A/N: So I've been sitting on this one for a couple of days, I really hope ya'll like it! Thank you to @dezzydynamite for helping me with this! If you would like to be tagged in future updates on this fic please let me know via commenting on this post here! :D

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler x fem!reader

Summery: Your clinic is finally open, it's busy and everything you've ever imagined. Except Kurt is acting strange...maybe for good reason.

TW: Stalking, Medical themes. (If any TW missed, please let me know)

Taglist: @sagebrush-and-sadness, @mary-moongood, @missryunosukechiba, @nagi3seastorm, @eggygirl501,

Word count: 3,318

Part 7, Part 9 (coming soon)

Ch. 8 - Pink Bows and Nervous Brimstone

The ribbon had been cut, the X-Men security barriers were active, and the new clinic was officially open. The space was beautiful; bright, clean, and smelling faintly of fresh paint and antiseptic, but the atmosphere inside was anything but calm.

You wiped a layer of sweat from your brow, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck as you looked around the bustling triage area. Patients from your old underground circle were already trickling in, looking around the high-tech space with a mix of awe and lingering suspicion. Most of them were just here to case out the place and some were here for genuine check ups.

But it wasn't the influx of patients that was making the hair on your arms stand up. It was Kurt.

He was supposed to be acting as your liaison, greeting people and making them feel welcome. Instead, he was a blue blur of nervous energy. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his yellow eyes constantly scanning the crowds, the windows, the rafters. Every few minutes, he would vanish with a muted BAMF, only to reappear a moment later on the catwalk above or by the back exit, his tail lashing like a cat cornering prey.

When he did stand still next to you, he was entirely too close, positioning his broad shoulders between you and the door, his hand constantly hovering near your lower back. It wasn't his usual affectionate warmth; it was a shield.

"Kurt," you murmured under your breath as he stepped in front of you for the third time to inspect a completely harmless elderly mutant with a bad cough. "You're suffocating me. What is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Liebe," he assured, his voice a little too tight, his eyes darting to the street outside. "I am merely ensuring the perimeter is secure. Dr. McCoy’s new scanning grid is... highly sensitive."

Before you could press him on it, a soft, tearful whimper from a nearby exam table pulled your medical brain right back into focus.

Next patient. A young mutant teenager, no older than fourteen, was sitting on the edge of the paper-covered mattress. His name was Leo, a kid from the docks who you had treated once before for a sprained ankle. Today, he looked terrified, his hands shaking as he clutched an oversized hoodie to his chest. 

"Hey, Leo," you greeted gently, stepping away from Kurt and approaching the boy with a warm, calming smile. "It's good to see you again. What's going on today?"

"It... it burns, Doc," Leo whispered, his voice cracking. Slowly, he peeled back the sleeve of his hoodie.

Your breath caught slightly, but you kept your expression perfectly neutral, a seasoned professional. From his wrist all the way up to his shoulder, his skin was covered in a thick, angry, pulsating rash. It wasn't an ordinary allergic reaction; the rash was glowing with a faint, iridescent bioluminescence, shifting in color from a bruised purple to a sickly green. It looked incredibly painful, the skin hot to the touch as you gently rolled up his sleeve further.

"Did you touch anything unusual down by the shipping yards?" you asked, your fingers deftly feeling the lymph nodes in his neck.

"No, I swear," Leo choked out, a tear spilling over. "I just woke up like this. Am I... am I broken, Doc? Is my mutation turning on me?"

"Hey, look at me," you commanded softly, catching his gaze. "You are not broken. It's just an acute dermal flare-up. Mutations can react to stress, hormones, or even a change in the weather. I'm going to give you a localized blocker ointment and a mild sedative to stop the burning, okay? You're safe here."

As you turned to grab the supplies from the cabinet, you saw Kurt standing at the edge of the curtained cubicle. He wasn't looking at the patient. He was looking past the boy, his hand resting flat against the wall as if he could feel vibrations through the brick, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking.

A heavy wave of concern hit you. You knew Kurt was a protector, but this wasn't just vigilance. He was acting like a man who knew a strike was coming, but didn't know from where.

You quickly prepped the syringe for Leo, your hands steady, but your mind was entirely split between the glowing rash on the boy's arm and the silent storm brewing in your boyfriend.

By late afternoon, the initial rush of the grand opening finally began to taper off. The waiting room emptied, leaving the clinic quiet save for the low, hum of Hank’s newly installed sterilization units. Leo had been sent home with his glowing rash properly managed and a smile on his face, leaving you with a moment to finally breathe.

You peeled off your latex gloves, tossed them into the biohazard bin, and turned your attention squarely to the man who had been acting like a caged tiger for the last eight hours.

Kurt was standing by the large front window, peering through a crack in the blinds. His tail was stiff, straight down, twitching only at the very tip, a dead giveaway that his anxiety was redlining.

"Alright," you cautioned softly, walking over to him. You didn't use your professional doctor voice; you used the quiet, intimate tone reserved just for him. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. His muscles were tight as steel cables. "No more patients, Kurt. It's just us. Talk to me."

Kurt flinched slightly at your touch, but as he looked down at you, the fierce, paranoid guard in his yellow eyes crumbled, leaving him looking exhausted. He let out a long, heavy breath, his shoulders finally dropping.

"I am sorry, Liebe," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "I did not mean to make you tense on such an important day, Leibling. You were magnificent with young Leo, by the way."

"Don't deflect," you warned gently, stepping closer into his space so your chest brushed his, placing a hand on his cheek. "You’ve been leaping at shadows since sunrise. You're patrolling the roof, you're screening harmless old men... Kurt, you're acting like we're under siege. Is this about yesterday? About the package?"

Kurt hesitated, looking around the empty clinic before he took both of your hands in his. His grip was tight, almost desperate.

"Ja," he admitted, his voice dropping to a harsh, strained whisper. "It is the bear. It has been sitting in my mind all night."

You furrowed your brow. "Kurt, it was just a weird-looking stuffed animal. I know the anonymous delivery was a little strange, but my patients are paranoid people. They—"

"No, mein Leibe, you must understand how those people think," Kurt interrupted gently, his eyes wide and deadly serious. "I spent weeks with them while you were recovering. They are terrified of the grid. They do not use computers, they do not use credit cards, and they certainly do not use online courier services that track deliveries via GPS. If one of them wanted to thank you, they would have left a box of apples on the doorstep, or had a child slip a note under the door. They would never risk an electronic footprint leading straight to the X-Mansion."

The logic of his words hit you like a physical blow. Oh my God. The medical, practical side of your brain instantly spun up, analyzing the data. He was entirely right. Your patients lived in the deepest shadows specifically to avoid the kind of digital trail that package had left.

"Then... who sent it?" you whispered, a sudden chill creeping down your spine.

"That is what terrifies me," Kurt admitted, his thumb anxiously stroking the back of your hand. "Someone went to great lengths to make a package look like a harmless, eccentric gift from a patient. They knew you were a doctor. They knew you were opening a clinic. And worst of all... they knew exactly where you were staying. They bypassed the mansion's external security just to drop off a toy."

He looked back out the window, his jaw tight. "I do not think it was a gift. I think it was a message. A way for someone to say, 'I see you. I know where you hide.' Until I know who possesses that knowledge, I cannot shake the feeling that the dark we thought we escaped is standing right outside our door."

The weight of Kurt’s words hung heavily in the quiet clinic. The realization that someone had intentionally traced you to the mansion, mimicking the behavior of your underground patients to slip a package past the X-Men's security, made the room feel suddenly very cold.

But before the anxiety could take root, the front door of the clinic chimed, rattling against its frame.

You and Kurt both snapped your attention to the entrance, his tail instantly going rigid. But the moment you saw who walked through the door, the tension vanished from your shoulders.

It was the mother and her little girl from the warehouse—the child you had treated when you collapsed, whose skin had been split open by the brutal, jagged obsidian crystals protruding from her elbows, shoulders, and temples. Back then, they had been a family on the run, terrified and desperate. Today, though still dressed in worn clothes, they walked with their heads a little higher.

"Hey there," you greeted, a warm, genuine smile breaking across your face as you stepped out from behind the desk. "Look who it is."

Kurt’s posture softened instantly, a gentle, welcoming smile replacing his guarded expression. "Ah! Welcome, welcome. Come in out of the chill."

The mother offered a tired but deeply grateful smile, holding her daughter’s hand tightly. "I am so sorry to bother you so late, Doctor. I know it’s your opening day and you must be exhausted. But I saw the lights were still on, and... I was hoping you might have just a few minutes to look at her?"

"Never a bother," you assured her happily, gesturing toward one of the clean, brightly lit exam tables. "Bring her on back."

