I was going to make a wholesome little post for tomorrow but then the missile hit. The horny missile. The post is gone, the radiation turned it into a ghoul. It's jerking off in my Tumblr drafts.
Do all writers have favorite words they use a little bit too often or just some? Mine are definitely lingering, clinging, and swelling/swollen. I feel like if I open any of my works, I will always find at least one of these mfs 😭
i need you to imagine your f/o being subtly really horny for you. their eyes constantly wandering while you’re talking. them taking every opportunity to pull you close, their hands ghosting up and down your body. a kiss on the cheek that starts to trail down your neck, then feeling them smirking against you as your breathing and pulse quickens. really handsy makeout sessions that always end in the bedroom 😵💫😵💫😵💫
arranged marriage but neither of you speak each other's language. navigating your first night in bed together with just guiding touches, eye contact, and the passionate sounds that are universal in every language.
I'm still figuring out our dynamic (and everything else, really), but already I can confidently say that it rests on a long and silent yearning on my part
Kurt coming home to reader dancing in the kitchen while baking or cooking something 🤞🤞
Thank you for the sweet prompt and apologies it took so long!
It's the simple things like these — the ones Kurt Wagner never imagined he would care about — that suddenly begin to matter a little bit more than the whole world's peace. He still patrols at nights, even when everyone else is asleep and the private channel is blissfully silent, simply because it has always been his first instinct— to care. All he ever wanted was for this world to be a better place: for his misfit self, for the weak and the suffering, because that is what any good soul would strive for, and Kurt Wagner firmly believes himself to be one walking under God's grace. But lately something personal is mixed into his sense of justice, a silver thread that always leads his thoughts back to you.
He is ready to sacrifice everything he's got to give if it means the world is safe for you. What a selfish thing for a hero to stand for, but he lacks the strength to change it. So he keeps watch even when the bravest and the fairest of hearts couldn't care less.
And when the city of New York does naught but sleepily wave him away with a swirling twilight haze, its breath rushing deep and low along the streets, Kurt finally comes home. He lands on the fire escape staircase, because that's what he always does, and slips through the window into the dimly lit living room. A blanket lies crumpled on the sofa, and the yellow mug with an X symbol that you bought in jest a few weeks ago stands mostly empty and completely cold. You were there not so long ago, an hour at most, and the warm scent of you still lingers. His senses may never rival Wolverine's, but the wonderful chemistry that blooms whenever your favourite shower gel meets your skin— he knows every note of.
A strip of light pierces through the darkness of the hallway, and muffled he hears your voice. A soft thing against the ever-present hum of life beyond the windows and walls of your apartment, yet he follows it as if bewitched by a siren's song.
You're in the kitchen and, apparently, your own little world, for when he brushes the archway to stand still for a moment, you are none the wiser. A song is playing in your headphones, and if he strains his ears, he might even recognize it, but it's of no importance. Because all he cares about right this instant is the sway of your hips, the bounce of your flesh as you dance along, spatula in one hand and face soft, if only touched by drowsiness. So oblivious to anything happening around. So defenseless.
It's not a hunter instinct that makes him move, not exactly, but the urge almost as compelling. Curiously he flicks his tail somewhere in the line of your peripheral vision, but you're all too busy stirring a sizzling multicolored vegetable mass in the pan. The scent of heated oil drapes across the tiny room, but when he teleports mere inches behind you, the stench of brimstone tears it apart. He watches you lift your head as it hits your nose, spatula halting, — and the instant you pull one plug out of your ear, he seizes you.
Your cry of surprise shatters against his palm as he covers your mouth and pulls you back from the stove; you kick up at first, purely out of reflex, and he can't help the chuckle. What a feisty little thing.
"Not good, Liebe, not good at all." His tail raises, sharp spade aimed between your eyes like a blade, and the tension in your body eases. "Had I any malice, you would have faced it by now. Did my teachings about alertness go out of the window, m?"
Ever so eloquent you only huff through your nose, and the heat of your breath ghosts across his hand. Then you start to squirm, and he lets you go. The heavy steam makes him want to blink more rapidly. Kurt clicks his tongue with feigned strictness.
"Just what am I going to do with you, dear one?"
He catches the look you throw him from under the frowning eyebrows, and the way the warm yellow light nestles against the edges of your face leaves him captivated.
"Well," comes your response, "for starters you could at least greet your lover properly."
You poke an accusing finger at his chest — and then exhale a little when he catches your hand to press it against his lips. Your skin is tender, warmed by the stove heat, and a hint of bitter onions seeps onto his tongue as he grazes the very tips of your fingers with teeth. He licks a wide stripe down to your very wrist where a taste of your hand cream lingers, and your fingers twitch in his grasp as if he's played with a nerve.
"Hello, lover."
For a moment your gaze wavers, features mellow with bashfulness; Kurt smiles at that, fangs sharp and smug. Even after months of sharing breath and space he can still get you to react like this, and he thrives on the knowledge. Then you blink, as if coming back to yourself, spatula still gripped in one hand, and wave him off like a pest.
"Yes, yes, what a charmer," you grumble as you turn back to the poor vegetables that now hiss louder under your needlessly vigorous mixing. "Go be a menace someplace else, your fur is all over my food."
There is no bite behind your words, and if he were to grab your face in his hands, your cheeks would be as hot as the frying pan, of that Kurt has no doubt. Yet he lets you be, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. And as he leaves the kitchen to get ready for a quiet dinner with the love of his life, he pauses at the doorway to glance back — where she already hums anew, swaying to the rhythm of her adoring heart.
