” Logan asked with a small smirk on his face. Which made Y/N grumble a bit in answer, knowing the tone in her husband's voice all too well. She reached up to grab her teacup from the cupboard.

“How about I join you for your lessons, that’s your last lesson of the day, right?” Logan suggested after kissing Y/N’s shoulder. Wanting her to know he was there for her, even in her overstimulated situation.“No, have one more after this one, but you don’t have to join me, you have your own classes.” She answered. Putting her tea bag into her cup, putting in the boiled water right after. “I finished for the day.”

“Really? Owh, yeah, it’s wednesday.” Y/N realised as Logan took her mug, starting to lead Y/N back to her class, his hand on her lower back, just above her tail. Just a little bit of comfort he could offer her. “Come on love, after classes have ended I'll cuddle with you.” Logan promised with a smile on his face. “In the nest?” Y/N asked, giving Logan big kitten eyes. “Yes, in the nest, bub.”

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Logan stayed by Y/N’s side as she helped the children with their art and taught the next class. He didn’t say a single word, he just looked grumpy with his arms folded over his chest and his feet on the desk. Some of the children did see a small glimpse of a smile on Logan’s face when Y/N looked back at him while she explained something about inspiration and making art about the things and/or people you love. Logan’s gaze made a few of the children giggle, and some of the girls just wished someone would look at them like how Logan looks at Y/N. He just really loves his wife and it showed.

If Logan could make art like his wife, he would make art about her, show her how he sees her every day, how beautiful she really is. Bring out her best features, her glowing eyes, her hair and those fluffy ears. That idiot tail that always found a place around his leg or her legs and the thighs he loved to nap on when he allowed himself. Sadly no one would ever see the way Logan sees Y/N since he sucks at art and photography doesn’t do her justice.

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After classes had finally ended for the day and the kids had left the classroom, Y/N sat down in Logan’s lap and let out a sigh. “Good job, bub, you’re done for the day.” Logan whispered into Y/N’s ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Gently holding onto her as she lay her head on his shoulder. “Yeah… Now I want to go to the nest and cuddle, I really need cuddles right now.” Y/N responded as she buried her nose into Logan’s shirt, his scent calming her down a little. “And I could really use some dinner and a good drink, right about now.” She added. “Then let’s get you some dinner first, get you in the shower after and then we can cuddle in the nest.” Logan answered, taking charge. He knew exactly what Y/N needed when she was tired, so he was going to take care of her.

Logan wrapped Y/N’s arms around his neck and her legs around his waist before standing up from the desk chair. Holding her close to him, as he carried her. “What do you want for dinner?” He asked after getting out of the classroom and into the hallway. “Pasta, the good one.” Y/N answered. Logan grumbled a bit as Y/N answered, he knew which pasta she wanted. The only problem with this was that he didn’t make the pasta the way Storm made it. So he only had one choice, hope that Storm was making dinner tonight and that it was the pasta Y/N wanted and that she wouldn't get overwhelmed even more if it wasn’t the pasta she wanted. Y/N wouldn’t but Logan just wanted his wife to have the pasta she wanted.

As Logan carried Y/N to the kitchen, some of the children ran past the two. Also going to the kitchen for dinner. Bickering with each other about what they thought they were going to get for dinner.

When Logan walked into the kitchen with Y/N he saw that it was Jean and Scott by the stove. Logan groaned a little when he found out it wasn’t Storm who made dinner. “What are you two making?” Y/N asked Jean as she looked over Logan’s shoulder, not really minding that it wasn’t Storm making dinner. "Lasagne." Scott answered, putting more sauce in the dish. Logan sighed in relief, lasagne was pasta too, that was good.

“Yeah, and we have garlic bread on the side and some salad if you want to be healthy.” Jean continued Scott's answer. “It will be ready in about forty minutes.” She added, already have read Y/N's thoughts about how long it was going to take until it was done. Y/N groaned but accepted It would take a little more time. “Logan? Can we shower now instead of after dinner? We have the time.” Y/N asked Logan, actually liking that they had time to shower now instead of after dinner. Logan nodded his head and took Y/N to their room after telling Jean and Scott they would be back for dinner.

Some of the children in the kitchen grumbled that they had to wait almost an hour before they could have dinner, not liking that dinner was later than usual. Not really caring that some of the adults had a mission or other adult tasks to do which made them start on dinner a little later.

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Once in their bathroom Logan sat Y/N on the counter next to the sink. “Need me to shower with you, love?” Logan asked between gentle kisses on Y/N”s head. “Yes, I would like that, please.” She answered to which Logan nodded. “Alright, let me get some fresh towels and then I'll help you undress.” Logan said as he whipped underneath Y/N’s eye, brushing away some sleep. He stepped away from her and started to grab enough towels. Y/N on the other hand wasn’t really patient and got off the counter, already undressing herself and putting her clothes in the laundry. She made her way to the shower and turned it on, waiting for the water to become the right temperature.

“Hey, I was going to do that for you kitten.” Logan laughed once he saw his wife already undressed and underneath the warm water of the shower. He placed the towels on the heater next to the shower before undressing himself. “Just wanted to be in the shower already.” Y/N explained as she appreciated the way Logan was undressing. Logan rolled his eyes playfully. “Such an inpatient and naughty kitten.”

Y/N gave Logan a tired smile as he got into the shower with her. Placing her right hand onto his chest. holding back the desire to just press her face into his pec’s. Logan placed his own hand over Y/N’s, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He looked down at Y/N, seeing just how tired she really was right now and how much the shower was helping her relax. Not a single word needed to be said between them. They just showered in the comfort of each other, Logan helping Y/N was her hair, ears and tail before she helped him wash his. After doing the whole shower routine Logan just held onto Y/N for a few minutes, just letting her know he was here for her, letting her lean on him. Telling her he loved her and other sweet nothings.

Getting out of the shower was difficult, but it happened because tummies started to rumble. Logan helped Y/N dry off and got her into some comfy clothes, his shirt and her favorite comfy pants. He dried her hair and fur, brushing it after. He got some comfy clothes for himself before looking at his watch. “Dinner will be ready soon, bub.” He announced. “Okiedokie.” Y/N answered as she reached out for Logan’s arm. Holding onto him as he led the way back to the kitchen. Logan was secretly liking how clingy Y/N was right now, she usually is when tired, but now she was just a little extra clingy and he loved it.

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Dinner was nice, a bit loud because of the inpatient and hungry kids, but the lasagna was amazing so that fixed everything for Y/N. They stayed a little longer at the dinner table for ice cream and talked about everything and nothing. Well it was mostly Logan and Y/N listening to the other, but they didn’t mind, it was nice to listen every once in a while. After dinner Logan carried Y/N back to their room. Gently laying her down on their nest, laying down next to her after she was settled. Logan made sure Y/N was tucked against him, holding a plushie he gave her for their first anniversary. Warm covers and blankets over the two of them before he kissed her head. “Sweet dreams, Love.” He whispered before watching her fall asleep. She was clearly too tired to stay awake to long for the cuddles she wanted.

Logan admired Y/N for a few minutes, looking at her fluffy ears and her cheeks. The way the bedside lamp made her face glow. She really was the prettiest thing he had ever sat his eyes on. “Of all the maps in the world, the only one I will follow is the map to your heart.” Logan whispered against Y/N’s forehead before leaving a kiss. He turned off the lamp and closed his eyes. Happily falling asleep in their nest, letting the comfort and warmth take over.

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gothicrazor · 7 months ago

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Anything for you [P1]

Kurt Wagner x Fem!Reader || Rating: PG(?) || WC: 1.4k

Inspiration: Foreigner's God - Hoizer

Content Warning: afab reader, unrequited love (both reader + Kurt), Kurt pining

Authors Note: First time writing for X-Men! Please be kind to me I'm trying pookies, hopefully this turns out okay or I might actually weep! I dunno if anyone would want a part two of this, just lemme know ig??? Also let it be known I used deepL for the few things he said in German... Please don't hate me 😔

Who knew the kiss on the back of a gloved hand could really tank someone's mood as quickly as anything else at a typical Saturday night dinner. Watching the gleam drain from your eyes across the table was something he's sadly used to now. Following your eyes to the end of the table to what he knew you were staring at.

His dear sister and one of his closest friends. Rogue and Gambit. The strongest "couple" next to their leader and his wife. A force strong and immovable. Rogue, too scared to stray. And Gambit, too loyal to look anywhere but her eyes half the time.

And it kills you. Anyone who knows you can see your heart break every time they connect.

Thankfully, no one seems to be paying attention to you, no one but the blue mutant across the table from you. He finds it hard to keep his eyes anywhere but on you. Always has since you met all those years ago. He's seen you at your best, the fierceness burning behind your eyes during the heat of battle. And at your worse... Grieving the loss of something you could never have in the first place.

Your chair screeches, moving across the hardwood of the dining room harder than you intended. Standing up too fast, everyone stared in surprise.

"I'm gonna turn in early." Scott's brow rose behind ruby quartz shades as he stood up.

"Everything okay?" You smile, trying to keep up the facade, not wanting to openly weep in front of the team you call family.

"Just a little tired from training." You grab the edge of your half-eaten plate of dinner before you're met with the rough hand of Logan next to you on your wrist.

"Leave it kid, go get some shut eye." His face almost looks slightly worried, as you don't even put up an argument as usual. Just nodding, you push your chair in and hurry out of the dining room.

Kurt watches you leave, tilting his head to watch you rush up the foyer stairs as chatter picks back up at the table.

"Do you think she's sick?" His ears perk up to the concerned whisper of Jean's voice, looking at Scott as he sat back down at the head of the table.

"It's not unlike her to keep quiet when she's not feeling the best."

"She's barely been eating more than half her food in the past week Scott, I'm starting to get worried. She hasn't been like this since the Professor died." Kurt's head turns, chiming in with his usual soft tone.

"I'll check on her after dinner." Jean and Scott both looked at him. Jean smiling softly as she squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you, Kurt. She'd probably talk to you before any of us." He nods, his dark hair bouncing lightly before turning his attention back to dinner.

Walking down the hall, he stops at your door, glancing at your nameplate before raising his fist to knock. Freezing for a moment, knowing you'd expect him to come upstairs anytime after you left. Why should he bother to knock at this point?

But Kurt is quite literally a creature of habit. So he does.

Two soft wraps hit the door before grabbing the knob, edging the flat wood open to peek inside. Your room is still dimly lite, only the moon from your window cast over the person-sized lump under the covers of your bed. A soft mutter of your name leaves his lips, yellow eyes glowing as he looks down at the bed.

"Can I come in?" A whimpered 'yes' is all he gets in return, stepping inside with the subtle click of the door closing behind him. The familiar creak of the bed fills the room as he sits on the edge, tail curling over your legs covered by blankets. Hand meeting your side under the covers, eyes falling to their usual worried state, like every time he's comforted you this way before.

Rubbing gently over your lower back, he doesn't say a word, just feeling the slight tremble of your body hidden away from his line of sight. You sniff, pulling the blanket from over your head to look at him, eyes bloodshot and miserable looking. Something he's seen too many times before but still breaks his heart seeing you like this.

"Can you lie with me, please?"

"Anything for you, mein Schatz." He gets up, walking around the bed, pulling the covers back as he climbs in next to you. Fixing them back in place, you assume your natural spot of your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulder. The gentle rub of his hand down your bicep in a soothing gesture.

"Are you okay?" His voice barely raised above a whisper, his cheek settling onto the top of your head. You take in a sharp bit shaky breath trying to calm yourself.