As the mother lifted the little girl onto the table, you rolled up your sleeves and prepped a clean pair of gloves. You gently approached the child, keeping your movements slow and predictable. As you carefully inspected the dark, shiny obsidian structures on her joints, a wave of profound relief washed over you. The raw inflammation that had worried you weeks ago were gone.

"Well, the news is excellent," you murmured, looking up at the anxious mother. "The crystal growth is definitely slowing down. The skin around the edges has completely healed, and there's absolutely no sign of irritation or inflammation. For now, her body is adapting."

The mother let out a shaky, emotional breath, covering her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. "Thank God. Thank you, Doctor."

While you were recording the notes, the little girl was still tense, her eyes wide as she looked around the high-tech room. Sensing her fear, Kurt stepped into her line of sight. He didn't use a scary BAMF, instead, he caught her eye and gave her a dramatic, slow-motion wink.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean roll of medical tape. With a theatrical flourish from his circus days, he began to juggle it alongside a small bottle of antiseptic and a tongue depressor, his movements so fast and fluid they were a blur. The little girl’s mouth popped open in awe. Then, Kurt did a seamless backflip off the concrete floor, catching all three items perfectly in one hand while his tail snatched a stray cotton ball right out of the air.

A bright, melodic giggle burst from the little girl’s chest.

"How did you do that?" she chirped, her fear entirely forgotten. "What's your name?"

Kurt dropped into a playful, low bow, sweeping his hand across the floor. "I am called Nightcrawler, little one. But you may call me Kurt." He tilted his head, his yellow eyes warm. "And what is your name?"

"Zoe," she said proudly, her small face lighting up.

"A beautiful name for a very brave patient," Kurt said softly, resting his hands on his knees so he was at eye level with her, making himself small and unthreatening.

You stood by the counter, the chart resting against your clipboard, completely frozen as you watched them. Your heart swelled, a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth radiating through your chest.

You looked at Kurt, this blue, demonic-looking man who the rest of the world feared and demonized. You thought about how he had guarded you all day, how his paranoia wasn't born out of selfishness, but out of a desperate, fierce need to keep you safe from the dark. You watched him making a traumatized child laugh, breaking through her walls just to make her feel secure, no matter what.

I love him.

The thought hit you with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't a gradual realization; it was a sudden, undeniable truth that settled deep into your bones. His protectiveness, his humor, his gentle heart, it was everything you had ever wanted and never thought you deserved. You loved him.

A fierce blush suddenly burned across your cheeks, your throat going completely dry. You felt incredibly flustered, your fingers tightening around the clipboard as you quickly looked down at the paperwork, praying neither Kurt nor Zoe's mother noticed the sudden color in your face. You bit your lip, keeping the words locked tightly behind your teeth. It was too soon, and the clinic was too full, but the truth was officially out in the open…at least, inside your own heart.

The shift from your racing, hyper-aware heart to the practical reality of discharging a patient was almost dizzying.

"Alright, Zoe," you piped up, your voice a little breathy as you fought down the blush creeping up your neck. "You're all set to go. Just make sure your mom helps you put that ointment on twice a day."

Zoe hopped down from the table, her dark obsidian crystals catching the clinic's overhead lights. She didn't look scared anymore. Instead, she marched right up to Kurt, holding her small hand up high. "Bye, Kurt!"

Kurt’s face lit up with a brilliant, fanged smile. He leaned down and gave her an enthusiastic, perfectly aimed high-five. "Goodbye, brave Zoe. Take care of your mother."

With a final, frantic wave from the little girl, the door chimed, and the two of them stepped out into the twilight, leaving the clinic entirely peaceful.

You turned to Kurt, the words I love you heavy and terrifying on the tip of your tongue. You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, the front doors burst open again.

"Alright, clear the track, we're bringin' the goods!"

Rogue marched in, carrying two massive, foil-covered trays that smelled intensely of garlic and roasted potatoes. Behind her came Storm, gracefully balancing a stack of plates, followed by Jean and Logan—the latter looking thoroughly annoyed to be carrying a cooler full of drinks, though his eyes softened the moment he looked around the clean space.

"We figured you two would try to survive on medical-grade alcohol and cotton balls if we didn't bring you dinner," Logan grunted, setting the cooler down on the reception floor with a heavy thud.

"We are so incredibly proud of you!" Storm gushed warmly as she gave you a tight side-hug, her voice like a soothing breeze. "A true sanctuary, built from the ashes."

You looked at Kurt, the shared weight of the creepy teddy bear package still lingering between you. With a subtle, silent nod, the two of you mutually agreed to shelf the mystery for tonight. You had friends here. You had a family. The threat could wait until tomorrow.

"Thank you, guys," you hummed, feeling a genuine wave of relief. "Seriously. Let's head into the break room."

The small staff kitchen was quickly filled with the chaotic, loud warmth of the X-Men. Plates were passed, Logan complained about the lack of beer, and Rogue enthusiastically recounted how you had grabbed her gloved hands in the garden, earning a round of proud smiles from Jean and Storm. Sitting next to Kurt, his tail lightly brushing against your calf under the table, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

Then, a sharp, distinct knock-knock-knock rattled the front glass door of the clinic.

The laughter at the table died instantly.

"I'll get it," you said, pushing your chair back. "Probably another late-night patient who saw the lights."

"I will come with you," Kurt offered, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

"No, sit, eat," you smiled, trying to shrug off the sudden spike of adrenaline. "I'm a doctor, remember? I can handle a front door."

You walked out of the break room and through the darkened triage area. The street outside was quiet, the lamps casting long shadows across the pavement. You unlocked the heavy deadbolt and pulled the door open, looking left and right.

"Hello?" you called out.

The sidewalk was completely empty. No patients. No pedestrians.

Your stomach dropped. Slowly, your gaze drifted downward.

Resting right on the welcome mat was a medium-sized box. Unlike the plain cardboard from yesterday, this one was meticulously wrapped in bright, vibrant floral wrapping paper, topped with a pristine, perfectly tied pink silk bow. It looked cheerful. It looked celebratory.

It looked entirely malicious.

A cold, paralyzing wave of terror washed over you. The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp. This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't a patient. Someone was actively watching the clinic.

"Kurt!" you shouted, your voice cracking with a raw, panicked urgency that echoed off the concrete walls. "Kurt, come here! Fast!"

The response was instantaneous. A violent BAMF sounded right beside you, a cloud of brimstone smoke clearing to reveal Kurt, his eyes wide and wild, his tail raised like a scorpion's stinger. You lunged your shaking body into his and his arms wrapped around you instantly. A second later, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed as Logan, Rogue, Jean, and Storm sprinted out of the break room, their faces grim and alert.

"What is it? What happened?" Kurt demanded, his hands instantly flying to your shoulders, checking you for wounds.

You couldn't speak. You just pointed a shaking finger down at the floral box on the mat before burying your face into his chest once again.

Logan pushed past you, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep, heavy sniff of the air around the package. He let out a low, predatory growl. "Just a fancy box, kid. No gunpowder, no biologicals on the outside. What’s the big deal? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"It is a very big deal," Kurt said, his voice dropping into a dark, lethal register as he stepped between you and the door. He looked back at his teammates, his yellow eyes burning. "Yesterday... a package arrived at the mansion. An anonymous delivery courier. Inside was a toy doctor, signed with a note congratulating her."

Jean’s hand flew to her mouth, her psychic senses instantly flaring. "Kurt... you said you thought it was a patient."

"I lied to keep her calm," Kurt confessed, his grip tightening on you. "Our underground patients do not use digital footprints. They do not use online couriers. Someone bypassed the mansion’s security grid to leave that bear. And now... less than twenty-four hours later, on the exact day of the grand opening, this appears on our doorstep."

Logan’s claws didn't unsheath, but his entire posture went rigid, his eyes locking onto the dark street outside. Rogue stepped up beside you, her jaw set, while Storm’s eyes flashed a dangerous, electric blue.

The cheerful pink bow on the box suddenly looked like a threat.

A/N: I have now added a tag list for this story so if ya'll want to be tagged in the next and future chapters, please comment on this post here. If you like the post but don't comment, I apologise but I won't add you to the tag list. I am big on consent so please give me consent to tag you in future chapters for this story <3 If you don't want to comment but still want to be added to the tag list that's totally okay, you can PM me privately and give me consent that way. I appreciate all of you who have read this far ^-^ I'm having so much fun writing this. Anyway, thank you to @dezzydynamite once again for being my beta reader and helping me edit this and for the biggest brainstorm I have had for a long time! Please enjoy!

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler X fem!reader

Summery: It has been a month; things are moving along wonderfully! The clinic is going to open soon, and love is in the air! But...something isn't right...