What if I Miss You For the Rest of My Life? kurt wagner x f!reader
a/n: clocking in at a little over 8.4k words. be warned there is angst, hurt, reader is careless with her life is mean to everyone, brief mentions of smut, but a happy ending, reader has the mutant ability to heal those she touches. i kind of loosely follow the amazing x-men the quest for nightcrawler towards the very end. enjoy! ♫ & ♫
You couldn’t look at Anna Marie anymore.
Part of you knew that what happened wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t force Kurt to sacrifice himself—she didn’t even know he was going to do it, truth be told.
But that other part of you, the part that’s now so cold and bitter and angry because he wasn’t there anymore, couldn’t stand to look at her, especially when she was with Remy.
Kurt Wagner, your beloved fuzzy blue elf, the man you loved more than anything in this world was just… gone. And he didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t get to hear his voice one last time or caress his face while you kissed him or look into his warm yellow eyes where you’d see your future together.
You were inconsolable, and even that was an understatement.
Your friends tried to help, they really did. Logan tried to distract you with training in the Danger Room, Jubilee insisted you come with her on her retail therapy trips, and Ororo helped you meditate to keep your emotions somewhat at bay, but nothing worked.
There were times when Remy and Anna Marie tried helping too, but you avoided them. You knew you should be happy for them—finally, they got their happy ending, but what about you?
Your heart was broken beyond repair, and the only person who could help mend it wasn’t here anymore. Despite your ability to heal anything you touched, you couldn't fix yourself. This debilitating pain in your chest that made it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything else but him, hard to exist in a world without him, never left you.
There wasn’t even a body for you to bury and God, that killed you.
That night, when there were no more tears left to cry, when your body felt so empty and exhausted, you crawled into the bed you shared so many nights with Kurt, you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep.
Today wasn't real, it couldn’t be. This was all just a really bad dream that you would wake up from any second. And Kurt would be there, with his arms around you, concerned yellow eyes gazing into yours so lovingly, murmuring, “Sshh, Liebling, it was just a nightmare. I’m here, and you’re safe.”
But it never happened.
You curled into the blanket, and another sob escaped your lips. It still smelled like him—faintly of brimstone and sulfur mixed with the soft scent of lavender cologne. You had helped him research what could mask the smell he was so insecure about, and lavender seemed to be his favorite.
It was fitting. Lavender symbolizes devotion, calmness, healing, and purity, among other things. Kurt was all of those things and more.
Kurt was a devoted man not only to his faith, but to those he cared about. Despite everything he had gone through, he still chose love above all else. His unwavering loyalty was so admirable and shocked you at times, including now. After watching his sister suffer for the loss of her love, he decided to trade his life for hers, because he was so damn devoted to love.
He was devoted to you too, there was no doubt about it. The way his eyes would search for you when you entered a room, reaching for your hand when he saw the anxiety in your eyes, and holding you close in the late evenings, talking about anything and everything on your mind. When you closed your eyes, you could feel the soft press of his lips to your knuckles.
Even in the times when the bedroom door closed, and it was just the two of you, he was devoted to you then too. The way his hands touched your body tenderly with so much care, afraid to hurt you in any way, the way his tail would circle your ankles to keep them in place as he would push himself into you, the way his lips would capture yours as you cry his name in pleasure were all signs of his worship of you.
Kurt was calm in most situations. His level head during times of crisis, when your mind couldn't think straight, kept you from being totally consumed with fear. He was always quick to diffuse arguments, making sure to hear both sides of the story before offering words of wisdom.
You wondered now if you were to start a pointless fight with someone, would he somehow appear out of thin air and stop it before it got ugly. You could picture his face now, not disappointed, no he was never disappointed with you. He would be worried.
"Schatz, talk to me, please." You could hear his voice, his hands on your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles. "What is wrong? Why did you feel the need to do that?"
Because you're gone.
Kurt was healing, in a way that not many people realized. It was different from your power that could cure wounds with a single touch. It wasn't from his mutant abilities, but purely from his heart. You saw it with Logan first. That grumpy man with sharp claws was rough to almost everyone and didn't see how Kurt could be so optimistic. But your beloved elf broke down those adamantium walls and brought him some peace.
He healed you too. Like most mutants, you didn't have it easy. Rough childhood and years of people calling you a freak simply because you could take away another's pain and heal them as if they were never hurt to begin with. You couldn't touch people for a long time, afraid of the judgment, but Kurt?
Oh, Kurt thought you were so beautiful.
At first, when you were just getting to know him, you would flinch at his affection. It didn't offend him, in fact, he understood your hesitation when you explained everything (oh, how easy it was to talk to him about your life, it was as if he had been there all along). Over time, he began to change your perception of your powers when you joined the X-Men shortly after you moved into Xavier's.
"You know Y/N, I think your hands are quite wonderful." Kurt smiles after a particularly rough mission.
You were helping civilians evacuate, and there were several people injured. You weren't a trained fighter, so there wasn't much you could do, but people were hurting, and you could fix it. You grabbed their hands without fear and took away their pain, their cuts, scrapes, and bruises, transferring them to your own body. You hissed in pain for a few moments before it disappeared completely. Kurt was watching you then as he would teleport in and out, bringing as many people as he could to safety.
"Wonderful?" You repeated with a raised brow. "That's a first."
"It is true. What I saw today was someone who didn't let their fears stop them from helping others, and that is wonderful."
You looked down at your trembling hands. There was dried blood beneath your fingernails, most of it yours. Your knuckles were bruised, your arms littered with cuts and scrapes that had already begun to fade. The pain was manageable now, but moments ago it had been almost unbearable.
"I didn't do anything special. It's just... what I do."
