Wolverine/Fem!Reader - Masterlist Link

Wolverine/Fem!Reader - Masterlist link

You've met Logan Howlett in every life you've lived since the 1900s. And in every lifetime, fate rips you from him just as cruelly as it forces the two of you to meet. How many lives will it take for the two of you to finally have your happily ever after?

General TWs: Reincarnation, death, Major character death (multiple times), Angst with a happy ending. Controlling familiail behavior, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of war, descriptions of violence/death, childhood trauma. Possible historical inaccuracies.

Here's the first chapter!! I waassss gonna wait until I finished part two and post both at once but TBH I was desperate to get this out! I hope yall enjoy this, and I would like to remind everyone that I am not a nurse or any kind of medical personnel, and I kinda struggled to find out about the procedures of ww1 nurses, so take most of the nurse stuff with a grain of salt! like watching a dumbed down version of grey's anatomy lol. I'd also like to say that I decided to make Logan's healing factor slower during ww1 and ww2, as he hadn't gone through the Weapon X program yet. Chapter TWs: Blood, injury, childhood injuries in the prologue scene, war n shit, ww1 canada is a tw on it's own.

October 22, 1900.

“Andy!!” Your brother rolls his eyes at the sound of your high-pitched voice calling his name, turning around with a frown. He always had been faster than you, and today was no different. He had gone running into the woods when your mother had called the two of you in for lunch, and ever the devoted little sister, you had chased after him before she could notice what the two of you were doing. You’re panting when you finally catch up to him, your skirts scrunched up in your fists as you try your best to keep them from catching on bushes and vines.

“Where are you going? Mama’s calling us for lunch!” Neither of you was supposed to be on this side of the woods, past the fence that marked your family’s property. It made you nervous to be so far past the boundary. Your older brother scoffs at you, turning away once again as he continues to march further.

“Father told me that he had set bear traps out to keep the animals away from the house. I’m going to see if he’s caught anything.” Andrew says stubbornly. You rush ahead to try and keep up with him, staying close and looking around anxiously. You never had been a rule breaker, and this was just a little more adventurous than you were comfortable with.

“Bears? You don’t think we’ll find any, do you? I don't want to see anything be hurt.” You whine, tears forming in your eyes. Your brother laughs at you, the same way did the time you brought some a dying bird, or the time you had begged father to spare the rabbit that had been digging in the garden. He never understood why you were so soft-hearted.

“You’re going to need to be more brave if you’re going to be an adult one day. Cowards get killed.” Andrews teases, cackling wickedly as he steps on a branch and the sound of it snapping causes you to flinch and cry out, rushing forward to grab hold of his arm.

“That’s not true!” You cry.

“Yeah, it is!” Andrew argues. There’s a bit of a ditch in front of the two of you, and he shakes you off before he hops down. He holds his hand out to help you navigate the drop, and you take it eagerly as you carefully get down, making sure not to dirty your skirts any more than they had been.

“No, it’s not! It’s not true! It’s not true because I have you, remember? Big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters!” You persist once you’re finished. Andrew sighs again, but you don’t doubt his answer for a second. He rolls his eyes at you before he begins to walk on.

“Of course I am. But you can’t expect me to get to you every time.” Andrew says. You’re about to refute that when the two of you hear a rustling in the bushes up ahead. Andrew holds out a hand to keep you behind him, stopping both of you in your tracks. The birds have stopped singing, and you know that it means something scary is about to happen. Dad calls it a bad oh-men or something along those lines, but you didn’t usually listen to him. Now you’re starting to wish you had.

“Stay here. I think I hear something up ahead.” Andrew whispers to you. You try to grab for his arms as he leaves you, but he’s too far away, and you find your feet rooted to the spot. You’re too scared to move, holding your hands anxiously as you watch Andrew begin to stumble through the bushes cautiously. You don’t like this. You don’t like it at all. You can only see his head through once he’s through the thick of it, and you hear him huff in disappointment when he doesn’t find anything on the other side.