TW: Implied creepy behaviour from a stranger

Taglist: @sagebrush-and-sadness, @mary-moongood, @missryunosukechiba, @nagi3seastorm, @eggygirl501

Word Count: 2,653

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Ch. 7 - Lilies and Static

The X-Mansion was a chaotic symphony of clanging copper pots, raised voices, and the heavy, savory aroma of roasting meats drifting through the vents. Tomorrow marked the grand opening of the new clinic, a milestone of such magnitude that the mansion had collectively decided it required a feast. Jean and Storm were not taking no for an answer, and Hank had practically authorized it as a medical necessity, boasting that "such monumental civic accomplishments must be properly toasted!" Though everyone knew he just wanted an excuse for a second helping of cobbler. The excited shouting echoed down the grand hallways, bleeding through the floorboards.

You, however, had escaped the madness of the kitchens.

You were sitting on a weathered stone bench in the quiet heart of the labyrinthine gardens, where the scent of damp earth softened the sharp autumn air and the low afternoon sun painted everything in a warm, amber glow.

Kurt sat beside you, his three-fingered hand interlaced firmly with yours. His indigo fur felt warm, the texture unique against your palm. It had been a month since that sunset kiss on the roof. A month of stolen glances across a crowded dinner table, secret midnight make-out sessions in the dark, dust-scented corners of the library, and spontaneous dates to quiet, hidden spots around the world that Kurt could reach with a single, Brimstone-scented BAMF.

Just two days ago, sitting on this exact bench, you had both looked at each other and decided it was time to stop hiding. You were official.

A sudden, breathless snort escaped you, a smile breaking across your face as the memory resurfaced.

"What is making you laugh, Liebe?" Kurt asked. His yellow eyes crinkled at the corners, glowing with affection as he nudged your shoulder with his, the fuzzy tip of his tail twitching in curiosity.

"I’m just thinking about the last team meeting," you admitted, shaking your head against the sunlight. "We really thought we were being MI6 covert-ops levels of subtle, didn't we?"

Kurt let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh, his pointed ears pinning back as his tail drooped against the stone bench. "Ah, do not remind me. I had prepared a whole speech. I was going to eloquently declare my intentions to protect your honor to the entire team."

"And instead, Logan didn't even look up from his newspaper," you laughed, mimicking a gruff, gravelly tone that failed miserably but made Kurt grin anyway. "He just grunted and said, 'Took you long enough, Elf. The kid's been smelling like your cheap cologne for three weeks.'"

"And Jean!" Kurt added, his ears perking up playfully. "She didn't even blink. She merely smiled and said she was glad she could finally stop actively blocking out our... enthusiastic thoughts from the east wing."

A sudden wave of heat rushed to your cheeks, and you buried your face against Kurt’s velvet-soft shoulder to hide the blush. It was a beautiful, comforting feeling—knowing that the surrogate family he loved so fiercely had accepted you into their ranks without a second thought. But as your mind drifted back to tomorrow's grand opening, a small, cold knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach.

You sat up, your fingers tightening around his rough hand. "Kurt... are you sure Rogue is going to be okay with me being here? With us?"

Kurt’s playful expression softened, the easy banter melting into a look of deep, quiet understanding. He knew exactly why the nerves were clawing at you. After Genosha—after the devastating loss of Remy—Rogue had been completely shattered. Her grief had been a living, breathing monster in these halls, and she had ultimately chosen to flee the mansion, traveling the world to piece her broken spirit back together in isolation. Today was her first official day back.

"You are worried she will look at our happiness and feel the crushing weight of what she lost," Kurt concluded gently. He released your hand only to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"I just don't want to intrude," you admitted softly, your voice dropping. "She’s your sister. She’s been through hell. It must have been so hard for you, not having her here these past months."

Kurt looked away for a split second, a distinctly sheepish, guilty grin pulling at his fangs. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, his tail curling into a nervous question mark. "Well... technically, yes. But... practically? Not as hard as it should have been."

You blinked, utterly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Rogue wanted space from the X-Men," Kurt explained, leaning in until his voice was a conspiratorial whisper. "But she did not want space from me. Every other week, I would receive a postcard or a scrambled text message with a set of coordinates. A quiet beach in Greece, a misty mountaintop in Tibet, a small, rain-slicked cafe in Paris..."

Your jaw dropped slightly as the pieces clicked together. "Kurt. Did you cheat her isolation?"

"I did not cheat it! I merely accommodated it," he defended himself, a bright, roguish laugh bubbling in his throat. "She would tell me where she was, and I would BAMF right to her. We would eat pastries, she would vent her anger to the sky, and then I would bring her a fresh change of clothes from her closet at the mansion."

You stared at him for a beat, completely breathless, before a laugh tore out of your chest. You squeezed his hand, looking at him with a mix of awe and profound affection. "Your powers are completely extraordinary, you know that? You use God-tier, space-bending teleportation to act as an international delivery service for your sister."

"A brother’s duty never ends," Kurt affirmed proudly, puffing out his chest before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "But to answer your question: Rogue knows all about you. I have told her everything during our little rendezvous. She is not angry, Liebling. She is incredibly grateful to the doctor who healed her brother’s body... and his heart."

Kurt shifted closer, his hand resting at the small of your back while his other hand gently turned your face. The heavy topic dissolved as he pressed a soft kiss just behind your ear, whispering against your skin, “Danke, for wearing the perfume I got you, mein Schatz.”

The warmth of his breath sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He kept murmuring sweet, ridiculous things—a comforting blur of German and English—that had you burying your face in his chest, laughing softly against the steady beat of his heart.

"Kurt!"

The sharp, unmistakable Southern drawl cut through the quiet air of the garden like a knife.

You both looked up to see a woman walking down the stone path toward you. Rogue looked casual, almost ordinary, in a simple green long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, but the stark white streaks in her hair shifted like smoke in the breeze.

Kurt didn't hesitate. With a joyful exclamation, he was on his feet, the grass crunching beneath his feet as he sprinted across the lawn. Rogue matched his speed, and the two of them collided in a fierce, crushing hug. She lifted him slightly off the ground, a sound escaping her that held a tinge of wet, tearful relief, while his tail wrapped happily around her waist. It was the embrace of two survivors who had dragged each other out of a nightmare, and watching them, the knot of nervousness in your stomach tightened a fraction more.

When they finally broke apart, Kurt kept a protective arm slung over her shoulder, guiding her back toward the stone bench where you stood.

"Rogue, this is mein Freundin," Kurt said, his voice practically vibrating with pride. "Liebe, my sister."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm, but you drew on years of clinical professionalism to steady your posture. You stepped forward and held out your hand, offering a warm, genuine smile. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Rogue. Kurt has told me so much about you. I'm the doctor."

Rogue stopped dead in her tracks. Her green eyes dropped to your outstretched, bare hand.

The silence stretched, turning heavy and brittle. It was painfully awkward. You kept your hand extended, your skin tingling in the cool autumn air, while Rogue simply stared at it as if you were holding a live grenade.

"I don't do handshakes, sugar," Rogue said softly, a defensive, protective edge cutting into her drawl. She raised her own hands, flexing her thick black gloves. "See these? They aren't a fashion statement. If my bare skin touches yours, I don't just feel it. I take your memories, your strength... your life. If I hold on too long, I can put you in a coma. Permanent-like."

She looked up, her green eyes locking onto yours with an intense, unblinking scrutiny. She was testing you—perhaps trying to scare you away, or perhaps just terrified of hurting someone new.

You didn't blink. As a physician, you had looked down the throats of monsters and patched up mutants with volatile, dangerous biological weapons built right into their skin. To you, a power wasn't a curse; it was just physiology. It was a symptom, a trait, a part of the anatomy.

Without a hint of hesitation, you closed the distance between you. Instead of pulling your hand back, you reached out with both hands and firmly clasped Rogue’s gloved hands in your own.

You squeezed them, solid and warm.

"Good thing you're wearing gloves then," you remarked softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of fear. "But I'm a doctor, Rogue. I know a thing or two about taking precautions. I'm not afraid of you."

Rogue’s eyes widened, a rare flash of vulnerability crossing her face. For a split second, she looked down at where your hands were firmly anchoring hers, the rigid tension in her shoulders visibly melting away. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Well," Rogue murmured, her drawl softening into something genuinely warm. "Kurt wasn't lying. You really do have some backbone, Doc."

Beside her, Kurt let out a long breath he seemed to have been holding since she walked up, his yellow eyes shining with absolute adoration as he looked between the two of them.

The tension vanished as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by the easy, comfortable rhythm of a shared afternoon. For the next hour, the three of you sat on the stone bench, the autumn sun dipping lower, casting long shadows as Rogue opened up about her months away. She talked about the places she had traveled to clear her head, her face lighting up as she described the bustling, neon-lit streets of Seoul and the quiet, mist-shrouded forests of Germany.