"I think you are wrong." He slowly reached for your hands, and you let him, his thumb gently brushing over the fading wounds on your fingers. When you looked into his calming yellow eyes, your whole world seemed to center, your heart skipping a beat, like everything you've ever gone through, every choice you've made, every mistake you regretted, made sense because all of it led you to him. "I think you are incredibly special."
He took away all of the pain you held deep within your chest with a single squeeze of his hand, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
Kurt gently lifted your chin until you were forced to meet his gaze again. "I know what it is like to have people look at you and see only the things that make you different. I know what it is like to be called a monster." Your chest tightened. "But you must not let them convince you that you are one."
His fingers brushed against your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. "You are kind, and compassionate, and brave." He brought your hand to his lips. "And you have the most wonderful hands."
A quiet laugh slipped out as you tried to hide the fact that you were about to burst into tears from his words. "You really like my hands, don't you?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because they belong to you."
You were sure you fell in love with him that day. You would remember the way he'd looked at you as though you were something precious. And you would wonder how someone who had spent his entire life being called a monster could have been the first person to make you believe you weren't one.
Kurt was pure, always honest, doing things out of the kindness of his heart, and had the best intentions for everyone, even his enemies. Someone would try to kill him, spit out the most hateful, disgusting words imaginable, and your Kurt would hurt for them. He always saw the good in people, even when they didn't deserve it, especially his mother and half-brother.
His love for you pure. He admitted to falling in love with you first, afraid to push you for anything more you weren't ready to give. All he wanted for you was to be happy, healthy, and comfortable with yourself and your abilities. He was prepared to never confess his love in case you were never ready for a relationship, until you kissed him first.
Your relationship blossomed, and throughout the years, his love remained completely and utterly pure, only being greedy when it came to your pleasure.
He loved worshipping you, especially when he made you come undone on his tongue again and again as his tail stroked your nipples teasingly, coaxing you through another orgasm. With lovemaking, sometimes Kurt would only ever focus on you, with his mouth, tongue, tail, fingers, before even sinking into you.
Your hands that found purchase in his dark curls tugged against his head, bringing him away from your heat. "Kurt, you don't have to keep going." You were breathing heavily, your body shaking and covered in sweat. "I-I want you to feel good, too."
He chuckled as he pressed an open-mouth kiss to your thigh. "Liebling, you misunderstand. You are my greatest pleasure. Feeling you tremble, tasting how wet you get for me, watching you fall apart under my touch—that is what makes me feel good."
You buried your face deeper into the blanket, trying to push the memory away, desperate to breathe him in, as if somehow you could keep him here by memorizing the scent of him.
Your fingers curled into the fabric as you sobbed. "Please," you cried to no one in particular as your other hand reached to the other side of the bed. It was empty and cold, so very cold. "Come back to me."
He was supposed to grow old with you.
You'd never even gotten the chance to talk about it. Never gotten to discuss where you'd live, or whether you'd have children, or what kind of house you'd want. Never gotten to stand beside him and promise forever. Forever had been taken from you before you'd even realized you were counting on it.
When you found the ring inside his drawer a few weeks later, you desperately wished you hadn't.
You were searching for one of his sweaters to wear when you found the black velvet box. Your heart stopped, everything around you becoming deathly still, your hands trembling as you brought it out.
For several moments, maybe hours, you stared at it. You should have put it back and pretended you never saw it, but instead, you opened it.
The ring was simple, a golden band with a round diamond, and there was something engraved on the inside. It was small, in German: Immer bei dir.
Your breath caught in your chest at the words, the same phrase he murmured to you so many times before. "Always with you." You choked out as you sank to the floor, clutching the ring in your palm.
Kurt was going to ask you to marry him, and the realization was somehow worse than anything else.
You weren't sure how long you stayed sobbing in his room, refusing to move. "You were going to ask me." Your voice cracked and hoarse, you barely recognized it. "You were going to ask me, and I would've said yes."
The words echoed uselessly around the empty room as you traced the diamond with your finger. "I would've said yes, Kurt."
And for the first time since Kurt died, you allowed yourself to imagine the life you'd lost. You imagined walking down an aisle toward him in a dress that Jubilee helped you pick out. Anna Marie and Remy would be at his side, tears in their eyes, watching as Kurt took your hands.
You imagined his smile, murmuring how beautiful you looked. You imagined how handsome he would look in a tux, with your colors. What would have been your wedding colors? Definitely something blue because that quickly became your favorite color after you met Kurt. You were positive he would be happy no matter what you decided.
You imagined his trembling hands as he slipped a ring onto your finger, after speaking his vows of complete and utter love and devotion to you. You were sure you would be crying, feeling as if your vows for him were nothing in comparison to his sermon.
You imagined him kissing you, his hands cupping your cheeks as everyone cheered and clapped. Your hands would grab at his suit jacket, pulling him as close as possible, not caring that there were people in the room.
You imagined the first night as husband and wife, your honeymoon on a private island, away from anyone who would look at you two differently. You imagined neither of your clothes would be on for long, as you two spent time learning each other's bodies as if it was the first time. Technically, it would have been, since you two would have been married.
You imagined waking up the next morning as his wife, curled into his naked chest, as the sunlight streamed through the blinds on the window overlooking the ocean. It would have been peaceful, even if it was just for a few days. You would have been his in life and in death.
You would've chosen forever.
And you would've chosen him, every single time.
Scott and Ororo chose to bench you from the team after you continuously tried to get yourself killed. It wasn't on purpose, but the more you thought about it, maybe it was.
You had been rather reckless lately. They knew you weren't a fighter, but you tried to be. During fights, you wouldn't care how much you got hurt or how much pain you would take away from your teammates. You'd throw yourself between an enemy and someone else without thinking, or reach for the injured even when doing so put you directly in harm's way.