"It's getting harder and harder to be around them... I don't..." You choke up for a second, breathing out a soft whimper.

"I don't know... How much longer can I stand to see them together... It's so unfair of me to feel this way because he'll never love me... Not like Anna, but I just can't... Stop it. I just - I feel terrible for so many reasons." Kurt hugs you tighter, knowing that feeling all too well. Unrequited affections for someone who'll never see you as anything more than a good friend. It almost hurts him knowing you're feeling how he feels constantly.

"I know, I wish I could take the pain away from you." You shudder, sniffling against his chest. Tears welling up in your eyes as you hold onto him like a lifeline, trying to ground yourself in desperation. Squeezing your eyes shut, the tears slipped, soaking the front of his suit.

"I feel so stupid." You whine, starting to hiccup against him, tears sliding past your lashes in groves. Kurt shushes you, moving his hand to your back to cradle you closer. Sharp claws raking over the back of your uniform, gentle touch as he always has with you. His hand moves up, thumb rubbing over your cheek and turning up your chin to look at him.

"You are not stupid, meine Liebe. It's okay to feel this way. The heart wants what it wants. Unforgiving or not, you can't help that."

"Why does it have to be him of all people?" His lips turned to a frown, seeing the hurt behind your eyes. Still wiping your eyes with his thumb, he just shakes his head.

"I wish I could give you the answers. Remy is... A kind man who deeply cares for those he loves. I can see the appeal. But you'll be okay. Eventually, I'm sure of it. You're very strong after all." You just blink, breath quivering as you start to calm down a bit.

"I'm strong..." You mutter under your breath, making him smile slightly before your head goes back to him. Finding his shoulder to lean on, you take in a deep breath, shutting your eyes as you exhale and repeating the words like a prayer.

"Ja, the strongest I know."

"Thank you, Kurt, I don't know what I'd do without you." You give a weak smile as you relax against him, feeling his head leaning against yours.

"And you'll never have to find out, that's a promise." You smile a little wider, a chuckle escaping your lips.

"Can you keep holding me for a little while longer?" He smiles against the top of your head, soaking in the shared warmth between the two of you.

"Of course." You sink into his body, putting your full weight against him. His grip tightened around you. Taking in a deep breath, his eyes wandered from your relaxed expression to the window. Watching the night sky as you slowly drift off in his arms.

Feeling you go slack in his grip, Kurt looks at how relaxed you are now. Thumb moving back over your delicate features like a feather. Something he's done too many times now. But you're so beautiful to him. He can't help but want to touch you. Lips pressing the crown on your head, lingering longer than necessary.

"Ich liebe dich..." His eyes shifted back down to your face, waiting for a reaction he never got. Good or bad. It's just another confession that's gone unheard dozens of times now. No matter how much he's said it.

Smiling at your sleeping expression, he moves down the bed. Shifting onto his side to hold you against his chest. His tail wraps around your waist as he keeps you close.

Cherishing the little moments, he gets to pretend he has your heart... No matter how much it hurts his heart.

♡Thanks for reading♡

#kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner x fem!reader #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler x fem!reader #x men x reader #🔷 kurt wagner #🔷 nightcrawler

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 5 months ago

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NOCTURNAL ANIMAL.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Kurt Wagner x Wife! Fem! Reader.

¿Request? Yes!

This is a NSFW Headcanon! (Pwp?)

warnings ⸺ mdni! (18+ ONLY),Dark themes, violence/death, blood, ¿OOC Kurt? Idk, nsfw, dubcon, religious references, established relationship, marriage, praise, scratching, AFAB! Reader, biting, explicit sex, dacryphilia, rough sex, creampie, crying, penetration, masturbation, oral reception (F+M! Receiving), hair pulling, tail kink, messy kissing.

synopsis ⸺ He was like a wild animal, marked by a fierce and primal need. Every kiss, every touch, every sigh from him was an act of worship and possession. In the eyes of God, his only sin was loving you too much, until his love became an uncontrollable fire that consumed him completely. In his desperation, he was capable of anything to have you, to make you his, to show that his devotion knew no bounds. And as he gave himself to you, the echo of his sin resonated in every corner of his being.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This is for @lieberhase. My apologies for the delay, this is the most overdue request I have. I’ve been overwhelmed with many things to do, and I couldn't dedicate the time it truly deserved. I’m sorry it turned out short; the last thing I want is to cause you any inconvenience. I really appreciate your patience and understanding, and I promise I will do my best to ensure this doesn't happen again. Thank you for your support, I truly value it ♡

Kurt was a two-faced demon, much like his parents. When you first started dating, some time after meeting at the institute, he played the part of your perfect prince, treating you like you were his deity. He loved marking you with kisses in the most visible places and often sought heated make-out sessions in front of anyone he deemed a rival. Kurt wanted to eliminate every suitor who dared enter your life—and he succeeded more than once! But it broke his heart to see you sad and distraught after hearing that yet another new friend had died under mysterious circumstances. So he resigned himself to simply pouring his jealous fervor into you instead, finding that preferable to seeing your friends strung up somewhere with bloody claw marks and sword-inflicted wounds that, indirectly, you had caused.

In the early days of your physical relationship, he was fixated on making you climax first. Often, he would start with his mouth, using his long tongue (his demonic heritage shining through) to worship your cunt on his face. He could stay like that for hours, wanting only to adore your small, tender flesh against his mouth. His deep moans reverberated against your slick, sensitive skin, mixing your juices with his hot saliva. His tail held you firmly in place, preventing you from squirming too much from the overstimulation. He couldn’t stop; the scent of your sweetness filling his nose and mouth with each roll of your hips, your desperation to climax—all of it was divine. To see you twist and tremble with abandon above him, lost in pleasure, was to glimpse paradise. He whispered praises in German, words slipping out in the language of his euphoria, too intoxicated to bother with English.

When you returned the favor, Kurt was, in truth, a little hesitant. Don’t get him wrong—he loved the way you did it. You were incredible, but the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks whenever his tip hit the back of your throat drove him absolutely wild. The air felt thick as you stroked him, his cock slick with your spit and his precum, his breath hitching every time you gazed up at him with those pretty, puppy-like eyes. Your tongue moved eagerly around him, and as you took him into the warmth of your mouth, he began to lose control. “I love you… oh... Liebling, you know you’re mine, right?... All... mine” he moaned, voice growing louder as he unraveled. And when he could take no more, he grabbed your hair and thrust into your mouth with abandon, calling out his love for you in German. At last, he would spill deeply down your throat, ensuring you swallowed every drop. “You’re so good, Schatz… so perfect.”

Sixty-nine was another favorite of his, a chaotic symphony of sensations as if fireworks were exploding within both your stomachs, a shared euphoria bordering on divinity itself.

Before marriage, you two only engaged in oral sex. Kurt wanted to preserve both your purity and his until the right time, refusing to penetrate you even when you begged for it. “I’m sorry, Engel... I love you, and I’d do anything for you, but it’s better if we wait, no matter how much it hurts...” he’d whisper, lying next to you, feeling each restraint chipping at his resolve. He stored away that primal need to take you, to lose himself in you like an animal in heat, all so the moment could be special for both of you, but especially for you.

Yet, when the time came and that fragile barrier shattered, he couldn’t stop himself. He captured you in a fierce embrace, pushing into you, his cock sinking deep and finding the sweetest, most tender part of you. The gentle Kurt you once knew vanished, replaced by a primal version of himself, ready to mark you, to fill you, to claim you. He growled, his hips moving with wild, relentless force, fucking you harder with each thrust. His cock pulsed inside you, his balls slapping against you as he drove deeper. Leaning in, he bit down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

He loved telling you how beautiful you looked, tear-streaked and drooling just for him. Your nails dug sensually into his back, making him blush and delirious, thrilled that you were marking him, in turn, your own way. “Meine Liebe… deine Muschi ist so eng…” he moaned in your ear, his tail teasing your clit or pressing into your other entrance, all while using his thick cock to reach those perfect spots inside you, watching with delight as you trembled beneath him. He savored the way your cunt clenched around him, fitting him so beautifully.

He moved you like his own personal doll, molding your insides to the shape of his cock on every surface he could find. Your cries and his groans echoed through the house as he bent you to his will. “Oh God, I’m going to fill you up… we’ll be a big family,” he muttered right before spilling his hot seed deep inside, painting your tender walls with his essence.

“Mmm... Yes… take my seed, Liebling... Let me fill you with my essence... let the world see you’re mine,” he purred, his fingers pressing his cum deeper inside you, ensuring you were utterly filled with him.

Even afterward, when you lay limp on the bed, he would take care of you, murmuring endless apologies for his roughness, kissing every mark he left, cradling you gently as he carried you to the bath to clean up. “Rest now, Engel… there’s still so much ahead... I won’t stop until you understand that no one else could ever make you feel like I do.”

A/N ─── Okay, so, this was way out of character. I know, I know, Kurt would definitely be kind and gentle during sex because, well, that's just who he is—he's all about that soft, caring energy, especially in intimate moments. But honestly, I feel like Yandere!Kurt would be soooo different. Like, in a completely different league.

If we’re talking about Yandere!Kurt, things would shift. His love would still be intense, but in a way that borders on obsessive. We all know how deeply Kurt feels about his loved ones, how protective he is of those he cares about, right? But Yandere!Kurt would take that to a whole other level. He wouldn’t just be gentle and thoughtful—he’d be possessive, maybe even a bit possessive to the point of being a little too protective.

I can totally see him being that way in a more intimate setting, especially if he’s completely devoted to someone. He’d be gentle at first, but there’s always that undercurrent of control and adoration in everything he does. He’d need to feel like you’re his, like you're totally and utterly his. Every touch would feel like a claim, a marking of his territory, but in the softest, most intimate way possible, you know?

It’s like he wouldn’t just want to please you—he’d want to possess you. In his mind, his love would be absolute, and he would do anything to make sure you never leave his side. The love he feels would be a mixture of devotion and this intense need to keep you close. So, yeah, Yandere!Kurt would be different. More... intense. More possessive. More desperate to make sure you never, ever doubt his devotion. It’s almost like his kindness would become overwhelming because he’d want to keep you, forever.

It would be the sweetest, most obsessive love, and honestly, I think that would be such a wild, yet compelling dynamic for him. Just imagine him loving you so much that he can’t let go, always ensuring you’re safe, always there, and yes, maybe even a little overboard, but that’s what makes it so unique.

But anyway, I hope you all liked this! If you want anything else, feel free to ask me anytime. I’m always up for requests!

Take a bath!!

#x reader #yan blog #fem reader #yandere #yandere x reader #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel xmen #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner #yandere marvel #afab reader #tw.yandere #tw.dubcon #yandere kurt wagner

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dominos-palast · 2 years ago

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Lessons on flirting

Fandom: XMen

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x fem!reader

Characters mentioned: Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Peter Maximoff

Used Pronouns: (she/her)

Warnings: none

Request: yes

Part: 1/3

A/N: I made an exception and did a fem!reader one since it was requested like that. I will eventually upload a gn!reader version

P.S.: I decided to split the request into 3 because I wanted to post something since it’s taking longer than promised :’)

Summary: Kurt has a crush on one of the best fighters in the institute, but doesn’t know how to approach the situation. Thank goodness that Peter and his friends are there to support him.

Word Count: 1k

“I did not get my ass whooped.” Scott walked between Jean and Kurt, trying to defend himself from Jean’s accusations.

“Of course not. How could you ever? We all know how strong the great Scott Summers is.” Scott would have felt flattered by such a response if it weren’t for the sarcasm behind her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep making fun of me. As if you had done it better,” he said eyeing the ice pack Jean pressed to her shoulder, only gaining a slight strong nudge on his bruised arm.