"I'm tellin' y'all, the cafes in Hongdae are somethin' else," Rogue was saying, gesturing excitedly with her gloved hands. "You can sit there for hours just watchin' the world go by, and nobody asks you who you are or what you can do. It was exactly what I—"

A polite, soft clearing of a throat behind you cut her off.

You turned to see Jean Grey standing on the cobblestone path. She wore a warm, gentle smile, but her posture was slightly guarded, her eyes darting down to the items in her arms: a medium-sized cardboard box and a remarkably vibrant bouquet of white lilies.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jean hesitated, stepping forward and handing the box and the heavy flowers over to you. "A delivery courier just dropped these off at the front gate for you, Doc."

You blinked in surprise, balancing the heavy box on your lap while the thick, almost overpowering fragrance of the lilies hit your nose. "For me? I didn't think anyone knew I was here yet."

"They shouldn't," Jean noted, her brow furrowing just a fraction, a shadow crossing her features. "I did a quick scan of the delivery driver’s mind before he left the property. The package was placed through an anonymous online courier service. The driver didn't know anything; he was just given a GPS pickup location and your name."

A slight chill rippled down your spine, a faint prickle of unease at the anonymity. But you quickly shook it off, seeking a logical explanation. "It’s probably just one of my underground patients. They're the only ones who know I've been staying at the mansion while the clinic was being renovated. Word travels fast in the community."

"Open it, sugar," Rogue urged, leaning over with genuine curiosity, the white streaks of her hair brushing your shoulder. "Let's see what they got you."

You set the lilies on the bench and tore the packing tape off the box. Pulling back the stiff cardboard flaps, you reached inside and hauled out a white plush teddy bear. It was dressed in a tiny, cartoonish doctor’s coat, complete with a miniature fabric stethoscope around its neck and an oversized, comical plastic needle tucked under its arm.

Deep inside the box, a small, handwritten note fluttered to the bottom. You picked it up and read the neat, block lettering aloud:

Congrats on the clinic!

Rogue squinted at the stuffed animal, her nose crinkling in distaste. "Well... it's a sweet thought, I suppose. But is it just me, or does that bear look a little... off? The eyes are crooked, and that plastic needle looks like somethin' outta bad cartoon."

You chuckled, rubbing a finger over the slightly mismatched button eyes of the bear. "Yeah, it's a little weird-looking. But honestly, it's exactly the kind of eccentric thing my patients would track down. It's sweet."

Kurt smiled, though his yellow eyes lingered on the box for a beat longer than necessary, his tail going perfectly still. He stood up, offering his hands. "Let me take those inside for you, Liebe. You should not have to carry a payload of lilies and, uh, strange bears into the dining hall. I will leave them on a desk in the library for safekeeping while we enjoy the feast."

"Thank you, Kurt," you smiled gratefully, handing him the box and the bouquet.

With a polite nod to the group and a soft forehead kiss for you, Kurt turned and headed back toward the mansion's main entrance, his heavy, distinctive footsteps fading down the path as you, Rogue, and Jean began to discuss the dinner preparations.

Kurt walked through the grand, wood-paneled hallways of the mansion, the heavy, almost suffocating scent of the lilies filling the air. He pushed open the double doors of the quiet library and set the bouquet down next to a bronze vase. He carefully placed the white teddy bear in the exact center of the dark oak desk.

Kurt stood back, his hands resting on his hips as he looked down at the toy.

The library was dead silent, save for the distant, muffled laughter from the kitchen. Kurt’s tail flicked nervously behind him, a sharp thwack against his pant leg. He couldn't shake it—a sudden, cold prickle of unease scratching at the back of his neck. There was something deeply unsettling about the anonymous delivery, the strange, distorted face of the bear, and the vague, nameless signature on the note.

Your underground patients loved you, yes. But Kurt knew them. They were fiercely protective, poverty-stricken people, most of whom faced enough discrimination and hunting to make them deeply paranoid. They avoided technology and online delivery services at all costs. If they wanted to give a gift, they would have brought it by hand, wrapped in old newspaper, left in a dark alleyway. They wouldn't use an untraceable online courier.

Kurt stared at the bear's crooked button eyes, glinting lifelessly under the library chandeliers. An eerie, heavy feeling settled deep in his chest, a cold static humming in his ears, warning him that whoever, or whatever, had sent this package... it wasn't a friend.

I need this man to split me open like a Papaya

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

This entire thing has me blushing and kicking my feet and I hope ya'll feel the same! As always, I hope you guys like it! Thank you to @dezzydynamite again for being my beta reader and editor and thank you for letting me read it to you live :3

Please enjoy!

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler X fem!reader

Summery: You take Kurt on his offer to BAMF you to a roof when you get overstimulated. There you two talk about your past. Soon, things get a little...intimate.

TW: Talks about death, loss, grief and abuse. Fluff and some heavy making out.

Word count: 1,860

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Ch. 6 - Sunset Kiss

Your POV

It had been a few weeks since the building’s renovations had started and each day was a mix of floor planning, wall tearing, tile laying and constant chatter. You had been going to your patients homes for the time being, letting them know that your real clinic will open, free of charge for them. Some, understandably, are skeptical, but most are just happy to go someplace they’d be welcomed. Everything was falling into place. You couldn’t be happier…except for right now. The noise of the industrial scrubbers and Logan’s loud grunting as he wrestled a steel cabinet eventually became too much. You could feel your jaw tightening as your nerves became overstimulated, causing you to become a little irritable.

Catching your eyes from across the room, Kurt offered a subtle, knowing tilt of his head. You knew instantly what he was asking and you nodded furiously. He was by your side before you could blink.

With a soft, localized BAMF, the two of you bypassed the rusted fire escape entirely, appearing instantly on the wide, gravel-strewn roof of a tall building just a block away from your soon-to-be-clinic, a clearer view of the bustling city.

The late afternoon air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and river water. You took a deep breath, the tension leaving your shoulders. "You're a lifesaver, Kurt. Literally and socially."

"It is a specialized talent of mine, Leibe," he chuffed, a playful smile tugging at his fangs as he hopped up to sit on the edge of a brick parapet. He patted the space next to him. "Though usually, I am the one escaping the shouting. Logan has very strong opinions on where the bandage wrappers should be stored."

You laughed, walking over to join him. "Oh, I’m sure. I'll have to set him straight later." You leaned against the brick, looking out over the city skyline, before turning your gaze to him. "Can I ask you something? We've talked so much about my past, you know, how I got blacklisted... but how did you come to be a part of the X-Men? You don't exactly seem like the type who loves living in a militarized mansion."

Kurt’s playful demeanor softened, his yellow eyes drifting toward the horizon. His tail stilled, wrapping loosely around his ankle.

"I was not always with them," he said quietly. "For a long time, I lived in Genosha. It was... a paradise for our kind. A nation where we did not have to hide in the shadows of warehouses, old churches or broken homes. I was happy there. I reunited with old friends, and with Rogue, my adopted sister."

He swallowed hard, his posture stiffening as the memory took hold.

"Then the Wild Sentinel came. It was not a battle; it was a slaughter. Everything was on fire. And the screaming..." Kurt’s voice dropped to a thick, raw whisper before continuing. "I did what I could. I managed to save Rogue. I managed to pull Magneto from the wreckage. But so many... so many did not make it. Remy... Gambit... he gave his life to destroy the machine. He died so the rest of us could have a tomorrow."

Kurt looked down at his three-fingered hands, his shoulders dropping under the weight of the memory. "After the smoke cleared, I knew I could not go back to a quiet life of prayer. I joined the X-Men officially. To honor him. To make sure the tomorrow he bought for us was worth the price he paid."

Your heart ached for him. The sheer scale of that tragedy was unimaginable, yet here he was, still fighting to be a light for others. You reached out, sliding your hand into his. His skin was warm, and his fingers squeezed yours automatically.

"I’m so sorry, Kurt," you whispered softly, your voice carrying the genuine weight of your grief for him. "I'm sorry you lost a friend. But looking at you now... looking at how you wouldn't leave my patients behind, how you wouldn't leave me behind... I know your friend would be so proud of the man you are."

Kurt turned his head, his yellow eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at you, letting your words heal a small, jagged piece of his heart.

"Thank you, meine Liebe," he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. Simply feeling the weight of your hand in his with a gentle squeeze. "That means more than I can say."

A comfortable, healing silence settled over the rooftop. The wind rustled your hair and ruffled his fringe, and the distant hum of the city felt far away. Kurt watched you for a while, a familiar curiosity returning to his expression.