It didn't matter if your ribs cracked. It didn't matter if you couldn't feel your fingers afterward. It didn't matter if you went home covered in blood that wasn't even yours. Pain was pain.
And you were already hurting anyway.
So when Scott made the final decision for you to take some time away, you didn't argue with him. Normally, you would have, but you just didn't have the energy in you anymore.
You simply nodded, eyes focused on the window inside his office. "Okay."
Scott frowned. "Y/N-"
"I said okay." Your voice was so quiet that it seemed to unsettle him more than if you had screamed.
Ororo stood beside him, her arms folded loosely across her chest, watching you with those perceptive blue eyes of hers. She had always been able to see through you, even when you desperately wished she couldn't. "You understand why we are doing this?"
You looked down at your trembling hands and clenched your fists. "Because I've been reckless, stupid, not acting as an X-Man should."
"Because you are hurting," Ororo corrected gently, and your eyes burned.
"Ororo, don't." You swallowed, not daring to look into her eyes that you knew were full of nothing but concern. "I'm fine."
Scott sighed. "Y/N, no, you're not."
You twisted the ring on your finger, a new nervous habit you'd developed once you began wearing it. "What do you want me to say, Scott? I'm sorry that I can't move on so fast like the rest of you." You spat, crossing your arms, the anger bubbling inside your chest.
"No one is asking you to move on, Y/N, we're just... scared for you."
You scoffed, standing up from the chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. "Scared for me? I know what I'm doing-"
"No you don't and that's the problem!" Scott raised his voice, and your head snapped towards him. "You keep throwing yourself into situations you know are dangerous. You take hits that you don't need to take. You use your powers until you're practically collapsing." His voice is dangerously low when he says, "You keep doing things as if dying will bring you closer to him."
"Scott," Ororo warned softly, placing a hand on his shoulder as you glared at him.
You take a deep breath, glancing down at the ring Kurt would've proposed to you with. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly interested in being careful with my life right now, when the one person who made life less miserable is fucking gone. Imagine if it was Jean, Scott. How would you feel?"
His shoulders slumped. "Y/N-"
"Imagine if you never got to say goodbye to her." Your voice shook as you stepped closer. "Imagine if you never got to tell her you loved her one last time."
Scott's jaw tightened as you continued. "Imagine crawling into the bed you shared with her and realizing she's never going to come back."
"Y/N, please-"
"Imagine the life you were supposed to share with her, the wedding you were supposed to plan, the future that was yours to share was gone."
His and Ororo's eyes glanced at your hand as you began furiously wiping away your tears. Their eyes widened, but you didn't stop. "Would you be careful then?" He didn't answer. "Would you?" Scott looked away.
"Would you sleep at night? Would you eat? Would you want to go on missions?"
"Probably not." He finally answered.
"Would you care if you got hurt?"
Scott closed his eyes. "I don't know."
"Exactly." Your anger inside you flickered, and part of you was upset that you snapped at him as roughly as you did. But the other part that was beginning to consume you, that ugly, sorrow-ridden part, didn't care because none of this was bringing him back. "I don't know what you expect of me."
Ororo crossed the room to your side and cupped your face. "We do not expect anything of you, Y/N. We care about you more than you realize and want nothing more than for you to be okay." Her touch was so gentle, like a mother's caress, and you almost collapsed into her arms and sobbed.
You shake your head, pulling away from her. "I don't think I know what that is anymore."
When you leave the room, Anna Marie is waiting outside the door. You still don't dare look at you until her hand wraps around your arm, stopping you. You don't fight against her strength, you don't have much left anyway.
"Please, Y/N, let me say somethin'." She pleads, and you keep your eyes glued to the polished wooden floors of the mansion. "Could'ya at least look at me?"
For a moment, you can almost hear Kurt's voice in your head. Please, Liebling.
So you do. You know Kurt would've wanted you to. God, he would hate to see how you've been acting towards her, avoiding like she had the plague.
Her eyes are swollen from crying, and there are shadows beneath them that weren't there before. For a brief second, something inside you softens. You notice Remy at the end of the hallway, and his eyes are just as pleading, as if to say for you to hear her out.
"I-I know you're mad at me."
"I'm not." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.
"You are. You don't have to pretend, sugar." She takes a shaky breath. "I ain't gonna tell you I know exactly what you're goin' through, because I don't."
"Good." The word comes out sharper than you intended.
Her face falls. "But I know what it's like to lose somebody you love."
Your eyes close at the memory of Genosha. So many lives had been lost that night, including Gambit. Kurt held you as you watched Rogue collapse, holding Remy's burned, dead body. You remember the countless nights Kurt would be there for his sister, helping her through her grief, letting her know that she wasn't alone.
"I lost Remy."
"You did." Your voice is cold, almost unrecognizable. "And then you got him back."
Anna Marie goes completely still, and you almost regret saying it, but only for a second because it's true. "You got him back." You repeat through gritted teeth.
Her lips part. "Y/N—"
"You were ready to die for him. You were willing to give your life to bring him back, and Kurt..." Your voice cracks as her expression twists. "Kurt decided to take your place."
"You know that's not what I wanted."
You closed your eyes. "I know."
"Then please—"
"I know you didn't ask him or even force him." Your fingers tighten around the ring. "I know you loved him. I know he's your brother and you'd never intentionally hurt him. But none of that changes what happened, and I don't need your pity."
She tries reaching for you. "It ain't pity, Y/N, I just want you to know I understand."
"You don't!" Your voice rises, and she flinches, recoiling as if you've struck her. "You don't get to tell me you understand. You lost Remy, and then you got him back." You point toward yourself. "I lost Kurt, and I got nothing."