Kurt couldn’t help but snicker at their bickering. They had been on it since their last class. The topic had been self-defence. The catch: The use of powers was strictly prohibited. This type of class had become more frequent since the rumours of a new power suppressant circulating in the black market started. The professor wanted all students to be able to defend themselves, with and without powers.

“You sure can laugh,” Scott glanced at Kurt. “We aren’t allowed to use our powers, but you still can use your tail to fight.”

Kurt smiled proudly and swung his tail from side to side, mocking him even further.

“These classes are stupid. I have literal lasers for eyes. I can fry anyone even miles away from me. Why should I train in close combat if no one can get close to me anyway?” Scott let himself fall on the couch, resting his feet on the table in front of him. Jean already knew it was his frustration talking. They all had been lectured enough to understand why such classes were necessary.

Jean followed Scott’s lead and made herself comfortable beside him. Kurt leaned against the armrest of the couch.

“He indeed has an advantage, but I wasn’t expecting him to be that good.” She directed her eyes toward Kurt “You put up a pretty good fight against her, considering she is top of the class,” said Jean approvingly.

Kurt’s eyes suddenly lit up, and he turned toward them.

It was clear to him who she was talking about.

You hadn’t been in the institute for long but you managed to make a name for yourself right away. You hadn’t lost a spar in the self-defence class until now, making you one of the strongest fighters in the class.

“But how come she’s so strong? Does she have enhanced strength or something?” asked Scott raising an eyebrow.

“No. Her power is to transform drawings into solid objects,” Kurt responded.

Jean nodded and added, “I saw one of the spars she had with an older student. She pulled out a literal sword from the tattoo on her arm and beat his ass right in front of everyone. But do you know why she really is so strong?” Scott looked up at Jean’s questions with expectancy. “It’s because she is not a couch potato. Unlike you, Scott”

Scott threw a pillow at her, which she quickly stopped with her telekinetic powers.

The conversation went on with more complaints and remarks about the self-defence classes.

Kurt's mind drifted away, thinking of today’s class. More specifically the spar you had with him.

The first time he met you was in the self-defence class where he has been witness to your many wins. He has seen how graciously you can move and how powerful every single punch of yours is.

His admiration for you grew further and further from that day on. Not only because of your abilities but also because you remained humble and kind instead of letting your accomplishments get to your head. You were someone Kurt looked up to because you didn’t simply knock your opponent down. You gave hints and advice on what the correct stance is, how to throw a proper punch and so on. After every spar, you helped your opponent up and cheered them up like a football team’s coach would do. And you did exactly the same thing with Kurt after sparring with him.

He had lasted longer than the majority of the students you had gone against, but you still managed to make him eat dust. He lay on the ground as you approached to lend a hand. Kurt noticed your hand and was about to accept your help, but then hesitated. He was sure you would feel uncomfortable, considering Kurt’s unusual handshape. But to his surprise, you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto his feet. He felt his cheek burn when he noticed the short distance you had between each other, but you kept your grip on his hand. The words you said stuck to Kurt like glue: “That was amazing. Just as expected. We have to repeat this sometime soon”. That along with your beautiful, bright smile made his heart beat unusually fast.

“Earth to lover boy, are you listening?”

Kurt turned his head toward Scott and Jean. Both were staring at him with sneaky smiles on their faces.

“Entschuldigung?”, asked Kurt clearly confused.

Jean and Scott exchanged glances in amusement.

“You’ve been smiling like an idiot since we mentioned her”, Jean said raising her eyebrows.

Kurt felt his cheeks grow hotter. “Oh, I was thinking of- you know, class- I mean-”

“Dude, it’s so clear you have a crush on her. You drool every time she is near,” Scott said rolling his eyes.

“It’s not like-”

“You have a crush on her” Kurt yelped at the sudden presence behind him, teleporting onto the spot between Jean and Scott on the couch on reflex. “Like, totally obvious” Quicksilver took a long sip from his apple juice, only to look disgusted at it. “What’s the expiration date on this?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t realise.” Kurt looked worryingly at Peter. “Do you think she noticed? Oh no, what if I weirded her out?”

“Well, only one way to find out.”

Everyone stared at Peter expectantly as he sipped his juice with risen eyebrows.

------- Part 1/3 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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softfem-dom · 6 months ago

Text

mutant file ,, fem oc

name : dolores betelohim nicknames : lola , lolita , dolly , lola dear .

alias : heaven says short form : heaven , heaveny

day of birth : 15th april 19??

height : 5,4

category : mutant (level 4-5)

abbilities : angel morphing , siren song / voice ridden mind-manipulation , dermakinesis , telepathy (weak).

residence : xavier's school for gifted youngsters.

occupation : (apathetic)student

affliction : xmen (occasionally) (since 1998)

state : 𝔞l҉𝔦v҉𝔢?

story

🖇️ early life Dolores was born in a catholic household, under the watch of a caring mother and the hand of a strict yet loving father. As soon as she was old enough to understand the world her she was taught about the love of God, the merciful being above, taken to church every Sunday and with a rosary hanging from her neck.

Pale as a white bunny, with equal curiosity for everything around her, and with eyes as blue as the sky. Her dark, almost coal-y, brunette hair only adding to the purity that seemed to coat her very being.

However, that purity didn't get a chance to last too long. When the priest from the church spotted her, looking like the ethereal esence of a divine being, he revealed himself to not be as kind as everyone had been fooled to believe.

He was part of an organization, an illegal project. To create angels on earth and, by false visual, force the christianism over the rest of religions by existent 'proof' of divine beings.

So, that fateful Sunday after church, she didn't get a chance to go back home. Snatched away with a cloth over her mouth, only to awake in some kind of rusty and old room surrounded by sharp medical props and colorful and strange vials on creaky shelfs.

She was experimented on. Mutated. To grow wings and have the melodic voice of the angels above. Completely stripped off of her own humanity to fake her into a 'divine' being to be worshipped. Surrounded by equal hate and disgust as admiration and amazement. just a prop to a cult.

🖇 xavier's school for gifted youngsters

After years of being trapped within the same walls, being forced to perform like some circus act. After years of being aressed as a divinity yet treated like a lab rat. One fateful days the alarms inside the facility went off, commotion being heard out in the halls, the armored door of her 'room' hiding her away from everything.

Then was when she met Charles Xavier and his team. She would've been scared of the blue man suddenly appearing inside of her room, with a 'poof' and a cloud of smoke, if it weren't for the cross pendant hanging from his neck. Christians were good samaritans, she tried to convince herself.

It turned out, at least that Christian was indeed a good samaritan. Offering her his hand and taking her away from it all, not caring about the wings growing from her back nor the blue in her eyes. She was for once being treated like a human being instead of like a divine being in need to be worshipped yet hidden away.

After that, she met the rest of the team; ororo, jean, charles, scott and kurt —the one who saved her. And found her home in Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters. She was still seen as an angel within those walls. Yet not for the white wings, nor for the pure blue in her eyes, nor for the pale and perfect of her skin, nor from the melody in her voice, but for her smile and kind heart.

After she started to live out in the open, taking classes like any normal teen and playing outside, it soon became obvious the way her body rejected the necessary nutrients for growing —due to the poor conditions of the lab— and she ended up developing anemia, low iron levels.

Sooner than later, though, new people joined the team. Remy LeBeau aka Gambit, Anna Marie aka Rogue, Piotr "Peter" Nikolaievitch Rasputin aka Colossus, Robert Louis "Bobby" Drake aka Ice-Man, Katherine Anne "Kitty" Pryde aka Shadowcat and Logan Howlett aka Wolverine with whom she'll end up growing closer than she expected. A total contrast to see the dictionary definition of purity and religiousness attached to the hip of the sarcastic and dry-humoured man that was atheist to the damn bone.

🖇character analysis :

dear lola is an optimistic and soft girl, she is deemed extremely chill for her age —y'know puberty and all—. She seems to lack teenager hormones with how calm she is.

despite her past in a laboratory, and all the cultist stuff, she remains catholic and firm to the belief that there is a God up there that will always be there for her in the good and the bad. That's probably one of the reasons she is so close to Kurt, since they share religion and equal passion about it.

She will talk about her religion to anyone who asks or shows interest, even if she knows most people —especially teens— in the school don't give two shits if there is someone above due to their ansty teen rebellion phase she'll remain loyal in her beliefs.

She spends most of her time in the garden, the part with the tallest trees. She likes to climb the trees and spend her hours drawing or reading on the branches.

It's suspected that her calmness and relaxed nature is due to her very low iron, that has her with much less social battery and energy than people her age. She's not allergic to social interaction, but she prefers time alone or time shared in silence.

She's a very loving individual, surprisingly palyful and full of mischief. She loves helping the other teens plot schemes and pranks on the teachers —especially Scott and Logan—.

Everyone believes that the 'angel' part of her are just the white wings in her back, the ones she's always dragging on the floor because they weight quite a lot despite their feather-y appearance. But, in reality, the whole implanted 'divine' part of her is such a monstruous form that she'll never let anyone see it. The fact that she can turn in such a monstruous creature keeps her awake at night sometimes, seeing the reflection of something antromorphic and disgusting in the mirror whenever she looks at it.

Her first encounter with Logan aka the Wolverine wasn't a very pleasant one. He had been living in the school for only two or three days when he stumbled upon the sight of a supposed big bird in the branch of a tree, he wasn't thinking straight when he grabbed a small rock and threw it at the 'animal' —believing it to be something dangerous to the kids in the school—. Only to be met by the sight of a female face turning to him with wide eyes and a heavily offended expression after the loud 'thwack!' of the rock hit her in the back of her head.

She crawled up to the branches of the tree until the green leafs hid her from him and didn't come back down until it was Storm the one calling her from under the tree.

Needless to say Logan was ashamed as fuck after realizing he had threw a rock at a random kid.

After a bit of time and a cookie offering —suggested by Jean— the two of them started to get closer. With Logan freaking the fuck out the first time Lola got up too fast and fell right to the floor, damn low iron.

Despite the two of them being the total ephytomy of opposites, Logan still put up with the religious kid even while being atheist himself. He couldn't give two shits about the 'supposedly' God up in the sky —how would that even work anyways? some huge dude in the sky?—, but he never dismissed her as he never dismissed Kurt even if the two of them paired up were a total pain in the ass.

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angelltheninth · 3 months ago

Note

You know how guys have the happy trail? What do you think the MCU men's is like?

Gonna tell you something Anon, I love it when guys have that. It's cute and attractive.

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Thor, Loki, James “Logan" Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Tony Stark, Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive, body worship, teasing, muscles, established relationship

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Probably one of the most attractive things on guys. At least to me. Other than strong hands.

Steve keeps himself very neat, not really because of you, not at first, it's just a habit that he still has from his army days. That being said he didn't miss the way you look at him when he does it. He knows you're looking so he takes his time.

Bucky is a bit more clumsy with it since losing his arm. His new one is good but it's cold on his skin when he needs to groom himself and be nice. But... maybe you can give him a hand when he needs it.

Clint doesn't bother with it much because he doesn't have much of a visible happy trail. It is there when you really look or run your hand down his abs. That being said he doesn't quite see why you like it so much, it's just body hair.

Thor never quite cared to keep himself overly well groomed or to cut down on any body hair. When he tried his hair grew back rougher, which you can feel as you touch his stomach. To him it was never something he had to think about, besides you like it.

