#kweenywrites

[Reader having their first time with Kurt] [this is an 18+ ficlet! minors, pls don't interact]

[tw: pregnancy mention. gn pronouns used, but perisex female anatomy implied] [Husband Kurt fluff! Very very fluffy! I simply put the read more for those who are uncomfortable with pregnancy!]

[He saved your life, and a simple thank you was all you had planned to give him. Falling in love wasn’t the plan, and it might be sweet... but it isn’t always painless] [tw; unrequited love, pining, self-degradation from reader-insert, implied past trauma, injury, and rescue]

It had started as gratitude at first.

You simply wanted to thank the angel of a man who had saved your life, the one with bright sunny eyes and steady hands who held you when you thought there wasn’t anything left to salvage. Recovery was long, and the days were muddled, but through it all you persisted until you could stand on your own two feet and speak in a voice that wasn’t broken.

You wanted to say thank you. That was all you had meant to do as you brought Kurt to a secluded corner to give your thanks with shaking hands and a drumbeat in your chest.

Learning more about him had been… a curiosity. You wanted to know about the man who had saved your life, to perhaps give him your thanks with something more personal the next time you met. Something to repay even a fraction of what you owed him. And yet… the more you learned about your peculiar angel the more intrigued you became.

He was a flirt is what most of his friends joked. A flirt and a charmer, and yet somehow still entirely sincere in his affections. He never meant harm, and he simply held an appreciation for the beauty of others he didn’t care to hide. It was… endearing, to some small fragile part of you, his apparent ability to provide affection the way breath provided air.

He was a performer was the next thing you learned about him. Born for the spotlight within the circus and raised beneath its glow, he shined as brilliantly as the stars he inspired in other’s eyes. It was his flair for the dramatics that captivated you, the way he knew how to put others at ease with a smile and small gentle motions too flourished to be innate.

You didn’t… you didn’t mean to fall for him.

He was an angel. Beloved by many, a lover to many, a savior as bright and shining as the sun with eyes to match.

What chance then did you have, to win his affections?

You were a broken, pitiful thing, used and discarded before you were taken into the Professor’s institute to be made whole. What right did you have, a broken thing like you, to taint an angel with your affections?

It was enough simply to see him smile, to hear him laugh across the ground fully and completely at ease in the company of those he knew as the light dappled his fur into a dazzling blue.

Falling for him was as easy as breathing and as terrifying as walking into the deep end of a pool. It was like missing the last step on the stairs, the jolt of realizing you’re in free-fall before your foot hits the ground and suddenly you’re steady but on a whole new level you weren’t before.

And maybe looking at him sent a strange feeling in your chest now, like your heart was suddenly aware of its own beating, and maybe your body seemed to hum when he was near like he was sparking the gentlest current in your veins, but was it truly so bad to love an angel? Especially one as lovely as him?

Loving him was like tipping back into a sea of clouds; gentle, a little scary, but oh-so-achingly warm.

He didn’t have to love you back.

Even if you ached to be the one intertwining your hand with his, your fingers brushing against his fur. The one leaned against him on quiet nights sharing whispered secrets into the dark, it was enough to see him smile in the sunlight and know that he owned your heart.

Loving him was enough, even if he never knew you did.

[Reader reminiscing about the way Kurt smells and the familiarity it brings them. Sprinklings of my own headcannon’s about how his signature BAMFs don’t just smell like brimstone and why they're so unique to him]

The scent was familiar; ash, ozone, and brimstone. Not entirely pleasant, but not horrendous either. It was something familiar, something comforting.    Everyone said that Kurt smelled like brimstone, but you couldn’t agree, not entirely at least. Ash, ozone, and brimstone. It was the scent of the smoke left behind by his ‘BAMF’, the smell of when he donned the suit and became ‘Nightcrawler the X-Man’, but it wasn’t him.