"And you, Doctor?" Kurt asked softly, breaking the silence like a gentle wave. "What was it that made you want to walk the path of a healer? To face the blood, the sickness, and the anger of the world?"

You let out a soft breath, your gaze drifting down to the gravel beneath your feet. The memory was old, but it never truly left you.

"My little sister," you said, the words tasting like bittersweet nostalgia. "She was always sick. In and out of hospitals from the day she was born, until... until she passed away. She was only eight."

Kurt’s grip on your hand tightened in silent sympathy.

"We didn't have a good home," you continued, your voice flat but honest. "Our parents were abusive, angry drunks. Most days, the house felt like a war zone. But the hospital... the hospital was different. I remember sitting in those plastic chairs for hours, terrified, and the doctors and nurses would bring me coloring books. They’d ask if I had eaten. They treated my sister with so much dignity, and they cared for me, too."

You looked up at Kurt, a faint, melancholy smile on your lips. "It was the first time in my life I felt safe. It felt so good to have someone care about us the way our parents couldn't. Right then, I decided I wanted to be that safety for someone else. I wanted to be the person who stands between a frightened child and the dark."

Kurt’s breath hitched. He didn't just squeeze your hand this time; he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against your shoulder in a gesture of profound, overwhelming reverence.

"You are," Kurt whispered against your coat, his voice thick with emotion. "You are exactly that light, Engel. You became the sanctuary you always needed."

The sun began its slow descent, painting the smog-tinted city skyline in brilliant, bleeding strokes of amber, violet, and deep rose. Just a block away, the muffled sounds of construction finally began to quiet down, leaving just the two of you alone in the cooling evening air.

Kurt didn't pull away. He kept his forehead resting against your shoulder for a long, quiet minute, just breathing with you. When he finally lifted his head, the proximity between you was suddenly entirely different. The heavy shroud of past grief seemed to lift, replaced by a thick, magnetic stillness that made the air feel charged.

He was close. Close enough that you could feel the soft heat radiating from his skin, cutting through the autumn chill. His yellow eyes were darker now, dilated, and fixed entirely on your face, tracking the way the golden hour light caught the line of your jaw.

"You’re staring," you murmured, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper to cut through the sudden flare of nerves in your stomach.

"Can you blame me?" Kurt replied, his accent thick and velvety in the quiet. He didn't look away. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "I am merely admiring a miracle, Doctor. It is a medical necessity, I assure you."

A small, breathless laugh escaped you. "Is that a professional opinion, Nightcrawler?"

"Extremely professional," he whispered.

The hand that had been holding yours slid upward slowly, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. His three-fingered hand was surprisingly gentle, his thumb lightly tracing the sensitive skin of your wrist, then moving up the soft fabric of your sleeve until his fingertips brushed against the side of your neck. His hand was warm, so warm it felt like a brand, and his thumb gently swept across your cheekbone, tilting your face just a fraction closer to his.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded. Your thighs squeezed together.

You could hear your heartbeat against your eardrums.

Badum.

Badum.

Badum.

The tension was a palpable, living thing between you now, snapping like static electricity. Every instinct you had as a loner told you to step back, to guard yourself, but looking at the absolute sincerity and longing in Kurt's face, the walls you had built over years of isolation simply crumbled.

Kurt leaned in, his eyes slowly closing as his breath fanned across your lips. He stopped just a hair's breadth away, giving you the space to pull back if you wanted to. His tail stepped up its rhythm behind him, lazily curling through the air in a nervous, hopeful dance.

You didn't pull away. Instead, you closed the distance, your hand moving up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid, frantic thumping of his heart beneath his sweater.

The kiss was soft at first, a hesitant, reverent question that quickly deepened into something entirely consuming. His tongue curling with yours. He tasted like sweet fruit and red wine, like the quiet safety you had both been running toward for years. Kurt’s hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling slightly in your hair, holding you as if you were the most precious, fragile thing he had ever pulled from the wreckage.

His breathless sigh mingled with your own needy whimper, swallowed instantly by the heat of his kiss. It was intoxicating-

God, oh fuck

His mouth was soft yet unyielding, his tongue moving with a slick, wicked confidence that left you utterly breathless. He crawled closer into your space, looming just above you, using the hand gripped in your hair to tilt your head back and drink you in. All the while his other hand possessed your hip, fingers digging in and tracing erratic, feverish paths that sent your nerves endings on fire.

When he finally parted from you, he didn't go far. “Bitte. Noch einmal, bitte.” He kept his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, your shared breaths misting in the cooling air.

"Wow," you breathed, a genuine, dazed smile breaking across your very warm face.

Kurt let out a soft, low chuckle, his fangs brushing against your lower lip as he smiled back. "I believe... my heart rate has exceeded safe medical parameters. Perhaps I need a doctor's supervision permanently."

"I think that can be arranged," you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips finding his once more, as the final rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the two of you enveloped in the warm, protective dark.  

Translation:

“Bitte. Noch einmal, bitte.”

"Please. Once more, please."

A/N: Come get ya'lls juice! Thank you to my girl Dezzy for hyping me up, LOVE YOU!

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!Reader / Nightcrawler X fem!Reader

Summery: You have awoken in your room, finally feeling like a living being again and not a walking zombie. Kurt decides to pay you a visit in your room.

TW: Reader wakes to someone in her room. (If there are any TW's that I have missed, please let me know.

Word count: 1,706 words

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

Ch. 5 - Bridges in the Dark

Your POV

The sleep that followed was the deepest you had known in years. There were no sirens, no dripping pipes, and no half-conscious fear of a police raid. There were no nightmares. When you finally drifted back to the surface, the room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of a setting sun peeking through the near blackout curtains.

You didn't move at first. You just listened to the steady, healthy thrum of your own heart. For the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a struggling engine. You just stayed still on the plush mattress, the blanket exposing your bare legs to the cool air. Dr McCoy has insisted you get comfortable so Storm had brought you a pair of cotton pajamas from her closet, which were much to lose to your malnourished frame but were the comfiest shit you’ve ever worn in a very long time so you didn’t mind.

"You are awake."

The voice was soft in the air. You turned your head slowly. Kurt was sitting in a chair pulled close to your bedside. He wasn't the grey (grey/blue?), trembling ghost from the abandoned hospital. His blue skin was vibrant, almost velvet-like in the evening light, and he was dressed in a soft, dark red sweater that made him look humanly comfortable and black pants.

He looked healthy. He looked whole. And he was looking at you with an expression so tender it made your breath catch.

"Kurt," you whispered. Your voice was stronger now, less like sandpaper. You could definitely hear the difference. “You’re here?”

"I am here, Liebe." He leaned forward, resting his three-fingered hands on the edge of your mattress. He hesitated, then slowly reached out, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. "Hank says you will recover quickly, but he is still grumbling about the 'state of your iron.' I believe he has met his match in stubbornness."

You managed a small, tired smile, but it faded as the memory of the broken down hospital, and the transponder, came back to you. You definitely had feelings about it. You had spent years cultivating trust with your patients, turning a broken down place into your clinic and home. You didn’t have anywhere else to go. But, Kurt was right. You were killing yourself, shaving off pieces of you to give to others without letting yourself heal or rest. You looked around the pristine room, the feeling of displacement settling in your chest.

"You called them," you whispered. It wasn't an accusation, but it held the weight of the life you had lost. The life you had gotten so used to.

Kurt’s glowing yellow eyes dipped, his tail twitching nervously behind him. "I did. I saw you falling, and I realized that I could not be the reason the world lost a light like yours. I knew what it would cost you, Leibling. I knew it meant your secret was no longer yours to keep."

He looked up, his expression earnest and pained. "I am sorry for breaking your sanctuary, mein Leibe. I know how hard you fought to keep those people safe in the dark. I felt... like a thief, stealing your peace to save your life."

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the genuine guilt etched into his face. He felt responsible for the fact that you could never go back to your quiet, invisible life.

"Kurt," your voice steady as you felt your eyes and heart soften. "My 'sanctuary' had a hole in the roof and a rusted nail for an IV pole. I was a second-year resident who became a ghost because I wouldn't stop caring." You reached out, placing your hand over his. "You didn't break my sanctuary. You just reminded me that a doctor can’t save everyone if she’s the one running herself into the ground."

A small, relieved huff of a laugh escaped him. He interlaced his fingers with yours. They were warm. He murmured your name and you were surprised by how your heart rattled against your ribcage when he did, a slight heat settling on your face. 

"Even so," he murmured, "I owe you a debt that blood alone cannot pay. You chose me when the world told you to look away. You are a very brave woman, Leibling."

For a moment, the high-tech mansion faded away. It was just the two of you again, connected by the pulse you shared.