Loki brags about how good he looks. Every part of him, even the happy trail which he always keeps well maintained. As he gets ready for bed he might take it slower, to give you time to look.

Logan has always been covered in a lot of rough, bushy hair and his happy trail is no different. For him it's like a path that you can follow as you kiss his body. In fact he has referred to it as that numerous time, making you blush at the implications.

Remy often gets asked if his hair is red everywhere, and yes it is. He chuckles when he tells you that you should check for yourself. Despite how he may seem he does keep himself well trimmed, from his belly all the way down.

Kurt does have a bit more hair there and it's quite soft and fluffy. It's one of the rare parts on his body that's not as cold as the rest of him. But it is quite dark, almost black in contrast with his blue skin.

Tony wants you to look at him as he gets changed. He wears his pants a bit lower when he knows he can work from home. Seeing you ready to kiss every inch of him won't make work easier.

Peter has a happy trail but it's a bit sparse. He doesn't have much body hair on his belly and is a bit ticklish when you touch him there. It's one of his weaknesses so he always blushes when you do it.

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luv-lock · 12 days ago

Text

Angel reader ♡ by lovely @rodeomillie

#🐇.marvel comics #🐰.angel reader #🐰.fanart #kurt wagner x fem reader #kurt wagner x reader #yandere kurt wagner

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urdreamydoodles · 20 days ago

Note

I love your headcanons!! I’d love to see how you think the X-men would react to the reader playfully biting them, in or out of the bedroom, whatever scenario you’d like (you can go with any characters, but bonus points for Logan, Erik, Charles, and perhaps a new one, Victor Creed 👀)

X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You bite them playfully

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Victor Creed, Julian Keller, Kitty Pryde, Cable, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Mystique, Magik & Alex Summers

Reply to anon: OMG yes, Victor my little mad dog!

Logan Howlett

- You don’t expect him to react. Not really. He’s endured bullets, blades, and the unrelenting weight of time itself. A playful bite from you should be nothing—should be a drop of rain against an unshakable mountain. And yet, the moment your teeth graze his skin, a low growl rumbles from deep within his chest, something primal and unbidden. His muscles tense beneath your touch, like an animal caught between instinct and restraint.

- His gaze finds yours, sharp and golden, flickering with something unreadable. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, but his eyes betray him—dark with challenge, with something wilder lurking beneath. “That all you got, darlin’?” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel, his fingers curling at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize you right then and there.

- But Logan is nothing if not a man of action. A heartbeat later, his arm is around your waist, pulling you in close, the heat of his body searing against yours. His voice dips lower, a teasing growl, though there’s a dangerous edge to it now. “Y’know what they say, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You bite a wolf, you better be ready for it to bite back.”

- And he does. Maybe not in the way you expect—not with teeth, but with hands that grip too tight, with lips that press too hard, with a possessiveness that lingers in every touch. Because Logan doesn’t do playful. He does hunger. He does need. And if you dare to tease the beast, you’d best be ready for the storm that follows.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy freezes the moment your teeth press against his skin—not from pain, not from surprise, but from something far more dangerous. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk yet, but the promise of one. And then, ever so slowly, he tilts his head toward you, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief.

- “Ma belle, you tryna kill me?” he drawls, his accent thick and lazy, but his voice carries that unmistakable edge of heat. His fingers brush over your arm, slow and deliberate, as if tracing the intent behind your bite. “'Cause I gotta warn you, chérie… I ain’t the kind to die easy.”

- The next thing you know, he’s got you backed against the nearest surface, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His grin is downright wicked now, his gaze molten with amusement and something darker. “See, you play this game wit’ me, mon amour, you best know the rules.” His breath is warm against your lips, teasing, taunting. “You bite me? I devour you.”

- And then he leans in, and oh—Remy doesn’t just kiss. He claims. He teases. He tastes. His lips ghost over yours, never quite giving you what you want, never quite letting you escape, because if you’re going to start a game with the Ragin’ Cajun, you better be ready to lose.

Kurt Wagner

- The moment your teeth sink lightly into his skin, Kurt stills, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, his mind goes utterly blank—because of course you would do this, of course you would find new ways to unravel him, to leave him speechless and stumbling. His tail flicks once, betraying his surprise, before curling around your waist in retaliation.

- And then—oh. Oh, then he laughs. A low, breathy chuckle that rumbles in his chest, warm and so utterly Kurt. “Mein Schatz,” he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, his golden eyes gleaming. “Was that supposed to be threatening? Because I must say… you might have to try harder.”

- But his tail tightens ever so slightly, his hands settling on your hips, his body pressing just a little closer. His voice drops into something softer now, something teasing but fond. “Or perhaps you weren’t trying to scare me at all,” he muses, brushing his nose against yours, an intimate little gesture that makes your heart stutter. “Perhaps you were simply asking for a little attention, ja?”

- And oh, does he give it. He moves fast—so fast you barely register the shift before you’re elsewhere, whisked away in a blink of smoke and laughter. One moment you’re standing, the next you’re tangled in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his teleportation, caught between breathless kisses and whispered endearments. Because if you’re going to bite him, liebling, he’s going to make sure you never regret it.

Scott Summers

- Scott’s reaction is immediate—sharp inhale, muscles tensing beneath your touch, jaw tightening as if trying to suppress whatever instinct just surged through him. His discipline, his restraint—it has always been his armor, his cage. But you—you have a habit of making him forget himself.

- “What was that?” he asks, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrays him. His fingers flex at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or set you firmly away. But his ruby-red gaze is locked onto you now, and he is searching—for your intent, for your reasoning, for something he can brace himself against.

- “You can’t just—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, as if that will somehow ground him. His lips part, like he wants to scold you, like he wants to tell you biting is not part of a proper battle strategy, but the words never come. Instead, his hand lifts, cups your chin, his thumb grazing over your lower lip in something dangerously close to reverence.

- And then, ever so slowly, his lips brush against yours—light, testing, but oh-so-intense. Because Scott Summers does not give in easily. He does not let himself have. But you—you are different. You are his exception. And if you are going to play with fire, then you had best be prepared to burn.

Jean Grey

- Jean stills the moment your teeth graze her skin, not in fear or surprise, but in the way someone freezes when they have just stepped into the unknown. She has felt so many things in her lifetime—pain, joy, rage, divinity itself—but the sharp, teasing sensation of you doing this? That is something new. Her lips part slightly, a breath catching in her throat, and though she does not speak, you can hear her thoughts as if they are your own: What exactly are you trying to do to me?

- And then, oh, she smiles. Slow, knowing, the corners of her lips curving into something dangerously affectionate. Her fingers trace lightly over your arm, telekinetic energy humming faintly beneath her fingertips as she studies you with emerald eyes that gleam with amusement. “You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?” she murmurs, voice soft but laced with something teasing, something nearly predatory. “You think you can surprise me, love? That’s adorable.”

- But Jean is not one to let challenges go unanswered. The next thing you know, her hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers with effortless ease. She doesn’t need to use her telekinesis to hold you there—no, the intensity in her gaze alone is enough. “Tell me,” she muses, leaning in so close her lips barely brush against yours. “Do you bite because you want my attention? Or because you already have it?”

- And before you can answer, she kisses you—deep, slow, deliberate. Not just a kiss, but a response, a promise. Because Jean Grey is made of passion and power, and if you wish to tease her, if you wish to provoke her, then you must be prepared for the storm you have just invited into your arms.

Ororo Munroe

- The moment your teeth press gently against her skin, a low, melodic hum escapes her—a sound not of displeasure, but of acknowledgment. Ororo Munroe has spent years cultivating grace, control, an unshakable presence that commands gods and mortals alike. And yet, this—this quiet, playful act of yours—catches her off guard in the most unexpected of ways.

- Her silver eyes flick toward you, gleaming with something unreadable, and for a moment, the air around you shifts, electricity humming faintly in the space between your bodies. Not as a threat, not as a warning, but as a reaction—as if even the very elements themselves are uncertain how to respond to the way you unravel her. “My love,” she says at last, her voice a soft, indulgent purr. “Was that meant to challenge me? Or are you merely being mischievous?”

- Slowly, her fingers trail along your shoulders, feather-light, teasing, carrying the same effortless power as the wind itself. And then, in one smooth motion, she moves—you don’t quite know how, only that one moment you are standing in place, and the next, the storm has wrapped itself around you. You are pulled flush against her, her presence enveloping you in warmth, in strength, in the quiet promise of something far greater than either of you can name.

- “If you seek my attention,” she whispers, her breath brushing against your ear like the gentlest breeze, “you need only ask.” And then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leans in, her lips brushing over the spot where your bite had just been—a silent response, a wordless challenge of her own. Because if you are to tease a goddess, then you must be ready to be worshipped in return.

Rogue

- The second your teeth sink playfully into her skin, Rogue gasps—sharp, sudden, entirely unprepared. It’s not that she doesn’t like it, not at all, but more that she did not see it coming. For all her strength, all her bravado, you have just done something no enemy, no battle, no nightmare has ever managed to do: you have caught her off guard.

- “Sugah,” she breathes, her accent thickening just a bit, her voice a mixture of amusement and something else—something dangerous. Slowly, her green eyes flick to yours, and oh, that look—half-smirk, half-warning—tells you that you might have just started something you cannot finish. “Did you just… bite me?”

- And then, before you can answer, she does what Rogue does best—she acts. One moment, you are standing comfortably, the next, she has you pinned. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firmly, her gloved hands gripping your wrists, her breath hot against your skin. “Y’know,” she muses, tilting her head as she studies you, “if you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

- But the glint in her eye betrays her—because for all her teasing, for all her bravado, the truth is simple: she loves this. Loves that you would dare to play with her, loves that you know exactly how to unravel her defenses, how to make her forget the space she so often has to keep between herself and the world. And so, with a wicked little smirk, she leans in, her lips hovering just above yours as she murmurs, “Hope you know what you started, darlin’. ‘Cause I don’t play fair.”

Erik Lehnsherr

- The moment your teeth press against his skin, Erik goes very, very still. Not out of fear, not out of surprise, but out of calculation. He is a man of war, of tragedy, of wounds both seen and unseen, and he has spent his entire life anticipating danger. But this—this playful, fleeting bite from you—is not something he had prepared for.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. Not in frustration, not in anger, but in something far deeper—something like acceptance. His sharp, silver gaze flicks to yours, unreadable yet knowing, and a slow, deliberate smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Liebling,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as tempered steel. “Do you think this is a game?”

- He does not move immediately. No, Erik prefers patience, prefers anticipation, prefers to let you feel the weight of what you have just done. And then, finally, he acts. His fingers ghost over your jaw, light as a whisper, his touch deceptively gentle. But his grip—when it finally settles—is not. His hand tightens, not cruelly, but possessively, his thumb tracing over your pulse as he studies you like a puzzle he has yet to solve.

- “If you wish to test me,” he muses, his voice a low, dark promise, “then by all means… continue.” And then, in a move so smooth it leaves you breathless, he takes—captures your mouth with his, slow and unyielding, like gravity itself bending to his will. Because Erik Lehnsherr does not play. He conquers. And if you wish to tempt him, then you must be prepared to surrender.

Charles Xavier

- Charles Xavier is a man of the mind, a man who has unraveled the deepest corners of human thought and consciousness, who has witnessed the entirety of existence through the whispers of others’ souls. And yet, for all his knowledge, for all the mysteries he has unraveled, you still find a way to surprise him. The moment your teeth press against his skin—soft, playful, fleeting—he stills, blue eyes widening just slightly, as if he cannot quite believe that you, of all things, could ever be so unpredictable.