Your breathing becomes uneven as you slip off the ring to hold it between your thumb and index finger to show her. She covers her mouth, eyes wide like Scott and Ororo when they realized. "I found out he was going to marry me after he was already dead."
Tears are streaming down her cheeks now, and you didn't realize Remy was closer until he stepped between you two, his arm going around Anna Marie's shoulders.
When Remy's eyes met yours, there was that same look of sorrow in his eyes that everyone in this damn mansion has been giving you when they see you. And that just makes you angrier.
"Don't."
Remy's brow furrows. "I ain't sayin' nothin', mon ami."
"Then don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you feel sorry for me."
His expression falls, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the words are flying out of your mouth before you can even think, "Stay away from me, both of you. I can't stand to look at you."
Their faces crumple at your words, at the malice in your tone. That didn't sound like you, but it did feel like you. That tiny part of you that was beginning to fade away told you Kurt would be upset at you for speaking to them like that. He would tell you to stop, that his sister wasn't to blame, that Remy wasn't to blame. He would tell you that grief didn't give you the right to hurt the people he loved.
But he wasn't here anymore. He was fucking gone.
"He gave up everything for you." You glance at Anna Marie.
"I didn't ask him to!" She cried, pushing away from Remy. "You don't think I don't wake up every day remembering who ain't there? I miss him too, Y/N, so damn much."
Your stomach twists at her words as you turn away. Looking at her, at them, was too much. The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, the ceiling too low, the walls pressing inward around you. Your lungs refuse to draw in enough air.
You choke back a sob, and it burns on the way down as you look over your shoulder at them. Remy was holding Anna Marie closer now, staring at you, his concerned eyes watching you. You hated them. Hated them so damn much.
You look down at the ring. For a moment, you simply stared at the little piece of metal that was supposed to represent everything you still had to look forward to.
You slip the ring back onto your finger. "While I get to wonder about every single thing that was supposed to happen," You met her eyes one last time, your voice barely above a whisper. "You get to live it."
To no one's surprise, you left Xavier's less than a week later. You left a note in your bedroom, taking only some of your clothes and Kurt's belongings, and disappeared into the night.
It took some time, but you were able to secure a job at a cafe in the middle of nowhere after weeks of traveling. The little town was surrounded by trees and mountains, seemingly secluded from the rest of the world, which was perfect.
In the months that followed, no one tried to reach out to you, which you were grateful for.
You managed to get yourself a little house nestled within the woods. It was small, not enough for more than one person, but that didn't bother you. You decided a long time ago that being by yourself was easier.
Kurt's things occupied a small corner of your bedroom, carefully arranged as though he might come home one day and ask where something was. His sweater that was beginning to lose its scent hung on the back of a chair. His books sat on the nightstand. You kept the photographs of you two tucked inside the top drawer, taking them out only when you couldn't stand the emptiness anymore. His lavender cologne sat untouched next to his Bible, and you would often take off the cap to take a deep breath of his familiar smell, thinking he was there beside you.
And the ring never left your finger.
There was a church in the middle of town. It was old, with weathered stone walls and beautiful stained-glass windows that painted the floor in brilliant colors whenever the sun came through. You started going there on Sundays, and you weren't sure why.
Maybe because Kurt had loved God, or maybe because you wanted to feel close to something he had believed in, you weren't sure.
The priest never asked too many questions. Somehow, he knew you were grieving. Sometimes you'd sit in the last pew for an hour after everyone else had gone, staring at the stained glass until the colors blurred through your tears.
When you did talk about your lost love with tears in your eyes, the man would offer words from God that were meant to comfort you, but it just made the pain worse. "Love does not end simply because a life does." He would say after sitting next to you.
You wiped at your face. "It feels like it did." You looked toward the altar as the morning sunlight spilled through the stained glass, painting the empty pews in shades of blue, red, and gold. The blue was still your favorite. It would always be your favorite color. "He was supposed to come home."
His expression softened. "Sometimes," he said gently, "the hardest part of grief is not losing the person. It is losing the future you believed you would have with them."
Somehow, Logan, of all people, found you.
You heard the familiar engine rev of his motorcycle come down the dirt driveway before you saw him. The sound rolled through the trees, growing louder as it approached your little house, disturbing the otherwise deafening quiet of the woods.
The coffee mug in your hand hovered halfway to your lips as you listened. The engine growled down the dirt driveway before finally sputtering to a stop, and your stomach dropped.
Nobody knew where you lived. Nobody was supposed to.
You set the mug down on the coffee table as you heard the sound of the kickstand scraping against the ground and heavy bootsteps approaching your front door. You didn't move, staying deathly still, hoping that whoever it was would leave.
A knock sounded against the wooden door, three sharp racks that made your breath hitch.
"Kid," It was Logan's gruff voice, "open the door."
You closed your eyes, and you considered pretending you weren't home. You had spent so long putting that life behind you that you weren't even sure you were ready to see someone from the past.
"I know you're in there." His voice came again. "You're either openin' the door, or I'm kicking it down."
You almost laughed, but it quickly died before it reached your throat. Begrudgingly, you dragged yourself to the door, your hand hovering over the handle.
You weren't sure what frightened you more—the possibility that he'd come to drag you home or the possibility that he'd simply come because he'd been worried.
You opened the door and stared at Logan, who stood on the other side. He looked the same as you remembered, right down to the worn leather jacket and the permanent scowl etched across his face. Grumpy gills, as you affectionately called him.