"So," you began, trying to lighten the heavy air. "What happens now? Does the 'Blackbird' do house calls for porcupine-mutants with fevers?"

Kurt grinned, his fangs peeking out in that way you were starting to find familiar. "Actually, Logan and Ororo have already discussed it. They want to turn your old building into a legitimate clinic. New roof, real equipment, and X-Men security. They want you to keep doing exactly what you were doing... but this time, you will have a team."

You stared at Kurt, your hand going cold in his. The relief you had felt seconds ago evaporated, replaced by the sharp, stinging skepticism of a woman who had been burned by "the system" far too many times.

"A clinic?" you repeated, your voice climbing an octave. "Kurt, do you have any idea what you’re talking about? You don't just 'turn an abandoned hospital' into a clinic. There are zoning laws, building permits, sanitation codes. You need a DEA license just to stock the heavy-duty stuff."

You pulled your hand back, gesturing vaguely to the room around you.

"And the cost? I was charging ten dollars and a bag of apples. A single MRI machine costs more than that old dilapidated building is worth. Who is paying for the electricity? The insurance? The salaries?"

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but you were on a roll now, the years of frustration and "survival mode" pouring out of you. Your nervous system is on fire. 

"And then there's the biggest problem," you groaned, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Me. I am on a federal blacklist. My NPI number is flagged. If I so much as sign a prescription pad in a 'legitimate' building, the medical board will have the sirens at the door in twenty minutes. You can’t just wish away a career-ending move like the one I made."

Kurt didn't look discouraged. He waited for the storm to pass, his expression patient and deeply grounded and a patient smile. He watched you heave a heavy sigh, like you were trying to breathe out the weight on your heart. A weight you had carried alone for years.

"You think like a woman who has had to fight for every inch of ground," he said softly. "And you are right to be wary, mein Leibling. But you are forgetting who we are."

He stood up and walked to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to reveal the sprawling, manicured grounds of the estate which basked in the amber glow of the sunset.

"Charles Xavier has resources that go far beyond money," Kurt explained, looking back at you with a knowing grin. "He has friends in high places, some who owe him their lives. Manche schulden ihm noch mehr. And he has others who... shall we say, are very good at making certain digital files 'disappear' or 'evolve.' If the world needs a doctor who sees those it chooses to ignore, the Professor will ensure that doctor has the credentials she needs to do so."

He moved back to your side, his tail curling around the leg of your bed, taking your hand once again.

"As for the cost? This school is built on the idea of sanctuary. We do not want your clinic to be a business. We want it to be an extension of this house. The X-Men will provide the equipment and the supplies. You provide the heart and the hands." 

You looked at him, feeling a strange, dizzying sense of vertigo. It was the "culture shock" Logan had hinted at. For years, you had been an island. Vast yet alone. Now, a continent was reaching out to you.

"You’re serious," you breathed, the reality sinking in. "You want me to be the bridge."

"I want you to be exactly who you are," Kurt corrected. "A doctor who does not see a species clause, schatz. Only this time, you will not have to bleed yourself dry just to keep the lights on."

You looked down at your hands, scarred from years of working in the cold, but steady. The idea of having real surgical lights, a clean floor, and a pharmacy that didn't rely on expired samples, or dodgy deals in a dark back alley... it felt like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. Maybe more like a nightmare you were waking up from.

"It’s going to be a lot of work," you murmured, already mentally organizing the building's floor plan. "We’ll need a proper decontamination zone if we're going to treat the patients. And a separate wing for the kids with sensory issues..."

Kurt’s smile widened, a flash of white fangs and pure joy. "I believe Dr. McCoy has already started a list. He is quite excited to have a colleague who is as 'stubbornly principled' as himself." 

You looked into Kurt’s excited yellow eyes, trying to ignore the way his thumb rubbed gentle circles on your hand and also tried to ignore the way your stomach seemed to be filled with butterflies before you finally smiled back at him. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

~T h e   n e x t   d a y~

Returning to the building was like walking back into a dream that had been color-corrected.

You expected the familiar chill, the smell of damp concrete, and the oppressive silence of a place where people came to hide, to heal with what little they had. Instead, as the X-Men’s transport van pulled up to the curb, you heard the rhythmic thud-thud of a hammer and the low rumble of a heavy-duty generator.

You stepped out of the van, leaning slightly on your cane, a concession to Hank’s insistence that your "iron levels" were still not up to his standards.

"Careful, Doc," Logan grunted, stepping out behind you. He was carrying a crate of surgical lighting as if it weighed no more than a six-pack of beer. "Th’place is still a bit of a hazard, but we’re clearin’ out the rot."

You stood in the doorway, breathless. The "shithole" was transformed.

Storm was standing near the center of the floor, her eyes glowing a faint, ethereal white as she directed a localized draft of air to whisk away decades of industrial dust through the newly repaired skylights. But it was the man on the scaffolding who caught your eye.

Kurt was there, his tail wrapped securely around a steel beam as he used a high-powered industrial cleaner on the upper walls. He moved with a grace that was hypnotic, a blur of indigo fur and focused intent.

When he spotted you, he didn't just climb down. He let go, a violet cloud of smoke swallowing him for a split second before he reappeared on the concrete floor just inches from you, startling you as you giggled.

"Willkommen zu Hause," he declared excitedly, his glowing yellow eyes bright. "Welcome home."

"Kurt," you breathed, looking around. "You’ve been here all morning?"

"Since the sun rose," he admitted, wiping a smudge of grease from his cheek. "I wanted to make sure the floor where you... where we were... was the first to be scrubbed clean. I did not want you to walk back into a memory of blood, mein Schatz."

The sincerity in his voice sent a small, warm shiver through you. It wasn't just about the building; he was trying to curate the world so it was softer for you. That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

"Thank you," you whispered, a warm blush gracing your cheeks.

He offered his arm to you, a gentlemanly gesture that felt strangely right in the middle of a construction zone. You took it, and as you walked through the skeletal remains of your old life, the gesture didn't feel grand or cinematic at all. It felt like so much more, you felt seen in a way you never thought you ever would again.

"I have something for you," Kurt announced suddenly, leading you toward the back corner where your old "office", a desk made of crates, had once stood.

In its place was a sturdy, reclaimed oak desk. It was old but polished to a deep shine. On top of it sat a small, glass vase with a single, blue-tinted orchid.

"Where did you get an orchid at six in the morning?" you asked, a blooming warmth settling in your chest as you carefully stroked the petals.

"I may have taken a very quick trip to a florist in Munich," he admitted with a playful wink. "The air is better there this time of year."

He turned to face you, his expression shifting from playful to something more grounded. "I know this is overwhelming. To go from being a ghost to being the center of so much attention. If it ever becomes too loud, tell me. We can... BAMF... disappear to the roof for a moment of silence. I am a very good listener, and I am even better at keeping the world away when you need to breathe."

You looked at the flower, then at the man, the "monster" you had bled for, who was now spending his energy making sure you had a desk and a moment to breathe. You realized then that the bond wasn't just about the blood transfusion anymore. It was about the fact that he was the only one who truly understood how much you had given up, and he was determined to give it all back, brick by brick.

"I think I’d like that," you murmured, your fingers brushing against his. "The roof. Eventually. But for now... I think I want to see where we’re putting the new pharmacy."

Kurt’s tail gave a happy, involuntary lash. "Follow me, Doctor. I believe Dr. McCoy has some very 'fascinating' ideas about refrigeration units." 

A/N: Soooooooo, I'm not even kidding when I say that I have been through it. I got an awful chest infection/migraine, I got fired from my job, my grandfather on my dads side which no one liked bc he was just mean all the time died, and my doctor thinks I need to get back on antidepressants. It's been a wild ride and I'm here for the character development <3 So please enjoy! As always, thank you @dezzydynamite for being my best moral support and helping me through this. I love you <3

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler X fem!reader

Summery: Kurt has called in reinforcements, Reader is barely hanging on.

TW: mention of blood, stitches, medical themes, mentions of abuse of power in a hospital setting. If there are any other TW's to add please let me know.

Word count: 2,143

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6

Ch. 4 - No Species Clause

Kurt POV

The "ping" of the X-Men transponder felt like a betrayal in the silence of the broken down hospital. Kurt held the device in one hand, the other still cradling the doctor’s head against his knee. He hated how loud the small device sounded, a beacon cutting through the shadows she had worked so hard to maintain. He could feel the pain in his body pulsing rapidly through his body, his tail twitching with every wince. He could not help her in his current condition, but he knew his friends could.

It didn't take long. When you are a teleporter on the brink of death, the Blackbird moves fast.