“Never mind. There’s not even-” There’s a sound of a mechanical snap before Andrew falls to the ground with a scream.

“Andy!” You cry out, immediately bolting through the bush. Branches and briars get caught on your skirt and tear at your skin as you push through to get to him. Your brother is shouting and grunting in pain when you see him, tears dotting his eyes as he stares down at the sight of his ankle caught firmly between the teeth of a bear trap.

“Stupid trap!” He cries out, his hands shaking from adrenaline. You don’t know what to do, standing frozen at the bloody sight before you, mind going back and forth between whether or not you should go to your brother or run home to get your parents.

“Help me get it off!” Andrew shouts, and it’s enough to finally bring you back to the situation. You can only nod frantically as you kneel by his side. Hands shaking as you help your brother try and open the trap and get it off of him. The metal digs into your fingers as you try to pry it open, your brother grunting and crying with the effort to do so. You can only think of what your parents will say, what Andrew will do. What if it got infected? What if he lost his foot completely? You realize you’re crying as you and Andrew try with all your might to pull the trap open, grip beginning to slip on the contraption right as Andrew tugs his leg out of the trap. It snaps closed violently after, barely missing both of your fingertips as Andrew rolls away from it.

“What- What do we do? Andy?” You ask, unable to do much but stare as your brother writes in pain. It’s all happening so fast, but god did everything feel so slow. Andrew manages to make out something about stopping the bleeding, and you’re right on it as you press your small hands to the bloody, mangled, flesh. You squeeze tightly as you pray and pray and pray for him to stop bleeding, shutting your eyes tightly as you sob and cry and wish you could do something, anything more to help your big brother.

There’s a buzzy feeling in your hands, like pins and needles without the pain. You don’t see it happening as you sit there and bawl for your brother, his warm blood on your hands all you can manage to feel in the moment. The blood begins to slow, and slow, and you don't even realize it has stopped until everything seems to be just as quiet as before. You realize that Andrew isn’t crying anymore, and find yourself brave enough to cautiously open your eyes.

To your surprise, you don’t see anything.

All there is is Andrew’s blood staining his ripped pants and both of your hands- but the strangest part of all was that there was no more wound. Not even a bruise remained of the bone-deep cuts that had been there just a moment before. Your tears begin to dry up as your eyebrows furrow, still hiccuping as you look on at the scene in confusion. When you look up at your brother, he’s wide-eyed. Staring at you in complete shock.

“Was that you that did that?” He asks. You don’t know what to say. You don't know. You begin to notice a soreness in your leg as the two of you sit there, simply staring at each other in shock. Eventually, Andrew swallows, before he tries to stand up, doing so effortlessly and without pain. He stretches and flexes his leg, moving it back and forth like his brain is still playing catch up. You try to follow his lead, only to cry out in pain and stumble. There's a deep purple bruise circling your leg when you raise your skirt, one that perfectly mimicked the bloody hole in Andrew’s pants where his own wound once had been.

He carried you back home that day.

The Great War began on July 28th, 1914. The archduke of Austria, Franz Ferdinand, had been assassinated, thus causing a series of events that spiraled into the worst war that the world had ever seen until that point. Your brother was quickly whisked away into the battle once the fight had started. He quickly advanced through the ranks, his ever-present charm and intelligence being a boon to him, and an asset to many others. He had always been the fighter. Your bother Andrew, your protector, and keeper of your secrets, now a general in the Canadian army. You could hardly believe it.

You, on the other hand, had begun to educate yourself at your brother’s behest. You became a nurse, finding yourself drawn to the field in the absence of the many men who had left mainland hospitals to go to war. You loved it. You loved helping people heal and survive, thrive even, but even so, you had become rather secretive about your natural gifts. Andrew, as supportive as he was, knew that the world would never accept powers like yours. As guilty as you felt every time a patient had slipped through the doctor’s fingers, you knew better. Your healing abilities took from you a fraction of what it gave to others, and using it was just not possible in large doses. You knew that and knew to listen to your brother’s warnings. Still, it did not stop you completely. Healing a wound or broken bone now and then in the shadows, where there was no one there to see. Miracles became your specialty, but your medical knowledge had become your backbone.