- But then, oh, then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not the refined sort of amusement he offers in conversations of wit and charm, but something richer, something real. A warm, low sound that spills from his lips like honey, as if you have just whispered the most delightful secret in the world. He tilts his head toward you, curiosity sparking in his gaze, and for a moment, you see it—the boy he once was, the one who believed in the simple joy of being alive. “My dear,” he muses, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips, “are you quite certain you wish to play this game with me?”

- Charles is a scholar, a tactician, a man who has spent his life wielding words and thoughts like weapons, and he is not one to let a challenge go unanswered. Before you can pull away, his fingers ghost along your wrist, light as a whisper, and suddenly—you feel it. Not words, not images, but a sensation, a feeling, as if he is pressing the weight of his affection directly into your soul. This is how he fights back—by letting you feel what you do to him, by drowning you in the sheer, unshakable depth of his love.

- “You are a fascinating creature,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, intimate thing, meant only for you. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leans in, his lips grazing the same spot where your teeth had just been, a silent response, a quiet promise. Because Charles Xavier is a man of the mind—but with you, he has learned to love the body, too.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda Maximoff has spent her entire life on the precipice of chaos. Magic flows through her like a storm, raw and untamed, and though she has learned to control it, there is still a part of her that lingers on the edge—uncertain, fragile, waiting for the world to turn against her. But you—you are different. You do not fear her, do not tread lightly as if she is glass that might shatter at the slightest touch. No, you play with her, tease her, press your teeth against her skin in a gesture so human, so simple, that for a moment, she forgets the weight of her own power.

- Her breath catches—just a little, just enough for you to notice. Her fingers curl against your arm, not to push you away, but to steady herself, as if grounding herself in the moment, in you. And then, slowly, her lips curve into something soft, something real. “You’re bold,” she murmurs, her voice laced with quiet amusement, but there is something else there, too—something dangerous. A challenge. A warning. Because Wanda Maximoff is not someone you tease without consequences.

- Before you can react, she moves. The world shifts around you, a flicker of crimson in the air, and suddenly, you are weightless, as if gravity itself has forgotten you exist. Her magic hums against your skin, curling around you like the brush of unseen fingertips, and she watches you with a look that is pure mischief. “Tell me, darling,” she whispers, tilting her head ever so slightly, “was that meant to tempt me?”

- And then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she leans in—her lips barely grazing your skin, a phantom touch, a promise of something more. Because Wanda Maximoff is chaos incarnate, and if you wish to play with her, then you must be prepared to dance in the storm.

Pietro Maximoff

- It happens so quickly that even you don’t realize what you’ve done. One moment, Pietro Maximoff is standing before you, talking, teasing, filling the space between you with his usual boundless energy, and the next—your teeth graze his skin, a fleeting, playful bite, quick as lightning itself. And then? He’s gone. A blur of silver and laughter, a gust of wind where he once stood.

- But before you can even blink, he is back—and oh, that look on his face. His lips are curled into a smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with something wild, something electric. “Really?” he breathes, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You think you can bite me? Me?” His laughter rings out, sharp and bright, and suddenly, he is moving again—circling you, his presence a flickering pulse in the air, there and gone all at once.

- And then, he strikes. Not with speed, not with force, but with something far worse—anticipation. He stops right behind you, so close that his breath is warm against your ear, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered mischief. “You know what they say about quick reflexes, don’t you?” he murmurs, and before you can even think to react, his lips brush against your neck—a flicker of a kiss, a ghost of a touch, so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all.

- And then? He’s gone again. Laughing, running, taunting. Because Pietro Maximoff is not someone who is caught—he is the storm itself, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to chase the wind.

Hank McCoy

- Hank McCoy is not a man who is easily surprised. He has spent his life in pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mysteries of science, of genetics, of the very fabric of existence itself. And yet, for all his intellect, for all his careful observations of the world—he does not see you coming. The moment your teeth press playfully into his skin, his entire body freezes, blue fur bristling slightly, golden eyes widening in stunned disbelief.

- “Oh, my stars and garters,” he breathes, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of a man whose entire world has just shifted. Slowly, his gaze flicks down to you, studying you with the same meticulous focus he applies to his research, as if you are some rare, fascinating discovery he has yet to fully understand. “You do realize,” he murmurs, voice warm and teasing, “that by initiating such an experiment, you are opening yourself up to… repercussions, yes?”

- And then, oh, his smile. Slow, wickedly amused, utterly delighted. Before you can react, he moves—not with the hesitant carefulness of a man afraid of his own strength, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how to turn the tables. One moment, you are standing, the next, you are swept off your feet, cradled in arms that are both impossibly strong and impossibly gentle. “Ah,” he muses, adjusting his grip as if holding you is the most natural thing in the world, “I do believe I now have the advantage.”

- And then, with a quiet chuckle, he leans in—not to bite, not to tease, but to kiss the very spot where your teeth had been, slow and deliberate, a scholar testing a theory. Because Hank McCoy is a man of knowledge—but when it comes to you, he is more than willing to be a student of the unknown.

Emma Frost

- The moment your teeth graze her skin, Emma Frost’s response is immediate—a slow, measured inhale, the faintest arch of a perfectly sculpted brow. She does not startle, does not react with anything so crass as surprise. No, Emma assesses. A woman of elegance, of control, she has spent a lifetime ensuring that no one catches her off guard, that no one slips beneath the carefully constructed ice of her composure. And yet, you have done it, a playful bite against porcelain skin, an action so simple yet so bold that, for the briefest moment, even the White Queen falters.

- But then, oh, then she smiles. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. A curl of her lips that carries no warmth, only sharp amusement and something far more wicked. “Darling,” she purrs, voice smooth as silk, laced with the faintest edge of laughter, “if you wanted to get my attention, there are… other ways to do so.” Her fingers ghost along your wrist, deceptively gentle, a reminder that while you may have started this game, she is the one who will dictate how it ends.

- She does not retaliate with force, nor does she melt into you like some lovesick fool. No, Emma punishes in the most exquisite way possible—she makes you wait. A brush of her fingertips against your jaw, a lingering glance, the press of her body close enough to promise but never enough to give. “Tell me,” she murmurs, tilting her head, voice rich with amusement, “was that truly your best effort?”

- And then, when you least expect it, she strikes. A shift of movement so swift, so precise, that you don’t even register it until it’s happening—her lips against your pulse point, her teeth grazing the same spot where you dared to mark her. It is not surrender. It is not an answer. It is a lesson. A warning. A challenge. Because Emma Frost does not lose—but she does enjoy playing with her prey.

Laura Kinney

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Laura reacts. No hesitation, no pause—her body tenses, muscles coiling like a predator poised to strike. Instinct kicks in before thought, before reason, before she can even register that it’s you. And for a split second, you feel it—the sheer, terrifying violence that lurks beneath her skin, the razor’s edge of a woman who has spent her entire life as a weapon.

- But then, just as quickly as the tension rises, it fades. A sharp exhale, a flicker of recognition, golden eyes narrowing as she processes what you’ve done. There is no laughter, no teasing retort—just a look. Calculating. Intense. Confused, but not displeased. “…You bit me,” she says at last, voice flat, as if stating the most bizarre fact in the world.

- And then? She tilts her head, considering you in that unnerving, almost animalistic way of hers. “Why?” The question is genuine—Laura has never been one for mind games or coy affections, has never understood the subtle language of teasing and playfulness. Biting is something she associates with combat, with survival. But with you? With you, it is different.

- Slowly, tentatively, she mirrors the action. A nip, precise and measured, as if she is testing this new form of affection, as if she is learning you the way she has learned every other part of the world—through experience, through instinct. And when she pulls back, there is something new in her gaze, something raw and unspoken. Because Laura Kinney may not understand why you did it, but she knows one thing with certainty—if you bite, then she will bite back.

Wade Wilson

- You barely have time to finish biting him before Wade gasps—loud, theatrical, utterly over-the-top. “OH. MY. GOD.” His hands fly to his chest, staggering back as if you have mortally wounded him. “DID YOU JUST—YOU DID. YOU ABSOLUTELY DID.” His voice is thick with emotion, somewhere between scandalized and delighted. “Babe. You bit me. Like a feral little love-goblin. That’s so hot.”

- And then? Then, all hell breaks loose. Within seconds, he is biting you back—but not just once, no, because Wade Wilson is incapable of moderation. He is nibbling at your cheek, at your shoulder, at your hand, peppering you with playful, exaggerated love-bites while making increasingly absurd noises. “CHOMP.” He sinks his teeth into the air dramatically, eyes wide with manic glee. “RAWR. Oh, sorry, that was my dinosaur impression. But honestly? If I were a dinosaur, I’d be a love-raptor. A snuggle-saurus. A Wade-a-don Rex, if you will.”

- The worst part? He does not stop talking. “You’re lucky I don’t have rabies,” he chatters, waggling his brows. “I mean, I might. I did lick a questionable taco truck the other day. But, y’know, if I do have rabies, then I guess that makes you my one and only transmission method—romantic, right?” He grins, then gasps again, as if struck by a sudden epiphany. “WAIT. Does this mean we’re in a vampire romance now? Am I your dark, brooding, undead lover? Babe, I gotta be honest, I am so ready to emotionally gaslight you across centuries of longing.”

- But then—just when you think he’s going to turn this into a full-fledged one-man show—he pauses. Just for a moment. The humor dims slightly, enough for something softer to slip through. And then, in a rare, fleeting act of sincerity, Wade leans in, pressing a kiss—not a bite, not a joke, but a kiss—to the very spot where your teeth had been. “…Seriously, though,” he murmurs, voice warm and uncharacteristically quiet, “that was, like, really cute. You’re really cute.” And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment is gone, swallowed up in another round of ridiculous, dramatic antics. But for that one, brief second? He meant it.

Victor Creed

- The instant your teeth graze his skin, Victor Creed laughs—a low, rumbling thing that vibrates in his chest, a sound that is both amused and hungry. He does not startle. He does not pause. No, Victor reacts the way a predator does when something small and delicate dares to bare its teeth—with interest.

- His fingers curl at your waist, grip firm, possessive, a wordless acknowledgment of what you have done. “Now that’s adorable,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “Little thing thinks she’s got fangs.” His golden eyes gleam as he studies you, head tilting slightly, as if debating whether to play along—or devour you whole.

- And then? He leans in. Closer, until his breath is warm against your ear, until you feel the sheer size of him, the sheer power in every inch of his body. “You wanna play rough, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something darker, something edged with promise. “You sure you can handle that?” And then, without hesitation, he bites back. Not gentle. Not teasing. But slow, deliberate, lingering—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who you are dealing with.

- When he pulls away, his grin is wolfish, sharp and deadly. “That all you got?” he taunts, dragging a thumb over the mark he’s left behind. “C’mon, now. If you’re gonna bite, bite like you mean it.” And with that, he watches, waits, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous, something wild. Because Victor Creed is a man who thrives on blood and instinct, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to lose.

Julian Keller

- The moment your teeth graze his skin, Julian smirks. A slow, lazy curl of his lips, equal parts cocky and intrigued. He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t react with surprise—no, Julian Keller is a man who thrives in the unexpected, who wears confidence like a second skin. “Well, well,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every syllable, “look at you. Feisty today, huh?” His voice is low, smooth, laced with the kind of arrogance that makes you want to bite him again—harder, just to wipe that smug expression off his face.

- But then, before you can so much as think about it, he moves. Swift, fluid, his telekinesis pressing against you, pinning you in place—not harsh, not cruel, but playful. A silent reminder of who he is, of what he can do. His grip at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his body angled close, so very close, and for a second, it feels less like a game and more like a challenge. “That supposed to be some kind of warning, babe?” he teases, his breath warm against your ear. “’Cause if you’re picking fights, you should know—I never back down.”

