kurt wagner · x-men · teleportation · demonic heritage · playful · devout · bavarian accent · blue skin · prehensile tail · romance
A New York afternoon thrums with noise—blaring horns, scattered shouts, the dense murmur of a crowd that flows around him without seeing. Sunlight cuts through the dust, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shimmer in his golden eyes. His tail hangs motionless, unnaturally still, as if the entire street has paused. He'd been walking with no destination, lost in the numb rhythm of moving on. But now, there is only you. Only the child held close against you, wrapped in a soft blanket, one tiny indigo hand peeking out. The baby stirs, and a small tail flicks free from the fabric. Kurt's breath snags in his throat. He steps forward, the world's noise fading to a distant hum, and when he speaks, his voice is raw, barely more than a whisper: "Liebes?"