Kurt reminded you of a lot of things; laughter and safety and half-translated jokes in a language you couldn’t understand but loved to hear. He didn’t smell like brimstone, not entirely at least, and the thought made you pause. He smelled like bread, and clean laundry, and for some reason heat. It was a combination almost as interesting as the smoke of his teleports, and one just as comforting. You never realize how... calming, the scent of the person you love could be until it’s not around anymore.    The scent of brimstone clung to his fur, sure, but he was meticulous about his hygiene and spent most of his time out of the suit. So, most of your days with each other smelled like Kurt; like bread, and laundry, and heat. It was soothing, and for all that you teased him about smelling like rotten eggs after his BAMFs, you still clung to him without hesitation, still relaxed with your chest against his as he laid back on one of the many couches in the Institute.    “Why do you always smell like bread?” You look up at him, a confused expression pinching his eyebrows together as he tilts his head at your words. The question had been itching in your brain for a while, rolling around your skull like a particularly stubborn marble. The scent of bread, and laundry, and heat filled your nose as the fur of his neck tickles your cheek. “I can’t really figure it out. I know you eat a lot of bread, but I don’t think that would make you smell like it too. I just... don’t get it.” You could feel the tip of his tail flicking in amusement against your ankles as a small smile graced his lips, a flash of fangs peaking out and catching your attention as he chuckles softly before you go looking back up at him.    “It... might be easier if I just show you.” His hands press a little firmer into you, the one at your back holding you steady while the one on your upper arm rubs the thumb thoughtlessly as he shift the both of you to sit up, his legs moving out from under you to plant his feet quietly on the floor. You follow suit, adjusting yourself and moving to grab your crutches, slipping the braces onto your biceps. Kurt stands first, smoothing out his shirt while you get your crutches on and holding out a hand to help you up, always a gentleman.

 You take his hand to pull yourself up before you steady yourself with your crutches, your grip on the handles loose and easy and familiar, the material comfortable under your palms. His hand moves to rest on your shoulder as he guides you, walking towards the kitchen. You stare at him curiously, but don’t question him, although his amused grin is quite nice to look at. The walk is quiet, save for the soft hums that reverberate from Kurt’s throat, following along to some silent melody only he can hear.

pt. 1 || pt.2 || pt.3

[It’s difficult to grieve someone when the reminders of them haunt every corner of your life. It’s even harder to grieve them when they decide to come back from the grave] [...otherwise known as ‘I decided to reread the Dead Nightcrawler Comic (Amazing X-Men 2014, #1-5), and imagined what might happen if I/a reader-insert was also in the story after reading that the Bamfs showed up almost immediately after the school was rebuilt post Messiah Complex/Kurt dying’, and then made myself sad. Buckle in everyone, this is a long one] [First multi-parter, whoo!]

The Bamfs moved into the rebuilt and newly minted ‘Jean Grey School for Higher Learning’ as soon as construction was finished, not too long after Kurt.... after he.....

The Bamfs showed up without much preamble, and despite the mystery around them and their appearance, no one at the institute had the heart to try and make them leave. They looked... they looked so much like him, like what you thought....

You nearly screamed the first time you saw one roaming around the school, falling back against a wall and calling for the nearest... anyone, as you curled onto the ground. Chest heaving and mutterings of ‘I’m going crazy I’m going crazy I’m going crazy I’m going crazy-‘ falling from your lips on repeat as you sat on one end of the room, the confused Bamf sitting on the other and blinking owlishly. It was Hank who found you, and it took him nearly ten minutes to convince you that no, you hadn’t gone crazy, and yes, the Bamf was real.

To both your chagrin and despair, the Bamfs seemed to have a particular affinity for you— the little creatures seemed to have a knack for finding you, even when you didn’t want to be found. No matter where you were on the grounds, the Bamfs would find you. And after a while... after a few weeks you gave up trying to hide among your friends to stay away from the small reminders of your dead lover. Of the little glimpses of what you could have had with him if he hadn’t been taken from you so soon.

. . .

It was the end of the school day, classes had ended a few hours prior and now you were curled up on the floor of your room— knees pulled tight to your chest, ears filled with static, your crutches dropped haphazardly onto the floor just out of reach and shoes kicked off —with your hands clutching one of Kurt’s old uniforms to your chest and crying into it. While this wasn’t your best moment, it certainly wasn’t your worst either. No, that had been when you’d first learned about Kurt’s death.