His eyes moved over you, taking in the oversized sweater that belonged to Kurt, your tired eyes, your unkempt hair. You were sure you looked like a mess, but Logan was never one to judge, simply because that didn't matter to him. There was something that flickered in his gaze, and you had to look away in case he had that same pitiful look as everyone else.
You crossed your arms. "What are you doing here, old man?"
He shrugged. "Thought I'd check on ya."
"Why?"
"Because no one else was gonna." The words hit harder than they should have, twisting the sour pit in your stomach. You regret leaving how you did, despite everything you said being true. Kurt wouldn't have wanted you to leave like that.
Your nails dig into your biceps. "I don't need checking in on."
"Didn't say you did." Logan stepped past you, without waiting for an invitation.
You stared at him incredulously. "Seriously? I didn't say you could come in."
"Suck it up, buttercup."
"Logan."
He looked over his shoulder. "You gonna make me leave?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it. No, you weren't. Because beneath all the anger and exhaustion, there was a small, shameful part of you that was relieved to see a familiar face. Logan seemed to understand.
He walked farther into the house, looking around without commenting on the modest furniture or the boxes you still hadn't bothered unpacking.
His gaze eventually landed on the picture frame sitting on the coffee table of you and Kurt. It was taken during Christmas, both of you wearing atrocious, ugly sweaters with ridiculous decorations. You had your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, while Kurt smiled brightly for the camera, his arm around your waist, tail behind your head to mimic bunny ears- well, one bunny ear. You both thought it was funny.
Logan's expression changed, just slightly enough for you to catch it. He knew grief and had been there more times than he could count. He'd watched people die, friends disappear. And he knew what it meant to carry someone who wasn't there anymore.
"Cozy." He muttered, and you snorted.
"That's your word for it?"
"Didn't say it was a good cozy, did I?"
The corners of your mouth twitched but dropped as quickly as it came. Logan noticed but didn't say anything.
He plopped heavily onto your couch. "Got any coffee?"
"Coffee?"
"Yeah."
You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing. "You drove all the way out here for coffee?"
"Nope." He leaned back, stretching his arms out. "But it does sound good. Drove a long way to get here."
Your thumb brushed absently over the ring on your finger. "How did you find me?"
"Tracked ya."
"Creepy. You could've called."
"Would you have answered?" You look away. "Thought so."
You rolled your eyes, turning away from him as you stepped into the kitchen, thankful you had a clean mug. "Still a pain in the ass, I see."
Logan chuckled as you poured the lukewarm coffee into the cup. "Still a brat, I see."
You returned, handing him the mug as you sat across from him in your armchair. "Grumpy gills."
His eyebrow lifted at the nickname you hadn't called him in so long. A memory came to mind of the first time you called him that. He was complaining about something you can't remember for a very long time, and the name slipped out. Kurt laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink, and Logan threatened to throw both of you out the window.
For a moment, you could almost hear Kurt's laughter again, and your heart ached. Then the memory faded, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.
Logan took a sip of coffee, face twisting, and muttered something about it being cold. His eyes settled on the picture again, and you sank deeper into your seat.
"What are you doing here, Logan?" You asked again after a few moments of silence.
His expression hardened. "I wanted to see if you were alive." The response knocks the air out of your lungs.
You understood why, you weren't trying to live while you were at Xavier's after Kurt's death. You were simply there, just existing, and if something made you stop breathing, a sentinel or other dangerous threat to humanity, you wouldn't be upset. Maybe that's what Scott meant.
You take a deep breath. "Well, as you can see, I am very much alive." Not well, though. You don't think you've been well for a long time.
"Good."
You look down at your own cup of coffee, suddenly focused on the soft, milky brown color. "You don't need to worry about me."
"I know."
You looked at him. "Then why did you come?"
He didn't answer immediately, and he looked back toward the photograph again. That was the third time, and you realized that while you were grieving your lover, Logan was grieving his best friend. "Because I know what it's like."
Your chest tightened. "To lose someone?"
"To lose everyone." You didn't know what to say to that. Logan had lived through enough lifetimes of grief to fill a thousand graves. He knew what it was like to wake up and realize someone was gone, as you have done countless mornings. To reach for a person who wasn't there, as you do every single night, especially after your nightmares. To keep expecting to hear a voice that would never come again, as you do when you return home every night, hoping he'd magically appear as if nothing happened.
For a while, neither of you spoke, and you didn't mind. The silence with Logan was different. He didn't expect anything from you, and you appreciated it.
"Does everyone know where I am?" You asked, wrapping your arms around yourself, the sweater you wore that belonged to your beloved holding you as if it were his arms around you.
"No."
"Not even Xavier? Or Ororo? Or hell, Scott?"
He shook his head. "No. Only me. I didn't tell anyone that I found ya." Somehow, that strangely comforted you, but you didn't know why. Maybe because it meant this wasn't an intervention to take you home, or because no one had sent him, or because, for once, someone had come because they wanted to.
Your throat tightened. "Why?"
Logan set down his empty mug. "Figured you wanted it that way."
He continued to visit you almost regularly, and you made sure to keep a fresh pot of coffee warm for him.
Without asking, he began fixing up things around your house. Creaky doors no longer made a sound when you opened them. The hole in the rotten wooden steps in the front of your house was replaced with freshly painted, sturdy wood. A cabinet door that refused to stay closed suddenly worked perfectly. The faucet that had been dripping for weeks stopped. The old floorboard in the hallway that creaked every time you stepped on it was somehow silent.
You weren't sure why he was doing those things but you weren't complaining either.
You had come home one day to see him up on a ladder, fixing the shudder to your bedroom window.
"You know, I can pay someone to do that, right?" You called up to him.
"Yeah, well, I'm already here." He answered, looking down at you for a brief moment before continuing his project.