At the end of April, you were surprised to receive a letter from your brother, the contents of it being a plea for you to join him in the war efforts. They needed nurses, trained, knowledgeable, nurses. You would be by his side as much as possible, but you were needed across the sea. And well, if it was your brother asking, who were you to refuse?

May 2nd, 1917

"You are to keep your medical supplies cleanly and well maintained. I understand that you aren't exactly green in this line of work, but let me tell you, you haven't seen war yet." The senior nurse in front of you has no time for fools, you have only known her for a moment, and yet you know this for a fact. Her pace is fast and purposeful. Her skirt is muddied and stained, and yet her boots do not seem to sink or stick in the mud like yours do as you try your best to keep up with her. Nurse Mary is strict in personality and pace, and you're careful to follow directly behind her throughout the busy encampment.

Everyone seems to have something urgent to attend to, soldiers and nurses and medics alike all running about through the mud and dirt. There are many hospital tents, many more than you had originally anticipated. You begin to realize exactly why your brother had been so firm in instructing you to refrain from assisting any wounded beyond what help lies within sutures and gauze.

“How often do the wounded arrive?” You ask, following her into a rather large hospital tent and passing by various cots with wounded men.

“You should expect them to arrive every day. The wounded are many, but the dead are more, god rest their souls.” She tells you, one of her hands clutching the cross around her neck for a moment. There are many things you have learned throughout your schooling, and many gruesome sights you know to expect, but the one thing that still gave you chills was the death toll. You try not to think about it too hard, knowing that it’s just the truth of war that good men go to die. But that doesn’t mean you will ever be forced to be comfortable with it. You pass many rows of wounded soldiers as you follow her through, many being gravely injured with missing and mangled limbs, and shrapnel in places where it should never be. You keep your bedside manner in check, but you know half of those men won’t make it through the night.

“We should be grateful for the men who return to our care, but please keep in mind that we are the only buffer between them and god. You must understand that losing these men isn’t an if, it’s a when.” You nod solemnly in response to her, quelling the anxiety in your heart. You knew very well that she was right. You casually look around the hospital tent, doing your best to help familiarise yourself with the surroundings when a puff of smoke catches your eye.

You don’t know where to laugh or scold the man, brown eyes meeting your own as he quickly tries to hide the cigar. Nurse Mary clearly had not seen him, but you certainly did. You can’t help but smile in a baffled sort of way, and the soldier- the quite handsome soldier- smirks, shrugging his shoulders at you. You try not to laugh, choosing to simply shake your head instead of pointing it out to Nurse Mary. It’s something he clearly appreciates, and he tips his head at you, winking as you finally pass him by. You hope you’re not blushing, quickly looking away from him with a smile on your face that you couldn’t fight off.

“Are you paying attention, Miss? Your brother spoke very highly of your skills, it would be a shame if it were all to be lies.” The nurse ahead of you says, a strict tone in her voice. It almost startles you, bringing you back to earth after the solid minute of distraction the brown-eyed soldier had caused.

“I- yes. I apologize. Please, continue.” You reply quickly. You can tell she’s not quite convinced but doesn’t have the time to care, reminding you that there would be little to no time to dally once you had been given decent instruction about the facilities. You’re eager to get to work, and decide that there would be no more distractions today- no matter how charming or handsome they seem to be.

—-

You were assigned work the moment your walkthrough had been conducted. No downtime, no breaks. You wonder if you truly had any idea how bad things would be where you got here. Seeing the wounded was one thing, but reading their chart was another. You felt detached as you conducted physicals, changed bandages, and redressed wounds and cuts. You checked for infections in those with amputated limbs, knowing that death would soon come for those who were so unfortunate. The difference between any of the men was astounding- wounds from this war unlike any that you had ever seen before. You had heard of the new weapons, the horrors that geniuses had developed so that others would die. It pains you that someone could be so ignorant and cruel- and yet even you hope that you would never have to face those instruments of war.