Your worst had been when you nearly destroyed the safehouse you were staying at with the children you were meant to be watching over, and then later when you had lost it at the funeral. That... that had been far from your best moment, it had taken Logan to force you to calm down enough to be present, and even then you hadn’t been able to muster the strength to speak, getting too choked up just seeing the coffin. So here you were now, months after Kurt’s death, clutching one of the last pieces of him you had left while sobbing on your bedroom floor.

One of the Bamfs found you like that not too long after, when you had just about run out of tears for the day and were left with your head in your knees and Kurt’s uniform nearly tearing in your grip. The little thing made its way over slowly, chittering and mumbling quietly as it crawled closer to announce its presence. It didn’t... It didn’t do much, when it finally made its way over to your side, sitting quietly by you without a peep.

As you slowly uncurled you registered the small form beside you, still clutching Kurt’s uniform tight as your hands fell to your lap and you glanced down at the Bamf. The little creature looked up at you with big, sunset yellow eyes, tail curled loosely around itself and sitting sweetly by your hip.

“Bamf?” The word was said quietly, a gentleness in it’s voice that wasn’t usually present in it and its brethrens’ boisterous calls. The little Bamf placed a gentle, three-fingered palm against your leg, a soft, inquiring look on it’s face. It was so... it looked so similar....

The familiar look of concern that you’ve seen so many times, although on decidedly larger features, is what breaks you. You reach out a hand to the tiny lookalike as more tears well in your eyes.

“...I miss him.” Your voice breaks as you get the words out, the Bamf grabbing hold of your hand and climbing gingerly onto your lap to settle itself on Kurt’s uniform. You curl around the little creature and hold it close as you fall apart once more, clutching the Bamf like a lifeline. More Bamfs show up after that, the first apparently having sent some kind of message to the others now curling around your sides and on your shoulders, seemingly trying their best to hold you together with their tiny, achingly familiar hands. Your voice breaks when you choke your words out next. “I miss him so much....”

After the funeral you’d forced yourself not to dwell on the broken space inside your chest where Kurt was meant to be. You forced yourself to swallow down the grief and the emptiness that had threatened to consume you, refusing to allow yourself to lose control like that again. You plastered on brave faces and small smiles and false hopes. Lied and promised and swore that that you wouldn’t succumb to the aching sorrow gnawing at your mind. You knew Hank and Logan and Ororo could see it, could see the tension in your shoulders and the insincerity in your eyes. You knew that your family knew you were lying, but you couldn’t- you couldn’t let yourself feel it. You couldn’t let yourself break under the weight of Kurt’s death when deep down you knew part of you wouldn’t come back from it.

Now though, surrounded by tiny reminders of the man you’d lost, the fraying edge of your will to swallow back the emotion slipping through your fingers at the ginger touch of dozens of tiny, familiar blue hands, you supposed... you supposed that now was as good a time as any to let yourself grieve. If at least for just single a moment in the in the poor imitation of your lover’s embrace.

. . .

Months later, when the staff were informed that something had happened in the basement with the Bamfs and the school suddenly went into lockdown, you gently guided the student’s you could to safe rooms and stood guard like the other teachers who stayed behind. The little Bamf, the one that sought you out all that time ago and who you’d taken to calling Blueberry, had become your second shadow. The little one showed up on your shoulder now in a puff of sulfur, tail curling around your shoulders and eyes boring into yours.

“Bamf.” Blueberry sounded... stern. Determined and almost... final, in its seriousness. Its little hands reached out to guide your face, tilting it down until it could press its forehead to yours, wide eyes closing. You closed your eyes as well, a shaky sigh slipping from your lips as your fingers tangle with the little creature’s swaying tail and it speaks again. “Bamf.”