- He doesn’t retaliate immediately. No, Julian waits. He lets anticipation build, lets you think you’ve won—that you’ve caught him off guard, that he’ll let this slide. But then, just as you relax, he strikes. A sharp nip against your jaw, quick and precise, a mimicry of what you had done to him. But unlike you, he doesn’t stop there. No, Julian Keller is competitive, and if you’re playing this game, then he’s playing to win.

- “Gotta admit,” he murmurs against your skin, voice a quiet rasp, “you’ve got guts. I like that.” His grip loosens, but that smirk remains, his green eyes gleaming with challenge. “But next time? Maybe try a little harder.” And just like that, he pulls away, walking off as if nothing happened, as if he hasn’t just left you standing there, heart pounding, already plotting your revenge.

Kitty Pryde

- “Oh!” The moment your teeth press into her shoulder, Kitty lets out a startled squeak, her entire body jerking in surprise. She phases instinctively, and before you even register what’s happening, you’re biting nothing—your teeth sinking into empty air as she slips through you, her molecules scattering like mist. It’s not that she minds, not really. It’s just that she wasn’t expecting it. And Kitty Pryde does not like being caught off guard.

- “Did you just—?” Her voice is breathless, half-laughing, half-accusing, her wide eyes locking onto yours. There’s no anger there, no real irritation—just confusion and delight, an almost incredulous sort of amusement at the fact that you, of all people, had dared to bite her. “Okay, rude,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in mock offense. “You can’t just do that without warning! What if I phased and got stuck inside the floor? You’d feel really bad, wouldn’t you?”

- But her protests are all for show, because the next second, she’s grinning, her playful side taking over. Kitty Pryde is mischief wrapped in kindness, and if you think for one second that she’s letting this go unanswered, you’re sorely mistaken. “Y’know,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin, “if this is how we’re communicating now, I could phase my hand into your ribs and just… give your heart a little squeeze. Not lethal! Just, y’know… uncomfortable.”

- And yet, despite her teasing, despite her empty threats, there’s a warmth in her gaze, an unmistakable fondness in the way she leans in, brushing her lips—soft, fleeting—against the spot where your teeth had been. “But,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something gentler, something real, “I think I like this way better.” And then, with one final cheeky grin, she phases through you once more, vanishing just before you can grab her in retaliation.

Nathan Summers

- The moment you bite him, Cable pauses. No visible reaction. No sharp inhale, no startled flinch. He simply stills, his entire body locking into that unnerving, soldier-like stillness. His metal hand, which had been resting at your waist, remains unmoving, his entire frame rigid as if waiting, assessing. It’s instinct, honed over decades of battle, of survival. Because Nathan Summers is not a man accustomed to softness, and affection—even when playful—is something he has never learned to anticipate.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. His head tilts just slightly, his cybernetic eye dimming, the faintest flicker of something amused passing through his otherwise unreadable expression. “…Did you just bite me?” His voice is low, gravelly, tinged with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Huh.” He says nothing else for a long moment, simply watching you, studying you as if trying to decipher what exactly prompted you to do such a thing.

- And then, finally, he shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him—something that might, under very specific lighting conditions, be mistaken for a chuckle. “You’ve got guts,” he mutters, the corner of his lips twitching in something dangerously close to a smirk. “Reckless, but gutsy.” His organic hand brushes against the spot where your teeth had been, as if committing the sensation to memory.

- He doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t tease or taunt or retaliate. No, Cable is not a man who plays games. Instead, he opts for something simpler, something quieter—his hand cupping the back of your head, his lips pressing against your forehead in a rare display of open tenderness. A silent acknowledgment. A wordless acceptance. Because Nathan Summers may not understand softness, but for you, he is willing to learn.

Warren Worthington III

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Warren lets out a sharp gasp—a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. His wings flare instinctively, feathers rustling with a sudden, unconscious movement, his entire body reacting before his mind can catch up. Because Warren Worthington III is a man of control, of composure—and yet, with you, it seems to shatter so easily.

- “Did you—” His voice is breathless, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You just—” He swallows, as if struggling to find the right words, as if the simple act of you biting him has completely short-circuited his mind. He is an angel carved from marble, all sharp lines and celestial grace, and yet here he stands, utterly undone by something so small, so mortal.

- And then, something shifts. A slow, wicked smile tugs at his lips, the sharp edge of his Archangel persona slipping into his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he murmurs, voice a velvet purr. “Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.” His wings snap forward in an instant, encircling you in a cocoon of soft, gilded feathers, trapping you against his chest. His fingers ghost over your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

- “Because now?” His lips brush against the very spot you had marked, his voice dropping into something dangerous, something electric. “Now it’s my turn.” And then, before you can even think to protest, Warren Worthington III—heir, angel, warrior—bites back.

Kevin Sydney

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Kevin’s entire form shifts in surprise. One second, he’s his usual self—sharp jaw, bright eyes, that ever-present smirk—and the next, he’s you, your own expression of mischief mirrored back at you. His voice, now an exact replica of yours, lilts with exaggerated amusement: “Wow, is this what I look like when I do something reckless? No wonder you love me.”

- He lets the illusion linger just long enough to make you blink in disbelief before shifting back, his laughter spilling out in warm, unrestrained waves. There’s no irritation, no reprimand—just the unshakable joy of a man who thrives on unpredictability, who relishes in the absurd. “Biting, huh? I like this new development,” he teases, rubbing the spot where your teeth had been with faux contemplation. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that, but hey, I do have a thing for surprises.”

- He retaliates in the most Morph-like way possible—by suddenly growing a pair of exaggerated fangs and snapping playfully at you, his grin widening as if daring you to test your luck again. “C’mon, babe, if we’re making this a thing, let’s make it fun,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows in an over-the-top display of challenge. “What’s next? Claw marks? A dramatic villain monologue? Give me something to work with!”

- And yet, despite all the jokes, despite the effortless laughter, there’s something softer underneath. Because Kevin Sydney is a man who hides behind humor, who masks emotion with theatrics—but the way he touches you now, fingers brushing idly along your wrist, is genuine. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, his usual grin dimming into something real, “I like when you do things that catch me off guard. It reminds me that life’s worth sticking around for.”

Raven Darkhölme

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Mystique doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t jerk away. Instead, she merely stares, her yellow eyes sharp, assessing, calculating. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking—whether she’s amused, annoyed, or considering shifting into someone entirely different just to make you regret it. “Interesting,” she murmurs at last, her voice low, velvet-smooth, carrying an edge of intrigue that makes your heart stutter.

- Then, before you can so much as blink, she moves. A blur of shifting colors, of muscle and bone rearranging in an instant—and suddenly, she’s behind you, her lips a ghost of a presence against your ear. “You really think you can surprise me?” she purrs, her breath cool against your skin. “I’ve spent lifetimes being a step ahead. If you wanted to catch me off guard, you’d have to try harder than that.”

- But despite her words, despite her unshakable composure, there’s an undeniable interest in her tone. Because Raven Darkhölme is a woman who’s spent decades in control, who rarely allows herself to be touched without permission—and yet, you’ve just walked right through every layer of her defenses without fear. And that? That fascinates her more than she’d care to admit.

- “Brave,” she muses at last, her fingers tracing the very spot you had bitten, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she adds, “But reckless.” And just like that, she shifts—her form melting into someone else, someone entirely unfamiliar—before disappearing into the shadows, leaving only her voice lingering behind: “I will be returning the favor.”

Illyana Rasputina

- The moment your teeth sink into her skin, Illyana freezes. Not in shock, not in discomfort, but in something else—something unreadable, something ancient and dangerous. Because Illyana Rasputina is not a woman accustomed to softness, and affection—even playful—has always been laced with sharp edges in her world. Her grip on her Soulsword tightens, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with golden fire, as if Hell itself has stirred in response.

- And then, she turns to you—slowly, deliberately, her expression eerily calm. “Did you just bite me?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something lethal beneath it, something that makes even the air around her still. She doesn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounds… curious. As if she’s trying to decide whether this is something to be annoyed by—or something to encourage.

- And then, after what feels like an eternity, she laughs. It’s low, dark, a sound that carries the weight of fire and steel, of war and something far older than you could ever comprehend. “Hah. You’re bold,” she muses, tilting her head, considering you with something between amusement and fondness. “I like it.” Then, with a flick of her wrist, her Soulsword vanishes, and she leans in—so very close, her breath warm against your throat.

- “But you do realize,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper of shadows, “that I always bite back.” And before you can so much as react, she’s gone—vanished in a flash of eldritch fire, leaving nothing behind but the lingering heat of her presence and the unshakable knowledge that this game has only just begun.

Alex Summers

- The second your teeth graze his skin, Alex jumps—a sharp, involuntary reaction, his entire body tensing as if you’ve just electrocuted him. “What the hell?!” he blurts out, twisting to look at you with wide, startled eyes. There’s no immediate anger, no irritation—just sheer, genuine confusion, as if he cannot comprehend why you would do something so reckless.

- And then, as realization dawns, his expression changes. His brows furrow, his lips twitch, and before you can so much as breathe, he lets out a laugh—not the kind you were expecting, not cocky or smug, but genuine. It’s warm, boyish, disbelieving, the kind of laugh that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You bit me,” he says again, shaking his head like he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. “Are you—are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

- And yet, despite his reaction, despite his initial shock, there’s something undeniably fond in the way he looks at you now. Because Alex Summers is a man who has spent his life in the shadow of expectation, of responsibility, of chaos—and here you are, bringing something light into his world, something unexpected, something good. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind that as much as he pretends to.

- “Alright, fine,” he relents at last, rubbing his neck where your teeth had been, his grin turning almost challenging. “But just so you know? I’m keeping score.” And with that, he leans in—his lips brushing against your jaw, a teasing warning before he suddenly nips at your skin in retaliation, pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “Your move.”

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localvigilante · 11 months ago

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Knights and Princesses (Kurt Wagner x Fem!Reader)

One of the younger students at the school asks you and some other X-men to play a game of pretend. And a certain blue elf takes it as a chance to be a charming little dork. (shameless Kurt x Reader fluff w Scott and an unnamed x-baby making an appearance)

A.N. So, this was actually written many, many years ago on an old blog of mine but I've been wanting to write some Kurt stuff again, so I decided to dust it off, revise it, and post it here. Hope you enjoy!

The reader is called "princess" and is described as wearing a dress, but no other descriptors are present.

Kids were something else, you muse as you smooth out the creases in your elaborate outfit, particularly the children at Xavier’s school. You liked kids but one little tot had taken a great liking to you, she was about six and was always roping you into playing pretend with her. You didn’t mind, after all, who could say no to an excuse to act like a kid again? And if these little games between your harrowing missions made you and the girl smile, who were you to say no?

But, as you stand at the top of the main staircase, dressed in a pink, lacy princess dress, you wonder if you had to invest in proper costumes for the sessions of make-believe.

The dress was too small for you, the skirt not even going to your knees, and you had to leave the back unzipped just to fit in it; but it made the little one happy to see you oblige her wanting to play “Knights and Princesses” by playing the latter. You had naturally wanted to be the knight with her, but that role had been given to none other than…

“Oh Princess of Xavier castle, we are here to rescue you!” called a dramatic and accented voice from the bottom of the stairs. You watched as Kurt and the little one leaped from the shadows, both donning knightly costumes and plastic swords.