Out of all the strange and unusual wounds and war-torn soldiers you met on that day, there was only one who you remembered in truly remarkable detail.

You see the puff of smoke before you see him, lounging on the backboard of his hospital cot without a care in the world. Besides some old bandages on his chest, you can tell that he’s not in any pain. To be honest, you start to wonder if he belongs in this infirmary at all. He’s distracted, cigar held up to his lips as he takes a deep inhale of the smoke, drowning out his senses with the nicotine.

“You must be feeling pretty confident to be breaking the only rule we have in here.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him. He chokes on the smoke rather suddenly, trying to recover as quickly as he can as he puts the cigar out. You give him a sweet smile, trying your best not to laugh. He smiles sort of unabashedly at you, shrugging.

“Can’t blame a man for tryin’.” He coughs. You shake your head at him, lifting some papers on your clipboard before you find the one assigned to his cot. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his list of past injuries and causes of infirmary visits. How is this man even alive?

“Logan Howlett, I presume? You’re pretty perky for a man who has such a long list of injuries.” You state, still reading it through. You’ve never seen this many on one chart before- all dating from the very start of the war to his current visit. Logan gives you a shrug of his shoulders, which isn’t exactly a response you would prefer, but he smiles at you in a charming sort of way that makes your heart flutter.

“They call me Lucky Logan for a reason,” Logan hums- causing you to huff a laugh. You shake your head at him, setting the clipboard down on the edge of the bed before you begin conducting a physical and checking on his “wounds.”- not that there really was any besides an odd, yellowed bruise or two that you could almost swear seemed to be lightening by the minute.

“ ‘You new here?” You glance up at him at the sound of his voice, smiling a bit out of politeness.

“Why, Is it that easy to tell?” You ask, knowing that he certainly knew so due to him seeing you earlier, but you wonder for a moment if you seemed to be any different from the other nurses. You always strived to be good at what you do, but part of you had a tendency to worry if you could keep up with the others here.

“Nah,” He says, bluntly. “I just think I’d remember if I had seen a pretty nurse like you before.” The words make you gape for a moment, that smile still showing as you shake your head at him and try not to laugh. He was a flirt- a rather smooth one too.

“Do you use that line on all the ladies?” You tease as you pull out your stethoscope to listen to his heart. You listen, and besides the fact that his heart rate is a little faster than the regular average, you don’t seem to notice anything too strange.

“Only the ones as pretty as you.” He says. You don’t hold back your laugh at that, and his genuine smile is definitely contagious. You check his eyesight and overall mobility one more time once you’re done, trying not to blush at the way he’s looking at you. You feel his gaze even when you step away to write on his chart, finishing things up.

“Well, Mr. Howlett, you seem to have a perfect bill of health,” Logan perks up a bit at that, moving to where he can sit on the side of the cot, his feet on the ground. “...but I can’t completely release you just yet. You’re free to wander around some, but you’ll have to wait for the doc to give you one last look-over before you can go back to the frontlines.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, frowning for only a minute before he stands, winking at you as he grabs his shirt from underneath the cot- the bloodied one they wheeled him in here with, no doubt, and puts it on.

“If that means I’ll be seeing you more often, I’ll take it.” He flirts. You laugh, knowing that you very well might have swooned if you had been any greener to this line of work. Instead, all you can really do is cringe at the sight of his shirt and lean down to the small table to his right, the one where his chart had been, and open the drawer, revealing a freshly clean set of clothes.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Smokey.” You joke, finding his surprised face rather endearing. It only takes a moment before he’s smirking again, taking the clothes from you and doing a mock toast to you with the cloth. You shake your head at him, trying to keep your smile contained as you walk away from him and over to your next patient.