“Something’s happening, isn’t it?” You say softly, pulling back after a moment to look at the Bamf. “...go. Your brothers need you, don’t they? The team says you all have pulled some stint in the basement, that’s what all the commotion is about, right?” Blueberry nods and guides the fingers wrapped around its tail up so it can hold your hand in its small ones. You give the hands a small squeeze, and keep your voice soft. “Go, I’m sure whatever’s happening, the X-Men will need your help more than me little one.”

A weary smile pulls at your lips and you lean your head against the Bamf’s once more. “...I’ll be okay Blueberry, I promise.” The little Bamf gives you a last glance, before pressing itself harder against you for a single moment, and then disappearing in a flash of light and a puff of smoke the next.

Inspired by @urdreamydoodles' X-Men x Reader prompt fill You think the enemy killed your lover

There was the distant cry of a familiar voice that made you turn in the heat of battle with wide eyes. Your gaze follows a lithe blue body as it collapses to the ground before your worldview narrows onto the blood pooling beneath the fallen form and its unnerving lack of motion.

Your hearing is reduced to staticky ringing as it clicks slow like your thoughts are moving through molasses. Kurt isn’t breathing. Kurt isn’t breathing.

You feel something in your chest crack at the sight before your lungs fill with cold and a piercing scream cuts the air. It takes a moment to register that it’s your own. Your visions tunnels until all you see is the still body of the man you love and the blood pooling under him.

You see red.

The next punch aimed at your assumed off-guard form never lands, and the enemy combatant who threw it is left wailing on the ground as the snap of bone can be heard echoing from his now mangled arm. You hardly even register your own movements as you silence him with a swift kick to the back of the head. He doesn’t move once he goes limp. Limp. Limp like Kurt.

The next few minutes are a blur of hazy carnage that leaves blood pooling in your mouth, caked under your nails, and bodies left in your wake. You don’t have the presence of mind to check if they’re still breathing.

You’re pulled out of your grief-induced bloodlust by the call of a ghost.

“Please look at me Spatzl… Ich verspreche dir, I’m right here.” He sounded hoarse. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

The world doesn’t come back into focus until you feel the worn fabric of his gloved hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking across your cheeks in a soft, soothing rhythm. “That’s it… come back to me Liebe, I’m right here.”

Kurt’s palms were warm, so so warm.

As your vision clears and you look into his bright, open eyes, you can finally breathe clearly for the first time since you saw him fall. His thumbs don’t stop their steady, gentle rhythm. The blood dripping from your fingers is cold.

“…I thought you died.” You finally manage to choke out in a rough whisper. “I thought you were dead.” Tears burned like fire at the corners of your eyes, and you could finally take in how shallow your breathing had become in your rampage.

Kurt doesn’t say anything more as he pulls you into his chest and holds you close, cradling you as you lean in and wail against his torso. He pays no mind to the blood on your hands as you cling to him like a lifeline. With how shaken you are he fears he might be.

It doesn’t take long for the adrenaline to fade and for your knees give out beneath you, Kurt gently guiding both of you off the messy ground of the battlefield. Although… at this point, it looked more like a massacre with you at its center.

. . .

You don’t remember how you got back to the mansion.

You don’t remember how you shut down and went nearly catatonic in Kurt’s arms. You don’t remember being gently led by the hand over to the Blackbird once the battle was over. You don’t remember the soft mutterings of German in your ear or how they kept your breathing steady. You don’t remember being ushered in-tow behind Kurt to the medbay to get looked over, or getting undressed and patched up.

When you come to you’re on Kurt’s bed curled into his side, the soft rumble of his voice as he talks low and soothing about nothing and everything as the both of you lounge in loose, comfortable house clothes. The tip of his tail flicks lazily over your entangled legs as you thoughts slowly resurface like they’ve been swimming in honey.

“…Kurt?”

The low, rumbling drone of your lover’s voice peters off as he turns his head to look at you, his eyes finding yours as your vision comes into focus. "What-?" Your hoarse whisper was cut off my Kurt engulfing you in a hug.

“Gott Danken Dank bist du zurück.” He says in a rush, holding you tight like you’d disappear if he didn’t.