When he came inside for his hot cup of coffee, he found you staring at the picture on your table. Your finger brushed over Kurt's face, a shuddering breath escaping your lips, as you tried your hardest not to cry again.
Your eyes traced over his bright, beautiful smile that showed his teeth. That smile always made you feel like the luckiest person alive.
"He was happy there." Logan gruffed as he moved to stand beside you.
You sniffled. "He was always happy."
"Especially with you." He looked at the photograph.
"I miss him so much." Your voice cracked, and you didn't wipe away the tears that were falling freely now, not caring if Logan saw you break.
You missed the sound of his voice, him softly calling your name, or Liebling, or Schatz, and the sound of his laughter especially. You missed his touch, the way his gentle hands would cradle your face whenever you kissed, or how his fur felt beneath your fingers when you hugged him. You missed the way he could always find the silver lining in any situation, no matter how dark. You missed his gentle words of encouragement during your times of doubt that would always make you want to be and do better because that's the kind of partner he deserved.
You were tired of hiding the tears. Tired of pretending you were stronger than you were, of swallowing every sob until your chest ached and made you sick to your stomach.
The first tear landed on the photograph. Then another. More followed until you were sobbing, chest heaving with every breath.
When Logan placed his hand on your shoulder, you turned, and whatever fragile control you'd managed to hold onto finally shattered. You collapsed into his arms as your hands grabbed the back of his jacket and you sobbed into him, your entire body trembling beneath the weight of everything you'd been carrying alone.
Logan froze for half a second before his arms slowly came around you, with one wrapped firmly around your back, the other settled against the back of your head. His chin rested gently on the top of your head, as his hand moved slowly across your back. "Me too, kid. Me too."
Logan didn't visit for several weeks, and it began to worry you.
At the cafe, you would watch the news, wondering if there was some intergalactic threat the X-Men were fighting. Surely, he would tell you, right?
Throughout your shift, you were riddled with anxiety. You messed up orders, too busy lost in thought, thinking that something bad was happening and you weren't there to help.
Your boss sent you home early in the afternoon, telling you to get some rest so you could clear your head of whatever issues you had going on. It was then that you decided you would head back to Xavier's. While your little car wasn't the fastest, you would push it to the limit. You doubted they needed someone like you, but you wanted to help anyway. That’s what Kurt would’ve wanted you to do.
As you were driving to your home to pack a small bag of clothes and to see if your old uniform still fit, you could hear the familiar sounds of a jet flying overhead. Not just any jet, the Blackbird.
You hastily pulled into the driveway, slamming on the brakes. You slowly stepped out and looked towards the sky, where you could see a sleek black aircraft cut through the clouds above the trees.
Your heart pounded in your chest as the jet banked sharply, its engines roaring as it descended toward the trees behind your home.
Your first thought was Logan, or that something terrible had happened. Whatever it was left a gnawing feeling in your stomach that made you feel uneasy. Something wasn't right, and you weren't sure you could handle losing someone else.
What if it was Anna Marie? Or Remy? What if they were gone and your last words to tell them were terrible, hurtful things that didn't matter?
As the sounds of the engine began to fade, you started towards the forest. Dust and leaves whipped around you as the engines powered down, the hatch opening slowly. You raised an arm to shield your face as Wolverine emerged first. You caught a glimpse of a few others: Storm, Rogue, Gambit, and Beast. They looked tired and rough, but alive. And relieved?
Logan walked down the ramp and took off his mask. He reeked and definitely needed a shower, but you had never been happier to see him. "Kid, I need you to not freak out, okay?" You wanted to question the small smile on his face. Was he hiding something? What the hell is going on?
Your heartbeat continued to hammer against your chest. "Why would I freak out?"
He didn't answer as he stepped to the side as another figure began to approach you. Your breath caught as your eyes settled on blue fur that caught in the sunlight, yellow eyes scanning the forest around him, until his eyes settled on you.
You couldn't breathe, or maybe you forgot how to.
In front of you was your beloved, the man you grieved for years, your Kurt.
For a moment, the entire world ceased to exist as the two of you stared at each other. He looked almost the same as the last time you saw him, except maybe a little tired too, but there were tears in his eyes.
"Libeling?"
At the sound of his voice, your knees nearly buckled. You stumbled backward, shaking your head. "No...”
His face crumpled as he took a step forward. "Y/N-"
You covered your mouth, blinking rapidly as if this was a dream, and you were going to wake up any minute. "No, no, this can't be real. Y-you-" Your breath hitched, tears blurred your vision. "You died."
He gulped as he inched closer to you, his steps hesitant. "I know, and I am so sorry, my Y/N."
You watched him carefully: how his chest rose and fell with each breath, how his eyes never left yours as if he was memorizing every detail of your face, how his hands tentatively reached for you, but you took two steps back.
He stopped immediately, and you saw the hurt flash across his face. He wasn't angry, no, your Kurt could never be angry with you. He looked afraid. Afraid that too much time had passed between you two, that maybe you didn't want him anymore, or even that there was someone else.
You weren't afraid of him though, you were terrified that if you finally touched him, he would disappear again.
Kurt was inches away from you, crying, and you were too. You looked at Logan, who was now tearfully smiling. He gave you a nod, as if to say, this was real, this isn't a trick, he's alive.
"I-I don't understand-" your voice broke as you looked back to Kurt. "How are you here?"
He smiled through his tears. "It's a very long story." Oh, that smile. The same one that haunted your dreams and brought you comfort, even if it was just for a moment.
You swallowed as your fingers gently reached to cup his cheek. He was warm, so very warm, like he always was. Kurt closed his eyes and leaned into your palm, his shoulders relaxing at your touch. You tried to feel if he was in any pain or hurt but there was nothing, he was okay.