The roar of the jet was muffled by the building's thick concrete walls, but the sudden, localized gale of wind spoke of a precision landing nearby. A moment later, the heavy bay doors at the far end of the building groaned, then shrieked as they were forced open.

"Kurt?"

The voice was like velvet and thunder. Ororo.

Kurt didn't have the strength to call out, so he did the only thing he could—he let a small, controlled BAMF of violet smoke rise from his fingertips. A signal fire.

Steps echoed across the concrete—heavy, rhythmic, and purposeful. Storm moved at the lead, her white cape shimmering like a ghost in the dim light, but it was the man behind her who Kurt truly felt. Logan. He was already sniffing the air, his brow furrowed in a mask of grim concentration.

"He's over here," Logan grunted, his voice a low growl. "Smells like sulfur... and a hell of a lot of blood."

They rounded the corner into the makeshift clinic and stopped dead.

Storm’s hand went to her chest. She saw Kurt, blue and battered, sitting on the floor, but more importantly, she saw the woman in his arms. The human woman whose sleeves were crusted with mutant blood.

"Kurt, my friend," Storm breathed, kneeling beside them instantly. Her eyes scanned the room, the rusted nails, the apple sitting isolated on the dusty, broken tiled floor, the blood bags. "Is this where you’ve been? What is this place?"

"A sanctuary," Kurt whispered, his voice cracking. He looked down at the doctor. "And this is the woman who is killing herself to keep it that way. Please... Ororo. She gave me her own blood. She has not slept in two days. She is... she is empty."

Logan stepped forward, his eyes narrow as he took in the medical equipment. He leaned down, sniffing the woman’s hair, then the bandage on Kurt's side.

"She did this?" Logan asked, gesturing to the clean, professional stitching on Kurt's torso peeking out from his bandages which had moved when Kurt lunged to catch her. "Alone? In this dump?"

"She is a doctor," Kurt defended her, his grip tightening slightly as if he expected them to take her away. "A great one."

"She’s anemic as hell," Logan muttered, reaching out to check her pulse with a surprisingly gentle touch of his thick fingers. "Heart’s racin’ just to keep up. She needs a real hospital, Kurt."

"No!" Kurt’s tail lashed out, nearly hitting Logan’s arm. "No hospitals. I…I don’t know her full story, but I know we cannot take her to a real hospital. She cannot go. That is why she is here."

Storm looked at the doctor’s pale, sweat-slicked face and then at the scattered files of mutant patients. A look of profound sadness and respect crossed her features. She understood.

"Then we will bring the hospital to her," Storm said firmly. Kurt heaved a sigh of relief as she tapped her comms. "Beast, prep the med-bay. And tell Jean to get a high-protein IV and a sedative ready. We are bringing home two heroes tonight."

~L a t e r~

Your POV

The first thing that hit you was the smell.

It wasn't the smell of damp concrete, rust, or the sharp, lingering sting of sulfur. It was clean. Terrifyingly clean. The air tasted of citric air freshener and expensive filtration, a sterilized scent so sharp it felt like a cold blade in your lungs. Too familiar. 

Your body felt weightless yet too heavy to lift. You realise with unfiltered guilt that you’re sleeping. Time to get up. You opened your eyes slowly, but the ceiling above you wasn't the familiar, peeling rafters of the old abandoned hospital. It was a smooth, pale grey, illuminated by soft, recessed lighting that didn't flicker.

Eyes widened when you realised you’re not in a familiar place, and unfamiliar usually leads to unsafe. Images of blue curly hair and yellow eyes flashed through your mind and you began to panic. "Kurt!" you gasped, your voice more of a dry, panicked croak.

You tried to bolt upright, but a wave of vertigo hit you so hard your vision swam, and you slumped back into the pillows. Only then did you notice the weight in your arm and the steady, rhythmic click-hiss of an IV pump.

"Easy, Doctor. You’ve had a very long forty-eight hours."

The voice was calm, cultured, and entirely unfamiliar. You turned your head sharply. Sitting in a chair beside your bed was a large man, (beast? Creature?) covered in thick, indigo fur, wearing a lab coat and a pair of spectacles perched on the end of a very feline nose.

You didn't scream. You had spent too long treating mutants to be afraid of fur, but your heart hammered against your ribs for a different reason.

"My clinic," you breathed, your eyes darting around the high-tech med-bay. "Where am I? Where is my patient? The blue man—Kurt?"

"Kurt is two doors down, sleeping off a very successful recovery," the blue man said, offering a gentle, fanged smile. "I am Dr. Hank McCoy. You are in the medical wing of the Xavier Institute."

You didn't look relieved. If anything, you felt a cold spike of horror. You began fumbling at the tape securing the IV in your arm, your movements clumsy and frantic. "No. No, no, no. I have to go."

"I strongly advise against that," Hank urged, standing up to stay your hand. "Your iron levels were low enough to be clinically fascinating, and your blood pressure—"

"I don't care about my blood pressure!" you snapped, your authoritative doctor voice returning, though it was underlined by a tremor of pure panic. "I had a boy coming in at ten. A fever. He's a porcupine-type, his quills get infected if the fever spikes too high. And an old man... he needs his heart meds. They’re going to show up to a locked door."

You finally ripped the tape back with a wince, your eyes filling with frustrated tears as you looked at the door. "They don't go to hospitals. They won't go to the ER. If I'm not there, they just sit in the alley and wait until it's too late. I have to get back. Now."

"You can't even stand," a new voice interrupted.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked out of place in the pristine lab, like a jagged rock in a clear pond. "And don't worry about the Porcupine Kid. We sent a team."

You froze, your hand hovering over the IV line, your heart mid-thud. "What?"

"Kurt gave us the addresses from your files," Logan grunted. "Storm and a few of the others went back. They’re bringing 'em here, or getting 'em what they need. Nobody’s sittin’ in an alley today, Doc."

You sank back into the pillows, the breath leaving you in a long, shaky shudder. The realization that you weren't the only line of defense anymore was almost as overwhelming as the exhaustion.

"You... you went back for them?" you whispered.

"Kurt wouldn't let us leave 'em behind," Logan said, his eyes softening just a fraction. "He said you’d kill him if we did."

The weight of the IV and the sheer, physical gravity of your exhaustion finally won the battle. You sank back into the pillows, your hand falling away from the tape as Hank’s steady, blue hand moved to tuck the blanket back around you.

"Sleep is the only prescription you cannot argue with, Doctor," Hank murmured, his voice as soothing as a sedative.

You closed your eyes, but you didn't drift off. Not yet. The silence was broken by the sound of a rough cough. You cracked one eye open to see Logan leaning against the far wall, a cigar held between his teeth, though he didn't light it, seemingly out of respect for the oxygen tanks in the room.

"So," Logan grunted, his eyes fixed on you with a piercing, predatory intensity that felt like he was reading your very soul. "Kurt says you’re a 'saint.' Storm says you’re a hero. Me? I’m just wondering why a woman with hands that steady is cutting people open in a shithole with rusted nails for IV poles."

You let out a dry, mirthless laugh that turned into a cough. "I had a career once," you whispered, the memories feeling like they belonged to a different person. "Second-year resident at St. Jude’s. It was the kind of hospital where the floors shone so bright you could see your own future in them. Prestige. High success rates. The 'crown jewel' of the city."

Hank paused, his ears twitching as he sat back down. He was listening with the rapt attention of someone who had seen the inside of those gleaming halls and knew the rot hidden in the corners.

"But the success rates were a lie," you continued, your gaze drifting to the sterile ceiling. "They were high because the board only wanted 'sure things.' Whenever a mutant came through those ER doors, the atmosphere changed. It turned cold. I watched senior surgeons, men and women I used to look up to, walk past stretchers because they 'didn't specialize in non-human physiology.' Or worse, they’d treat them, but without anesthesia, or they’d use the bare minimum of supplies. They treated their wounds like they were fixing a broken machine, not a living soul."

Logan’s jaw tightened, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. His claws didn't come out, but you heard the faint snikt of his muscles tensing.

"So I took them," you said, your voice gaining a jagged edge of iron. "All of them. If a patient had scales, or extra limbs, or skin that glowed, they went to my floor. I stayed late. I used the 'good' supplies. I treated them like they were worth the air they breathed."

You turned your head to look at Hank. The blue-furred doctor was perfectly still, his spectacles reflecting the light, his expression one of profound, mournful recognition.

"The board called me in," you muttered, the memory of that mahogany-paneled room still making your blood boil. "The top brass. They told me I needed to 'adapt to the work culture.' They said my department was dragging down the 'aesthetic' of the hospital. They told me to stop prioritizing 'those people' or find a new line of work."