As they two of you embrace each other close in the aftermath of the battle, the quiet murmurs of your voices lingering in the scant space between you. Gratitude melts to concern before a promise is asked of you.

pt. 1 || pt.2 || pt.3

[Part 2 babee! also known as known as 'Death isn't as permanent as some might think and reader does not take this well', the ficlet! enjoy!]

Something happened down in the basement, something big. Big enough to have even the more stoic and senior members of the team shaken, to have hushed whispers falling over the psychically-inclined students and staff, and curious glances sent between them.

It had been hours since the lockdown was first announced, and you were doing your best to keep things from falling apart. It wasn’t saving the world or stopping doomsday, but sharing some old stories of the X-Men in their early days seemed to be doing the trick of keeping things calm. The students around you were smiling, or groaning, or chuckling or rolling their eyes or doing anything aside from panicking, so you’d say you were doing a pretty good job keeping things together all things considered.

...Kurt had been better at this, when he’d been here. He could breathe life into stories like no one else, drawing others in like moths to a flame. You did well of course, you’d learned from the best after all, but your skills paled in comparison to your late love, even if the thought sent a spike through your chest.

The lockdown ended not long after that, and you swallowed the ache in your chest as you put on a smile and helped to usher the students back to their dorms. You ignored the looks from the other teachers as you opted to stay back with the students, not quite up to seeing your loved ones in pain the way they always were after a mission. At least, not outside of the medbay. You were still the assistant Nurse after all, seeing to injuries was part of your job.

Most of the students were gone now, either in their rooms or on their way to them, and you were running out of ways to avoid whatever situation was making the other teachers look at you with such pity. You were sure there was some sort of psychic message sent out, but your powers had never played well with other’s telepathy and the chances of a non-specific message getting through were slim. Even now you were told it took a bit more effort to contact you than most, and this certainly didn’t seem like a message specifically for you.

Now though it seemed that your time was up, cause not a moment later Blueberry ‘BAMF’ed onto your shoulder with a loud cry of-

“Bamf!” You stumble a bit in surprise at the sudden appearance of the little creature, it’s wide, excited smile inches from their face as it settles across your shoulders like a rambunctious blue cat. “Bamf! Bamf!” It takes you a moment to regain your footing, adjusting the grip on your crutches as you steady yourself.

“I- jeez Blueberry, give me some heads up!” The little creature simply kept chanting in an increasingly impatient tone as its little hands tugged on the shoulder of your shirt. “Okay, okay- what’s gotten into you? Did something happen? Blueberry-“ You didn’t manage to get much of a response, as in a sudden, familiar puff of brimstone and ash and ozone, you went from the middle of one of the school’s many hallways to somewhere else entirely.

. . .

The first thing you registered when you cleared the smoke from your eyes was that it was cold out. The next was that it was late, late enough that the stars were clearly visible in the now darkened sky, and the fact that you could see the stars at all. You were apparently on the roof of the school now, and you turn your head towards the culprit— Blueberry. You fix the little Bamf lounging across your shoulders with an unimpressed look, balancing your crutches under your biceps as you wrap your arms around yourself for warmth.

“Blueberry, this isn’t funn-“ You’re cut off by a soft call of your name and freeze, the little Bamf jumping off your shoulders to sit by your feet, nearly preening with satisfaction in itself.

Your chest hurts at the sound of the familiar voice, a sharp pain stabbing at your soft tissue, stopping your heart dead in your chest for a solid second before it starts to jackrabbit fast enough to leave Northstar jealous. “Spatzl, is that you?” You turn your head slowly, blood rushing through your ears, breathing gone shallow, and spine frozen stiff.

Your vision is unfocused, your mind not quite grasping the image in front of you as your eyes start to burn with something like liquid grief. You try to take a step back— ears ringing, knees buckling, hands now strangling the handles of your crutches as your nails dig into the plush grips, forcing yourself to stay standing by putting your weight on those rather than their feet —but your back hits the wall of the tower leading out to the roof before you can even lift a heel.