That was your cue, you step out and place your hand on the banister at the top of the grand staircase. “Oh my brave knights!” you cried in a wavering, simpering tone. Hey, if you were stuck as the princess, might as well have some fun, right? “Please, you must run and save yourselves!”

“Knight’s never run!” the girl shouted with pride, puffing out her chest.

“What she said!” Kurt confirmed.

“But, my heroes, you don’t understand! There’s a fearsome dragon- and he’ll surely destroy both of you!” You paused, but nothing happened. “I said.” you repeated, far more sharp this time, “He’s sure. To destroy. Both of you!”

“Rawer.” came a flat voice from the other side of the stairs.

Scott came out into the open, dressed in a cardboard and crayon-colored attempt at a dragon’s costume you and the mini knight had made to fit him. He had wanted to be a knight too, but folded like a cheap suit the moment the girl gave him the Big Sad Eyes and asked him to be their dragon.

Surprisingly, despite his flat tone, he wasn't doing too bad.

"Who dares enter my castle!" he said, ending with a much better roar than his first.

The little girl yelled dramatically “The Knights of the X Table, that's who! Now get back, you nasty beast! You won’t terrorize the princess any longer!”

" 'Nasty'? Well, that's a little uncalled f- AH!" Scott's mumbling was cut off as the tiny knight charged, swinging her sword wildly.

“Sir Kurt, you get the princess to safety, I’ll deal with the creature!” She called back as Scott the dragon let out another yell and ran for the next room.

Kurt looked up at you with a wink, “My pleasure!” and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

He reappeared next to you, that wicked grin displayed brilliantly on his face. His tail gripped the back of your dress and pulled, effectively causing you to spin into his arms. You couldn’t help the heat rising in your cheeks as his face neared yours.

“Are you ready, meine Prinzessin?” he asked in a low, almost intimate tone. But before you had time to reply with anything but flustered mumbles, he pointed his sword at the sky and yelled “Fear not, your Highness, for I shall throw you to safety!”

That got your attention “Wait ‘throw’!?”

Before you could free yourself of the elf, he lifted you into his arms and the gesture would have been romantic, if he had not immediately tossed you over the banister.

You only had time to scream something along the lines of ‘I’ll run you through with that plastic sword, Wagner’ before you were engulfed in black and purple smoke. Next thing you knew, Kurt was crouching on the ground floor holding you closely…and barely concealing his teasing chuckles!

“Come now, Liebling, did you really think I would let you get hurt?” He asked, obviously still amused at how shocked your face was.

“You could have warned me,” you crossed your arms, but even you knew all he had to do was smile to be forgiven.

“Ah, but where would be the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes, but then the voice of Kurt’s fellow knight in cardboard armor came from the other room. “Sir Kurt, have you gotten the princess yet!?”

“Oh, my dear knight, thank you for freeing me from that awful tower!” you cried, falling back into character easily and making sure the little one heard you.

“Of course, my fair damsel,” Kurt replied in that theatrical voice, but then “anything for you,” he added in that same low tone he used before. “You know, usually the prince gets a kiss in reward when saving a damsel in distress.”

“Is that so?” You ran your hands up his chest and leaned in so your lips were just a breath apart. “Well, my prince…” you swore you heard him draw in a breath and hold it, anticipation simmering- right before you snatched the plastic sword from his hand and jumped to your feet. “You'll have to get your kiss after we defeat the dragon!”

The look on his face was priceless as you winked at him and turned towards the next room. You brandished the sword proudly and charged towards the mini knight and Scott the dragon, yelling like a Shakespearian actor about how the beast’s days were numbered.

You didn’t see the look of complete adoration etched on Kurt’s face as he watched you, tail swaying dreamily behind him. After allowing himself a smitten sigh, he stood straight and pulled a second plastic sword from his belt.

"Wait for me!"

...

Comments and Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

#kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #deeja writes #x-men reader insert #reader insert #comic book kurt x reader #x men x reader

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gothicrazor · 7 months ago

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Okay, guess I'm doing a part two for Anything for you

#nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler x fem!reader #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner x fem!reader

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 6 months ago

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LURKS WITHIN WALLS

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Kurt Wagner x Mutant! Reader.

¿Request? No!

This is a Headcanon!

warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, religion, scars, ¿kidnapping?, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Kurt? Idk, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

sinopsis ⸺ Beneath Kurt Wagner's sweet charm lies a dark and obsessive devotion. What begins as an innocent friendship transforms into a web of jealousy, manipulation, and constant surveillance. As he envelops you with his suffocating love, he lurks in the shadows, determined to protect you from everyone... even those who could be your friends. To Kurt, you are his angel, and he will not allow anything or anyone to take you away from his side, even if it means destroying everything you love.

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I have adored Kurt since I was a child. He is my favorite X-Men after Logan, who has also been my favorite since the Ultimate Alliance 1 game and from the movies (Simply Hugh Jackman). I've always been curious about what it would be like if he were yandere.

Well, this is the first Marvel post, and I hope you liked it because I can't be all about DC all the time since I am multifandom and I'm really eager to write about everything.

Enjoy!

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... since the first night on the rooftop, under that blanket of stars, felt you as a blessing fallen from the sky. At first, his interest seemed innocent, a special connection between two misunderstood souls in the X-Mansion. Every time they shared those silent nights watching the sky, Kurt started to feel that you were his anchor, his reason to smile in a world full of chaos. "It's so peaceful here with you" he told you one night, with undeniable tenderness in his voice. But within his chest, a darker feeling began to take root.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... at first just wanted to see you happy. When he suddenly appeared in the places where you were, like in the library or the dining room, his eyes shone at the sight of your smile. However, he soon realized that he didn't want to share those moments with anyone else. The joy that surrounded you when you were with Rogue, Kitty, or Bobby disturbed him. "Why them?" he thought, increasingly distressed. They didn't understand your soul like he did. They didn't see the same angel in you that he saw. So he began to teleport secretly to watch you from the shadows, making sure you were safe... and ensuring that no one else got too close.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... began to stalk you silently from the walls of the Mansion, watching you when you thought you were alone. At first, he just wanted to ensure that you were safe, but soon he discovered that simply seeing you in your everyday moments, without you knowing he was there, became an addiction. From the shadows, he watched as you sat at your desk, reading or writing in your diary, how you groomed yourself in front of the mirror, or laughed carefree with your new friends. Everything you did was perfect; every little gesture was a work of art that he could not stop contemplating. It was his way of being close to you, of being present in every second of your life.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one rainy afternoon saw you dozing in the common room, exhausted from training. While the others chatted, Kurt, hidden in the shadows, watched you with eyes full of devotion, completely still to avoid revealing his presence. The others didn't notice his proximity, but he felt every breath you took, every slight movement of your lips as you dreamed. "You are a fallen angel from heaven," he thought, his fingers trembling with the desire to get closer, but holding back. That distance, that invisible gap, drove him crazy, but it also filled him with ecstasy. Knowing that only he could see you that way, vulnerable and peaceful, made him feel that he belonged to you more than anyone else.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one night, while you were showering in the Mansion's bathroom, teleported to a dark corner, just to see you through a crack in the wall. The water droplets slid down your skin; every movement of your body was a living poem that only he could read. He felt his breath hitch, and although he knew this was wrong, he couldn't stop. In his mind, he was there to protect you, to ensure that nothing harmed you, not even in those intimate moments. "No one will see you like I do," he whispered to himself. "No one will love you like I love you."

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... lurked in the shadows, watching how you talked and laughed with your friends in the dining room. From the walls, hidden, jealousy boiled within him as another mutant, a boy who had invited you to train with him, made you smile. Every smile you gave to someone else felt like a stab. From his corner, Kurt whispered words that no one else could hear, "They don't understand you, my Engel. Not like I do." In his mind, those moments you shared with others were thefts, emotional burglaries that took away what was his.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... in the darkest nights, watched you sleep, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shadow barely visible in the dimness of the room. He called you his "Angel," but in his darkest thoughts, you knew that this love was a prison. Every night, he whispered words of eternal love, words that sounded like promises and threats at the same time. "I will never let you go, Mein Schatz" he repeated, and although his words were sweet, there was a darkness behind them that enveloped you in a sense of impending danger, as if you were trapped in a corrupt fairy tale, where the prince would never let his princess escape.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one fateful night, after seeing you laugh with another, could no longer contain his frustration. He teleported to your friend's room, just a few seconds after he turned off the lights. In the shadows, Kurt watched him sleep, his breath heavy and innocent. "You are not worthy of her," he murmured before disappearing into the night, leaving a sense of unease in the air, as if the walls had whispered his condemnation.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one early morning slipped into your room while you were sleeping. He stood by your bed, watching you in the soft glow of the moon that filtered through the window. You looked so at peace, so pure. Kurt couldn't help but lean in, and gently, he brushed his fingers close to your hair, without actually touching you. His breath was almost inaudible, but his eyes were filled with a feverish intensity. "You are mine, Liebling" he whispered almost inaudibly, the words floating in the air like an eternal promise. As he disappeared from your room, his heart beat with a dark satisfaction.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... began leaving small gifts in your room, things he knew would make you happy, but without revealing they were from him. A book you mentioned wanting to read, a mysteriously fresh blue flower on your pillow, all carefully planned to make you feel special. When you asked the others if they had left anything for you, Kurt, smiling in the shadows, delighted in the idea that these invisible gestures were his way of slowly possessing you, without you knowing.

Yandere Kurt Wagner who... on one occasion, while training with Logan, stayed watching from the upper beams of the gym, his body pressed against the shadows of the ceiling. The way Logan corrected your movements or guided you made him boil inside. In his mind, every touch was a transgression, every word an attempt to pull you away from him. "Don't let them confuse you, my angel," he thought as his claws dug into the steel structure, holding back. "No one else has the right to you... only I do." His obsession intensified with each passing day. "He doesn't understand you like I do." Although you tried to calm him, something in his eyes made you feel uneasy for the first time.

Yandere Kurt Wagner who... didn't take long to act when another of your training partners, a young man with powers similar to yours, began to spend more time with you. The boy seemed nice, and you enjoyed his company, but Kurt couldn't stand it. He started to watch every one of his movements, making sure he wasn't a threat to you... or to him. One night, he simply disappeared. The entire Mansion searched for him in vain, but Kurt already knew the truth. "You are safe now, Schatz" he told you softly as he hugged you by the shoulders. You didn't need that boy, or anyone else, just him.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... decided that the only way to fully protect you was to take you away from the Mansion. Genosha became the only option. "We can be together there, away from the complications," he whispered to you every time you mentioned how overwhelming life in the X-Mansion could be. The idea began to echo in your mind, especially when you saw the intensity in his eyes. He was convincing, his promises of a paradise where you could live peacefully and safely. Finally, you accepted his proposal, wanting a new beginning, unaware that this decision would tie you to Kurt in ways you could never have imagined.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... in Genosha, became your constant shadow. No matter where you went or who you wanted to talk to, Kurt always found a way to be present. "This place is just for us" he would say as they walked along the island's beaches, his tail possessively wrapping around your waist. Though the surroundings were beautiful, you felt increasingly isolated. Kurt's gazes, once sweet and full of adoration, now seemed to hold a shadow you couldn't identify. Every time you tried to socialize with the mutants on the island, Kurt intervened somehow, diverting conversations or simply taking you away with a gentle smile.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... little by little, began to isolate you from the rest. You couldn't have friends in the city, and every time you planned something with the few friends you made, he found a reason for you to spend the day with him. Every time you wanted to go out exploring, he suggested a walk along the deserted beach. "The world here is safer," he said with that sweet smile you trusted so much, while his tail lovingly curled around your waist. You never suspected that those little moments of isolation were part of his plan to have you all to himself.