You find yourself thinking about him throughout the day, both delighted and somewhat frustrated at yourself for swooning so easily over a soldier- on your first day, too. You had told yourself when you took this job that you would never do such a thing, knowing that so many romances in a time like this end in tragedy- but you certainly couldn’t seem to help it. You think about him when the other nurses talk about their personal soldiers, out there fighting the war, and think about him again before you go to bed. It was frustrating! You met a man and knew him a whole ten minutes before swooning like a schoolgirl. You suppose it felt nice to be wanted nonetheless and felt nice to be complemented by someone you found so handsome… But you didn’t need to be thinking so hard about this right now anyway. You roll over onto your side in your bed, hoping to fall asleep soon instead of spending time thinking about something that won’t happen.

Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that your brother would ever approve of any relationship you had with a soldier. You were sure that if he had his way, you would die as a spinster- forever reliant on the family. Your dreams that night are more like nightmares, dreaming of faces and growing old and rocking in a chair alone in your brother’s house, a burden to his finances, his wife, and children. But then there are some dreams where you see the face of one particular soldier, and wonder why you felt so compelled by him.

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thank you for taking the time to write this! I can’t wait to see how the story will turn out

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Nightcrawler/GN! reader - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - Part 4 WAZAAAAP. I missed you guys!! I'm not entirely happy with this chapter bc I feel like the ending is a little fast, but once again the word count was getting a little too long and I felt I might need to seperate it again. I put it to a vote, and although it was hella neck and neck unlike any vote i've done before lmao, Splitting chapter 3 was the option that won. Next chapter will be all about Kurt and reader learning about each other all over again TWs: Fire, Smoke, museums. Cliffhanger, Very slight comfort. Depictions of nightmares and burning animals, not a lot of kurt in this one bc the buildup is too good not to milk my bad guys.

The drive from the airport is long, rainy, and sleepy. The cab is cramped and smells a little strange, but the driver is polite enough and happy to accept your cash. Your stomach is turning in knots with every twist and turn down the long, wooded road, and through the gaps in the trees, you can see a tall roof in the distance. The gate to the long driveway is open, which eases a bit of your nervousness. The shadow of a bird flies overhead as the cab begins to slow, and you can only hope you’re right about all of this when the impressive front door comes into view.

The cab drops you off without much care, speeding away just about the second you get both feet and your suitcase on the ground. Must not be a fan of the area, you guess. You open your umbrella as fast as you can, trying not to chew on the inside of your cheeks while staring at that door. It’s a wonder how something with such cutesy spring wreaths can feel so intimidating.

Just knock already! The crow (now named Otto, through no choice of your own), caws, landing on your shoulder. You’re not surprised at his entrance, a bit comforted by the familiar weight on your shoulder if anything. You make a face at him, before taking a deep breath. You straighten your spine a little before walking to the door.

For a school of such renown, the yard is pretty… empty. There’s not a soul outside, but you are here at 10 am on a Monday in the pouring rain, so… Regardless, school must be in, right? You assume it would be, but the exaggerated amount of time you spend waiting at the door begins to make you question yourself again.

Your breath catches a little when you hear the deadbolt unlock, trying to look polite as the door opens just a crack and a scruffy man stands in the doorway, holding the door so that his shoulder blocks out any sort of entrance. He has a rather sour look on his face, eyes barely flicking towards Otto before landing back on you, looking you up and down in a way that’s entirely too intimidating.

“Hi. I’m looking for the Xavier’s school?” You say sweetly. He doesn't say anything and abruptly shuts the door in your face.

Wow, that guy’s got an attitude problem.

That was an understatement, you think. You take another breath to shake it off, and knock again. This time, it opens back up before you finish knocking. The same man stands before you.

“What do you want?” He grumbles, curtly.

“I-I was hoping to speak to Charles Xavier. I understand that you must be very busy people but-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence this time before you feel the whoosh of air as the door closes again. You make a face at that, trying to keep composure while you try to decide if you’re feeling pissed or just disappointed. All this build-up to get here, just for a door in your face. Otto lets out an offended huff, and you feel the weight on your shoulder shift as he hops off. With a few flaps of his wings, he grabs hold of the doorframe, twisting so that he himself can incessantly rap at the door.