This- oh gods, you really had lost it now, hadn’t you? Your breathing picked up as you looked out at the ghost sitting on the roof not 15 feet in front of you. Your head was spinning. Your eyes were burning. You felt like- your couldn’t feel your-

Your head was pounding, hands numb and shaking as you slide out of your crutches and let them fall, sliding along the wall until you were seated on the floor, arms limp besides you. You couldn’t stop staring at him, at the ghost of the man you loved sitting across from you on the rooftop. Blueberry’s pride had shifted to concern, and in the corner of your eyes you could see the little creature putting its hands on your knee and shaking it, trying to get your attention. You couldn’t feel its touch.

The ghost of Kurt sat a still as a statue, knees drawn up to it’s chest, spaded tail curled around itself, and one foot curled over the other like a nervous child. Shaded blue curls you last saw beneath a white sheet fell over its face, sunset eyes bright with a perfect facsimilie of life. The ghost was looking at you, wearing a shocked, nearly pained expression of concern on its features so like that of the little Bamf beside you that you couldn’t look away from it. Blueberry shook your knee a bit harder.

Your lips trembled as you tore your gaze away, eyes wide with panic as your vision started to blur and you stared down at your knees. You couldn’t... you couldn’t do this again. You couldn’t face the visions again. You couldn’t look at the visage of your dead lover, you couldn’t bare to be haunted by the consequences of your own inadequacies again. Your voice is strained as you nearly beg Blueberry with trembling words and your eyes glued to your knees.

“Take me to my room. Blueberry take me to my roo-“ You go up in a cloud of sulfur just as the ghost starts to move, reaching out a hand with your name falling from it’s lips.

“No, wait-!“

pt. 1 || pt.2 || pt.3

[🎶it's the final ficlet, duh duh doo doo, duh duh do do do, duh duh doo doo, duh duh do do do do doo, duh duh do, duh duh do do do do do doo dooooo🎶] [sorry y'all, it's still sad. at least you and Kurt have each other now tho, right?]

You reappear in your room short of breath and panicking, body trembling as you slowly start to lose hold of your emotions, pulse going faster than a racehorse beneath your skin. You can feel the thrum of your abilities buzzing under your skin, the gentle give of the material beneath you cluing you in to where in your room you are.

Blueberry dropped you off on your bed, the little Bamf sitting on the edge of the mattress as your hands buried themselves into your hair and your nails scraped against your scalp, you scramble to press yourself back against the first solid object you came across, mussing your sheets and leaving the bed a mess.

“I’m not crazy.” Is the first thing you manage to spit out, eyes still unfocused and trained on your knees as you nervously draw them up to your chest. “I’m not crazy, it wasn’t real, I’m not crazy it wasn’t real-“ You snap your head up to look at Blueberry, brows furrowed and expression pleading as you choke out your next words, something in your chest cracking as your eyes burn and tears make their way down your cheeks. “Tell me it wasn’t real.”

The little Bamf just fixes you with that same pitying expression the other teachers have been giving you since whatever went down in the basement happened and the lockdown was ended. “Blueberry, tell me he wasn’t real.” You’re nearly pleading now, and Blueberry just BAMFs onto your shoulders and curls close, nuzzling your cheek apologetically before shaking its head.

Blueberry hadn’t lied to you before, and that knowledge cuts you like a knife as you were hit with a wave of vertigo.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen the impossible before, being with the X-Men as long as you had. This wouldn’t even be the first time someone on the team had come back from the grave if it was true. But still. You couldn’t- You can’t- If Kurt was back-

Kurt’s funeral was the first you’d seen with an actual body present for the ceremony. The others... most of the X-Men died in sacrifice of course— giving everything they had for the safety and protection of the innocent —but most of them didn’t end up leaving a body behind. Kurt... even cleaned up as well as they could get him, there’d still been a hole through his chest that left the clothes they put him in slightly sunken. 

Usually, there wasn’t a body. Usually when anyone on the team disappeared and was declared dead, there was some distant hope that they’d make a miraculous return and prove they’d been alive all along. Gods know X-Men had done it enough times for you to always hold a little doubt whenever any of them went missing for too long, even with the odds seemed against them.