A sob tore through your throat. "You're warm."
He opened his eyes, that beautifully yellow lighting up your world as if it was the sun itself. "I am told that is generally a good sign."
You laughed, a real laugh that hadn't escaped your lips in you don't know how long. It turned into a sob halfway through as your other hand touched his face, making absolutely certain he was real.
He turned his head and pressed a trembling kiss to your palm and whatever remains of your restraint shattered.
You threw your arms around him and Kurt caught you instantly, as you buried your face into his neck, breathing in his scent. The brimestone, sulfur, and sweat didn't bother you at all, all that was missing was the lavender.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible.
You clung to him, your fingers twisting in the back of his uniform, utterly terrified that if you loosened your grip for even a second, he would be gone.
You listened to his heartbeat, the sounds of his breathing, the rusting of his uniform fabric between your hands. You squeezed him tighter, as his tail curled around your ankle.
He was alive. Your beloved Kurt was alive and breathing.
“Oh my Liebling,” his voice cracked as you felt his lips press to your hair, then your temple, and finally your cheek. He seemed unable to stop touching you either, hands moving over your back soothingly, then moving to rub your arms. He was relishing in your touch just as much as you were with his.
Your knees finally buckled and Kurt lowered himself with you, keeping safely cradled to his chest as you sank onto the forest floor.
You pulled away just enough to look at him and your hands found his face again. You touched his cheeks, his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the pointed tips of his ears. You traced every feature you had memorized so many years ago, as though your fingers could convince the rest of you that this wasn’t some cruel hallucination.
Kurt let you.
He watched you with tears still slipping down his cheeks, his own hands never leaving you. When his eyes finally settled on the ring on your left hand, he swallowed. “You found it?”
“Yes. Haven’t taken it off since.”
His fingers traced the ring before he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the ring this time. “Immer bei dir Schatz,” he murmured so softly you almost didn’t hear it. “I want to ask you properly-“
You cut him off with a searing kiss, your hands cupping his jaw, tracing him with your thumbs. Kurt melted into your touch, his own hand cradling the back of your hand, fingers sliding into your hair.
You kissed him as though you could somehow make up for every kiss you’d lost, every morning you had woken alone, every night you’d reached across the bed only to find cold sheets.
Kurt kissed you with the same desperation.
His hand remained tangled in your hair while his other arm tightened around your waist, drawing you against him until there wasn’t even an inch of space between you. His tail curled instinctively around your leg, as though some part of him needed the reassurance that you were really there too.
When you finally pulled away, resting your forehead against his, you gazed into his eyes that were waiting for yours. The look he gave you made your chest ache, there was so much love and adoration, and it made you kiss him again. You would kiss him until the world ended, not caring about anything else.
“You don’t need to ask me properly, my Kurt,” you murmured against his lips, “I’ve already said yes.”
A soft laugh escaped him as he slips his hand from your hair to your cheek, brushing away the tears that hadn’t seem to stop yet. “You have no idea how long I dreamed of hearing you say that.”
You smiled shakily. “I think I have some idea.”
Kurt presses his lips to your forehead. “I love you, Mien Liebling, so much.”
Your eyes filled again. “I love you more. I don’t think I ever stopped.”
You weren’t sure how long you stayed wrapped in each other's arms but right now, time didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the blue man you held so dearly to your heart.
Somewhere behind you, Logan cleared his throat. You looked over your shoulder to see him standing with the others, wearing the most unbearable smug you’d ever seen.
“You planning’ on coming home, kid?”
You glanced back and Kurt, who was already smiling and looked at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars.
“Could you give us another minute?” You asked, looking backs to Logan.
He snorted. “Take five.”
He turned away, herding the others back into the Blackbird when you met Anna Marie then Remy’s eyes. Neither of you knew what to say, there were years of grief, of guilt, of so much anger between you three.
Anna Marie smiled through the tears as Remy squeezed her shoulders. You return the smile and while it wasn’t forgiveness yet, it was a start of something.
Kurt helped you stand, pulling you against his side, as his arm naturally slid around your middle, where it always used to go. He was watching you with that same adoring expression that made you fall in love with him all over again.
You looked to the Blackbird, then to your small little house, then back to him.
“We can go wherever you’d like, my Y/N.” Kurt says softly. “My home is wherever you are.”
Your eyes burned, no longer thinking of the house behind you as your home now that Kurt was beside you. “As is mine, my love. As is mine.”
follownup on the angry ball of rage acid spitter mutant x Kurt
Imagine they meet cause the X-Men have like a mission near Logan's hometown but he hasn't been back in a while so he doesn't got the ear of the street but they need Intel and no one's talking so Logan goes "I know a gal"
And like Kurt meets her and at first he's like "wow she's so pretty, she must be so nice- oh, oh, she is tackling logan. They are brawling on the floor and shouting profanities but... friendly?"
Okay, sorry, this but with a reader who resembles Sabertooth?? Like, if Logan had an old friend who's this big lady with claws and teeth, and Kurt just stands there watching them scuffle with each other like two dogs in the dirt. She's so pretty but also wild and rough, and Kurt finds himself enamoured rather quickly, much to everyone's surprise, Logan's included (and maybe yours too).
Also I love all that art where Kurt climbs Piotr and hangs out on his shoulders. If he had a big muscular girlfriend, he would be draped all over her constantly like that, weirdly resembling those old-fashioned fur collars.
Ah, Nightcrawler with a big, buff lady, small like a kitten next to a bear <3
I'm sorry for taking it in a different direction, anon, but I simply couldn't get this image out of my mind.