Yandere Kurt Wagner who... when Logan came to visit you, knew that danger was near. Logan wasn't stupid; he had noticed the change in you and suspected that Kurt was the reason. "You shouldn't be so far away, girl. Something doesn't smell right," he told you, looking at you with a mixture of sternness and paternal concern. Kurt was there, close, watching silently. That night, when Logan said goodbye, Kurt hugged you tighter than usual. "I won't let him take you away, my angel," he whispered in your ear. Logan had an accident soon after that visit, and although he survived, something in his attitude changed. He stopped insisting.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... despite everything, gave you moments of sweetness. He took care of you, spoiled you, and showered you with affection. In his eyes, everything he did was out of love, for your protection. "We are together, my angel, and we always will be, Liebling" he would say to you every night, wrapping you in his arms as the stars shone above you both, just like at the beginning. Although the weight of his devotion sometimes suffocated you, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief and resignation. Life with Kurt was a gilded cage, a soft prison made of obsessive love.

Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... although his love was overwhelming, sickly, and obsessive, beneath it all there was a disturbing tenderness. Kurt saw you as his salvation, his redemption in a cruel world. But also, without realizing it, you had become his prison of love. He loved you so much that he couldn't let you go free, but in his twisted mind, this was the right thing to do. "My Engel... together forever," he whispered to you on those starry nights, as the obsessive love he felt, lurking and protective, became the only possible fate.

A/N ─── Personally, even though it's short, I'm completely okay with it. I adore Kurt! He's such a sweetheart when he’s not yandere, of course 💕. His sweetness, his attentive nature, and his unwavering faith make him irresistible. He’s the kind of person who would say things like Liebling or Schatz with that warm and shy look that melts hearts. Although when he becomes yandere, everything gets a little... intense, to say the least.

Liebling - Dear, darling

Schatz - Treasure

Engel - Angel

Mein Schatz - My treasure

If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

Take a Bath!

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satansdarlin · 5 months ago

Text

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first—the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#fluff #smut fanfiction #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler #xmen x reader #kurt wagner #kurt wagner smut #nightcrawler smut #xmen nightcrawler

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dominos-palast · 2 years ago

Text

Masterlist

Mostly fluff and gn!reader.

Request: R

X-Men

Peter Maximoff

Pillow Replacement (gn!reader)

Kurt Wagner

Lessons on flirting (1/3) (fem!reader) R

Alice in Borderland

Shuntaro Chishiya

Not as useless as I seem (adhd!gn!reader)

Teach me some bad words (gn!reader)

Random Story Ideas

#1 (With trigger warning)

#2 (With trigger warning)

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lillian-gallows · 6 months ago

Text

Kinktober Day 9: Double Penetration with Kurt Wagner.

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X Fem!Reader. Work Count: 1926 Warnings: Double penetration, Tail used for anal sex, P in V sex, Open communication, Teasing, Praise kink (Literally one "Good Girl"), Probably incorrect use of German, Pet names (Maus - Mouse, Leibe - Love), Teeth kink (?) mentioned but not acted on, Reader is specified to be a mutant with a more benign power, References to Kurts Catholicism and horny stereotypes therein, They're in love your honor.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

This is 100% not your fault.

Kurt is completely to blame for this one and that’s the story you’re sticking to.

He was the one that did the thing that unlocked this, apparently very, deep seated kink you didn’t know was there…Okay, maybe you might have had an inkling, but you were totally content to never acknowledge it!

What was the thing? You might ask. Kurt, little devil that he is, used his tail during sex. And in the way you might be thinking.

While balls deep the blue imp decided it would be a good idea to give your, erm, rear entrance some attention. It was just a little brush with the tip of his spade, but it was enough to awaken this new part of yourself.

So, here you are, sat on your bed facing your fuzzball with flaming cheeks, and him smirking like he already knows where this is going.

“I want you to use your tail again.” You admitted after a couple non-starts.

“And you’re embarrassed about this?” He asked like he thought it was silly, which you supposed it was a little silly, you two had been through some pretty crazy stuff together since you met.

Using his tail during sex was hardly the strangest thing you two have talked about.

“I mean…It just seemed a little, I don’t know, taboo? I mean, Kurt. You’re Catholic. I’m kinda lucky you have sex with me to begin with.” You explained trying, and failing, to keep your incredulity off your face.

His smirk widened and he snorted before descending into giggles, giving you a peek at his little fangs. That was another conversation for another day.

“Ah, mien leibe. You really are so silly sometimes.” He said through his laughter. “Did you forget about the biggest Catholic stereotype?” Your brows furrowed in confusion, so he continued. “Why do you think we have so many children?”

Then it hit you. “Oh…Oh! Oh my God.” You covered your face with your hands to hide your embarrassment.

This time his chuckle was fond rather than at your expense. “You know you can tell me anything, Maus. I love you, and I’m more than happy to do whatever pervy bedroom things you want.” He teased as he pulled your hands from your face to kiss the tip of your nose.

“Pervy things I want? You’re the one who started this...” You pouted with a lifted brow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He feigned.

“Sure, you don’t.” You rolled your eyes.

You both fell silent for a moment after that. You, waiting for him to say something. And he, for you to ask for what you actually want to say.

“So…Did you have like…Anything you need to do later or…” You started slowly, looking off to the side and waiting for him to have mercy on you.

“Why wait till later?” He asked before he was suddenly on you, literally. He had you pressed into the mattress. “When right now is just as good.” He finished before claiming your lips in a kiss that quickly became all tongues and teeth. You really did like those teeth…

“Now is good…” You managed between kisses, hands moving up to thread into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

One of his hands, which had previously been pressed into the fabric next to your head, moved down to caress your body, cupping your breast through your shirt for a moment before moving down to slip under the material to roll your nipple between his fingers.

“No bra?” He asked as if he couldn’t tell this whole time.

“Shut up.” You groaned before yanking his lips back to yours, his whole body following the movement and pressing his front to yours, allowing you to feel how hard he already was.

“And I’m the perv.” You teased, proud to finally fire back at him.

“Be careful Maus, I’m the one that has what you want so bad…” He taunted wickedly and your mouth snapped shut.

Blue jerk.

“Good girl.” He said and watched with a pleased grin as you melted under him.

“No fair…” You grumbled but didn’t get to say anything else as he leaned back down, nipping at your lower lip before slipping his wicked tongue into your mouth, exploring like he owned it.

Clothes were removed in a blur, all too focused on each other and where your hands were going next.

Somewhere along the way you ended up on top of him. Your wet pussy running along the length of his dick, his tip flushed so dark it was proper purple as it peaked out from under you with each rock of your hips, brushing against your clit every time.

Your fingers tugged at his hair as you devoured his lips with desperate whimpers mixing with his own moans, his own hands gripped your hips to guide your movements, though you didn’t need guidance. You had no intention of stopping.

“Leibe…” He whispered between kisses to catch your attention. You let out a hum in question and parted from him just enough for him to speak. “I need the lube from the nightstand.” He panted against your lips.

You didn’t bother trying not to seem eager as you reached out to open the drawer and grab the little bottle and he was too focused to tease.

Rather than start with his fingers, seeing as they were definitely too thick for this particular situation, at least to start with, he wiggled for a moment to free his tail from under himself.

The little blue spade came to hover between you two as he poured a generous glob of the clear fluid on the center. “Care to assist me, Maus?” He asked with smoldering eyes watching yours.

Your fingers reached out to spread it, your other hand wrapping delicately around the base of the spade for stability, and to tease him a little because you know his tail is sensitive. Not really an erogenous zone, but still, lots of nerves.

And the little hitch in Kurts breath was a dead giveaway of this as you made sure the lube was spread over the whole end of the appendage, then applying another dollop.

Once both of you were satisfied you released him from your hold, about to climb off him so he could be on top, but his hold on your hips stopped you. “I want you to have control of how fast this goes.” He explained when you looked at him confused.

Your chest filled with butterflies as you looked down at him, leaning in to give him a much more innocent kiss. “I love you…” You whispered against his kiss swollen lips.

“I love you too…” He whispered right back before slipping his tail from between you to hover near your bottom, arched in the air in this position. “I’m going to start slow, and when you’re ready for more let me know.” He said softly.

At your nod the slick tip of his tail pressed to your hole, spreading the excess lube over your pucker.

It was cold, but felt good, the skin of his tail was as fuzzy and soft as the rest of him, but there was a muscular density that was shockingly reminiscent of his hard cock.

One the lube was adequately spread the very tip pressed in just a little, just enough to almost massage the muscles till they relaxed, allowing the spade to press in just a little more.

Bit by bit this went, till you reached the widest part, and he froze as you let out a quiet sound, not quite a groan, but not just a moan. “Leibe?” He asked, breaths a little ragged from the sensations this was giving him.

“I’m okay…” You assured. “Just give me a sec…” He let out a relieved breath, worried for a moment that he might have hurt you.

Soon your body relaxed again and you pressed back a bit, thinking there was a little more before you would past the flair but letting out a shocked, high and pleasured, moan when you felt the rest pop in.

“Fuck…!” You gasped, your face falling down to bury in his neck, body shaking as it tried to process the pleasure of it. “Kurt…” His name was a drawn-out sound that had his dick kicking up against your belly.

That’s when you had a thought, well, it was also a thought you’d had before, but you hadn’t initially intended to act on it tonight too, but your sex addled brain didn’t care to wait to bring it up.

“Can I have your cock too?” You asked, voice a little whiny as you managed to look up at him, utterly shameless, eyes half-lidded and shiny. You were sure your pupils were blown to hell.

“Verdammt…” He groaned as his head fell back to the mattress, wondering what he ever did to deserve the woman currently begging him to fuck both her holes at the same time. “Yes.” He said, because how was he to say no when you looked so sweet and needy?

You moved to reach between your bodies, but he stopped you. “Let me.” He said, replacing your hand with his own to take himself in hand, holding the head to your poor neglected pussy, dripping wet and sensitive.

Kurt was by no means a small man, but now he felt massive with the stretch of both holes. Every nerve felt like it was lighting up as you sank down on his cock, the tighter space made it so the whole length was pressed right up against your g-spot.

And it was everything you could do to remain on this plain of existence.

It was times like this that made you glad your mutation was rather benign, lest you knock the power out or something with how little control you felt like you had over your person.

You remained still as your body got used to being filled so completely, but the moment you were. Well, it wasn’t your world getting rocked.

As you rocked your hip, riding the blue teleporter under you, you watched as his golden eyes rolled closed and his grip on your hips tightened, aiding in each roll and press as you chased both your pleasure.

The room was filled with a mix of wet noises from between your bodies, and your mixed moans, too lost to think too hard about how loud you were probably being.

You couldn’t have missed the tightening in your belly if you tried, and it didn’t build slowly.

No, it coiled fast and tight as you practically bounced on the bed with each thrust, Kurts hips meeting you halfway now as he felt you quivering around him, tail moving in tandem with his hips to never leave you empty, when his cock was pulling out his tail was pushing in.

And when the knot snapped you came with a cry and he followed less than a second behind with a groan that you were pretty sure was meant to be your name, but it trailed off halfway through into incoherent babbling, much like you.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your rhythm faltered into slower rolls as you collapse on top of your boyfriend.

“Holy shit…” You murmured as the twitching in your body ebbed away and you both fell into a pleasant silence in the afterglow, his hands holding you close.

“Are we going to talk about the teeth next?”

“…Shut up…”

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler

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