You’d never had to face the idea that he wasn’t coming back before that day.

The muffled sound of a BAMF and the quiet thudding of something far too large to be a Bamf sounded on the other side of you door, and you nearly snap your neck whipping towards the sound as fast as you did. There was a gentle knock, whoever was on the other side barely tapping their knuckles against the wood before they spoke in a soft, achingly familiar voice.

“Spa-“ The ghost paused, cutting itself off just long enough to take a breath before continuing, voice just as gentle as before. The quiet sound of your name hangs heavy in the air. The breath is caught in your throat as you slowly pry your hands from your hair and force a shuddering breath into your lungs before answering.

“...door’s open.” You croak pitifully, dropping your gaze back to your knees. You were a coward, unable to face the thought that despite Blueberry’s insistence, it wasn’t really him. The handle turns and the door is slowly pushed open, the figure behind it slowly coming into view as they stepped into the room and closed the door behind them. You didn’t look up, pulling your knees further to your chest and hugging them close, pressing them to your eyes to avoid facing reality for a little while longer.

. . .

Kurt sweeps into the room quietly, grace born from years of practice leaving his footsteps light as he makes his way over and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, his tail curling loosely over his lap so he can play with the spaded tip. It was an old habit, one he didn’t indulge in much outside the privacy of his own room, but his Spatzl had always had a way of leaving him more comfortable in his skin than most.

“...are you real?” The sudden words nearly make him jump, and it takes him a moment to take in just how... broken, you sound. Your voice was shaking, and actually looking at you now, you were shaking, trembling from head-to-toe and he frowned at what he saw. You where trembling, head buried in your knees, knuckles pale, limbs stiff, and hair a mess. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say your eyes were probably swollen and puffy from crying as well. The Bamf curled around your shoulders— Blueberry, you’d called it? —fixed him with a hard glare, and something in its eyes told him to tread carefully.

It takes him a moment to gather himself enough to speak.

“I’m real Spatzl, I promise.” He starts, swallowing thickly as he tries to figure out why his love seemed so distraught. “Have... have the others not told you what happened?” His expression sours a bit as you shake your head and continue to keep your face buried in your knees. He.... worries, that reaching out to touch you, reassure you he’s real, might overwhelm you. But despite being so newly revived, he already longs to hold you in his arms again.

He settles on a compromise.

Untangling his tail from between his fidgeting fingers, Kurt slowly slides the spaded tip towards your curled form and keeps his eyes on you. He sees you flinch when the pointed tip of his tail slowly winds around your ankle, can see the way your trembling starts to worsen. He watches as the Bamf settled on your shoulders slowly lifts your head and presses its forehead to your in a movement that’s almost instinct. He sees the way you don’t fight the Bamf’s touch, the way your lips tremble as you keep your eyes closed and let the Bamf guide you with an ease that sends a bit of jealousy twinging in his chest.

He sees the moment you take a shuddering breath and allow your eyes to crack open, focusing first on the Bamf grounding you with its touch before slowly, slowly, pulling out of its gentle hold, uncurling, and turning your gaze towards him, feeling when you flex your ankle just a bit to show you know he’s there. The little Bamf takes that moment to jump down from you shoulder, gingerly make its way off the bed, and BAMF away, giving the two of you some space.

He feels the way the weight that had settled in his chest the moment he first saw you up on the rooftop looking so heartbroken eases when you finally look him in the eyes and see him.

“I’m real liebe. I’m here, and I’m real.” He takes a chance, slowly reaching out a hand and holding it out to them. “Please Spatzl, how can I prove it to you?” You stare at his hand with something like pain and heartbreak in your eyes, your ankle flexing a bit as you shift in place. You take a shaking, hiccuping breath before reaching out with trembling fingers and taking his hand in both of yours. Your grip is weak, and your hands are clammy, and you’re shaking like a leaf in the wind despite your room being just on the right side of warm. But despite all that, despite the way he can hear your breathing stutter, you lift his hand and press your cheek into his palm.