"And you told 'em where to shove it," Logan filled in, a grim, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I told them my oath didn't have a species clause," you countered. "I kept treating them. Right up until security threw me out. They didn't just fire me. They blacklisted me. They made sure no hospital in the country would touch me. They wanted to make an example out of the woman who chose 'monsters' over a paycheck."

Silence followed. It was a heavy, thick silence that felt like the air before a storm.

Logan walked over to the side of your bed, his presence looming and solid. He looked down at your trembling hands, then at the IV line delivering the strength you had literally given away to save one of his own.

"Seems to me," Logan said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp of genuine respect, "that they were right about one thing. You didn't fit their culture." He leaned in closer. "But you fit ours just fine, Doc."

Hank reached out, gently patting your hand with a paw that was surprisingly soft. "To be blacklisted by such an institution is perhaps the greatest credential you could have ever earned, my dear. You didn't lose your career. You simply found your true practice."

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and a grief you hadn't let yourself feel for years. For the first time since the "BAMF" shook your warehouse, you felt like you could actually breathe.

A/N: This took me longer to finish, work has been insane and I was preoccupied. If there are grammatical errors, please let me know or not, I can't tell you what to do :P Thank you again to @dezzydynamite for being my beta reader and editor, I love you <3

Please enjoy!

Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!Reader / Nightcrawler X fem!Reader

Summery: Reader promised to sleep, she did not sleep. She has nothing left to give and Kurt has to help somehow.

TW: blood mentioned, depictions of self-destructive behaviour, depictions of childhood trauma (If there are any other TW's I need to add please feel free to PM me and I will add them)

Word count: 1,520

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Ch: 3 - Physician, Heal Thyself

Kurt POV

The echoes and remnants of his dreams faded slowly as he returned in slow waves of grey light and the rhythmic, distant drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe. 

He was alone.

The spot on the metal slab where she had rested her head was cold. Kurt shifted, his muscles groaning in protest, but the "white-hot" agony of the night before had settled into a heavy, manageable throb. He was healing—partly due to his own resilient physiology, and partly due to the life-force currently circulating through his veins. Her life-force.

Kurt’s attention zeroed into the ebbing awareness of having someone else’s blood keeping him alive. Someone he barely knew and yet, he owes every thanks he could muster for saving his life. But there was something he didn’t quite understand. 

How it was her blood that brought him back from the cliff edge of oblivion, rooting him to life in the face of death. She didn’t seem to possess any outward significations of being mutant, but he knew better than ever passing  judgement on figurative books. So he couldn’t help the swell of hope in his aching muscles at the thought that this stranger, this exhausted and kind doctor, might be like him in some way.

“Gnädiger Herr oben, danke für eine weitere Chance zu leben.”

He flexed his hands, feet, and legs to make sure they were working as they should, taking the chance to look around the room… only to find the doctor was nowhere in sight. His stomach dropped with worry. He sat up slowly, his tail bracing against the table to steady his trembling frame. The abandoned hospital was silent, save for a low murmur of voices drifting through a propped-open door at the far end of the floor.

Curious and worried, Kurt slid off the table, his bare feet silent on the cold concrete. He felt exposed, his blue skin stark against the industrial shadows, but he followed the hushed sounds. He stopped at the heavy steel doorframe, opting to remain shrouded in the darkness. Just beyond the door’s gap, maybe three yards away..

He saw her.

The flickering yellow light bathed her tired frame. She had taken off her blood-stained doctor's coat which was hung unceremoniously on a broken wheelchair but the clothes had not been changed, his blood splatters still littering her shirt, pants, and sneakers. Her hair was a mess, and her skin looked paper-thin, almost translucent under the light.

She was kneeling in front of a little girl, maybe five or six years old, sitting on an old crate. The little girl looked like any other little girl, dark hair tied with a ribbon, a sweet little dress and big eyes watching as the doctor checked the small obsidian crystals protruding from the girl's elbows, shoulders and her temples. A mother stood over them, her own skin a pale, shimmering pink, her hands trembling as she watched.

"It's just a bit of inflammation, sweetheart," the doctor murmured. Her voice was a ghostly rasp, worn down to nothing, but it remained steady. Kurt watched as she gave the little girl a reassuring smile. "The skin is still adjusting to the new growth. I’m going to give you an ointment that will stop the itching, okay?"

The little girl nodded, sad and lost in thought for a moment before she whispered with a scared, trembling voice. “Does…does this mean I’m a monster, Miss?”

The question slammed into Kurt’s chest with terrifying recognition. Memory echoed and rushed at once of his childhood, his own tiny scared voice asking the same question. Tears welled up in his eyes without permission, quickly wiping them with the back of his hand. He wanted to march over there and declare with his circus trained gusto that this little girl isn't a monster, she’s much more than that. However, before Kurt could even take a step, his doctor was already on it. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she assured with no hesitation, gently rubbing some cream or ointment on the base of the gems. “It makes you rare. The rarest gem amongst gems.”

Kurt’s eyes widened at his doctor’s declaration, his cheeks felt warm and his heart was— 

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Kurt watched from the shadows, his heart hammering against his ribs but also, his heart aching. He saw the way his doctor’s hand shook as she reached for a jar of salve. He saw the way she had to blink several times just to focus on the label.

She hadn't slept. Again. At least, she didn’t get the sleep she needed to. After giving him her blood, after hours of surgery, she was still standing. Still giving. “Still burning,” he thought quietly. 

The mother handed her a crumpled ten-dollar bill and a small bag of apples. It was clearly all she had. The Reader hesitated, then tucked the money into her pocket with a tired nod. "Get her some water. Plenty of it. Come back in a week."

As the mother and daughter shuffled toward the back exit, his doctor didn't move. She stayed kneeling on the floor, her forehead dropping against the edge of the wooden crate. Her breath came in shallow, ragged hitches.

She looked less like a doctor and more like a candle burned down to the very last bit of wick.

Kurt stepped out of the shadows, his tail twitching with a mixture of awe and sharp, stinging worry. "You told me you did not fall," he said softly, his voice echoing in the hollow space.

She didn't jump. She didn't even look up. She just let out a long, shaky exhale. "I'm busy, Kurt. Go back to sleep."

"You are not busy," Kurt countered, moving closer, his steps careful. "You are disappearing."

She didn't move. She stayed hunched over the wooden crate, her fingers white-knuckled as she gripped the rough grain. "I told you to stay on the table," she repeated, her voice so thin it was almost crystalline. "Doctor's orders."

"And who orders the doctor?" Kurt asked, his voice low and rich with a concern that seemed to vibrate in the small room. He moved closer, the shadow of his tail trailing behind him like a silent guardian. "You are swaying, meine Liebling. Even the stones of this building have more life in them than you do right now."

She finally lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "I have... three more patients coming. A boy with a fever. An old man who..." She blinked, a long, slow shutter of her eyelids that lasted a second too long. "I have to stay awake."

"No," Kurt said firmly, now standing only a foot away. The smell of sulfur from his skin mingled with the antiseptic on hers. "You have given until there is nothing left. You gave me your blood. You gave that child your comfort. What is left for yourself?"

She tried to stand. She pushed off the crate, her jaw set in that same "rigid sturdiness" Kurt had admired before. "I am the only one they have, Kurt. If I sleep, they die. If I'm tired, they don't get medicine. That’s the deal."

"It is a deal with the grave," Kurt countered, his yellow eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity, deeper primal senses screaming at him that something other than sheer exhaustion was wrong. Her intermingled life-force surged in him at full attention.

She took one step toward a broken supply cabinet—and the world tilted for one.

Kurt saw the light leave her eyes before her knees even buckled. The "Doctor" was gone, replaced by a woman who had finally, utterly, run out of time.

"Vorsicht!" Kurt lunged.

Despite the flare of agony in his side, his reflexes were pure instinct. He caught her mid-air, his blue arms wrapping around her waist and shoulders. She was terrifyingly light, her head lolling against his chest as her breathing turned into shallow, rapid hitches.

He lowered her gently to the floor, cradling her head against his lap. Her skin was cold, dangerously so.

"You foolish, beautiful woman," he whispered, his thumb brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

He looked around the crumbling abandoned hospital. The rusted nails, the blood-stained gauze, the bag of apples left by a desperate mother. This wasn't a clinic; it was a tomb. And she was killing herself trying to keep the doors open.

He couldn’t do this alone, he realised. He didn’t know if he was still being hunted by those manic people, he was also still very injured and exhausted himself. 

His gaze flicked to the shadows in the corner of the room where his torn suit lay. In a hidden seam, there was an emergency transponder, a direct line to a mansion in Westchester.

He had wanted to keep this place a secret. He had wanted to protect her from the chaos of his life. But as he felt her pulse flutter weakly against his palm, Kurt knew he had no choice.

He reached for the device.