“...you’re really back?” You ask in a quiet whisper. “It’s really you?” Kurt moves closer and lifts his other hand so he can cradle your face in both his palms, leaning down and pressing his forehead against your like the Bamf on your shoulder— Blueberry —had done earlier. His tail slowly works to wind further up your leg and cement that he was actually here, thumbs brushing the stray tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m not dreaming?”

His heart breaks at the way your voice cracks, at the raw edge to your words, at the disbelief coating every syllable. He can’t take it, can’t take the thought that you don’t believe he’s really here. He can’t stand the sight of you in so much pain.

“Oh Spatzl.” He says, chest aching at the hurt he can see so clearly on your face. ”Mien sweet, mein kostbarer Schatz.”

He pulls you into his embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he guides your chin into the crook of his neck buries his face in your shoulder, pulling you close until you’re chest to chest, his tail unwinding from your leg and curling around your back, hearts beating together as close as possible. He can feel it, the moment you break, the second that whatever power you’d been using to hold yourself together fails and you start to fall apart in his arms. “You’re not dreaming Spatz, I... I came back. I came back, and I promise I won’t leave you again anytime soon.” And he means that, he means those words with every fiber of his being and he needs you to know that. “I swear liebe, that I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I mean it.”

The drag of your nails scratching the back of his suit and digging scores into his skin even through the fabric and his fur as you hold him like a lifeline doesn’t hurt even a fraction as much as the heartbroken wail that tears it’s way out of your throat as you tremble into pieces in his grasp.

. . .

You hold onto Kurt like a life preserver, like he’s the last rung of the ladder out of Hell, like he’s the key to your salvation. You hold him as close as you physically can and mourn the fact that you can’t pull him closer. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest; strong, and solid, and there, and alive and it only makes the tears burning your eyes well faster.

You relish in it, in him— in the feel of his fur ticking you neck and arms and legs, in the feel of his tail wrapped around your torso, in the soft lilt of his voice and the strength of his hold, in the warm, solid feel of him under your hands, in the stupid smell of ozone and rotten eggs and ash and bread and him filling your nose. You soak in every precious second of his breath ghosting over your skin and the way the curling fur along his jaw brushes the collar of your shirt cause it means he’s here and he’s real and he’s alive.

Kurt was alive and you had never been so glad that the X-Men always seemed able to do the impossible.

After some time, gods only know how long, you calmed. The tears dried and your breathing settled and you simply held Kurt close like he was the most important thing in your entire world. If only he knew that he was.

When you finally calmed, Kurt spoke to you in gentle tones, telling the tale of how he came back from the grave, of how he returned himself to your arms. Even with his voice hushed and quiet, speaking of his own death and resurrection, Kurt brought life to every word he spoke.

He told you of Paradise, of a realm so beautiful, so full of light and peace and tranquility he didn’t even have the words to describe it in its full glory. Of months spent sitting at the edge of that realm, gazing out into the ether and wishing more than anything that he could spend one last day back home. He told you of the attacks, of how his father had used him to access Heaven and wage war, attempting to seize the Holy plane. He told you of the little creatures he’d come to know, his brothers now by blood who’d chosen to fight beside him and betray his father, coming to this side of the veil to lay the groundwork for his plan from the side of the land of the living.

But despite the energy in his voice and the tilt of his lips, his smile was wry and strained, shoulders weighed by something you could see sitting heavy on his heart. Something he refused to speak just yet.

He told you how he sailed across the realms of the dead and fought back pirates and demons alike to free souls captured by his father’s men. How he’d unintentionally dragged his team to Hell once again, how they’d all faced off against impossible odds and found each other across the various realms of Hell to face his father together. How he’d made a deal with the Bamfs, how he’d come back from the grave to trap his father here on Earth, and how he’d jumped from Heaven and abandoned eternal Paradise to do so.

And then, in quiet silence under the blanket of night, he told you how to save those billions and trillions of souls...

...he’d sacrificed his own.

. . .

...This time, when the story was finished and the night was silent once more, it was your turn to hold him as Kurt finally broke down and grieved for exactly what he’d lost to return to the land of the living, and to make sure his father could never leave it.