The door opens again, and the man looks angrier this time. Otto swings upside down from the frame like a bat, cawing at him in a taunting manner. The man begins to open his mouth to yell at you about god knows what, when he’s interrupted.

“Logan?” He sighs as a voice calls out from behind him, and you give him a curious look as he rolls his eyes. “Open the door. Don’t make those poor souls wait in the rain any longer.” The man, Logan, you’re assuming, takes a step away from the door as he opens it wide, making room for a man with a bright smile and a wheelchair to stroll to the doorway. Otto hops down from the doorframe, landing back on your shoulder while giving Logan a smug look you’re choosing to ignore. You recognize the face of the man in the wheelchair from many different magazines and news stories, but seeing him in person still lights a spark of hope in your heart.

“Good morning,” You start. “You must be Professor Xavier. My name is-”

“I know who you are, my dear.” He says, hardly even stopping to think. “There’s no need to worry. Come, Welcome to Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.” He makes way for you to step inside, and his warmth makes you smile and relax a bit. You do your best not to be a rude guest, shaking your umbrella out and wiping your feet before stepping through the doorway. You pass by Logan as you do so, holding the door open and still looking a bit sourly at Otto on your shoulder. Once the door is closed, Otto promptly shakes the rain off of his own feathers just as you set your umbrella in the holder, causing both you and Logan to grunt unhappily and Charles to chuckle.

The inside of the school is the exact opposite of the courtyard. It’s bustling with life, people of all kinds running out and about, some with books or otherwise. They chatter comfortably, some waving to the professor as they pass. Every one of them is a mutant and its… amazing. You can’t help but stop and stare in wonder at everyone living so freely and without fear. The exact opposite of how you had been feeling all these years. It takes the brush of Logan’s shoulder against your own for you to realize that the professor has started moving again, and you hurry to catch up.

“I suppose if you know who I am, you might know why I’m here?” You begin once you do, letting that treasonous little spark of hope burn a little brighter. You know there’s no guarantee he’s here, nothing but a headline and a torn newspaper article about the X-men as your tip. Otto had brought it to you, having found it god knows where. You had been looking for years at this point, only running on word of mouth, beak, and muzzle. But this? This had a photo. One stained and wet and with runny ink- but you felt that you could recognize that figure anywhere. Charles chuckles at the thought.

“I do.” He hums, “Kurt’s going to be delighted to see you.” He finishes. You feel your heart jump at the words. You reach his office, and he rolls behind his desk, inviting you to sit down.

“So he’s- is he?-” You trail off, and the professor’s face turns rather sympathetic. Logan is standing in the doorway, and Xavier nods him on, not that you really remembered that he was there anyway. Your heart begins to sink, falling straight into your stomach as the door clicks shut, Logan closing it behind him on his way out.

“Not quite. Not yet.” Xavier says. Otto scoffs on your shoulder, hopping over to perch on the other chair while he grumbles something you can't really hear. You try to calm your nerves, doing your best to stay optimistic.

“But he will be, won’t he?” You ask, voice cracking a little. Xavier smiles again, beginning to gather some files on his desk.

“He’s become a valuable and irreplaceable member of my X-men, and as such, I had tasked him and a few others with something rather urgent a short time ago. I apologize for that, if I had known you were coming I would have kept him here instead.” All these years of looking for him, and you missed him by what, a week? It’s disappointing, but… You still found him. All that’s left is to finally see him again. The thought of it surfaces with a new kind of anxiety.

“How long will he be away?” You ask. The professor shakes his head, reaching for something in the filing cabinet by his desk.

“I wish I had a better answer to give you. I know many things, but it’s hard to know just how long they will be gone. It could take weeks for him to return to us.” His words make you frown. You feel conflicted, and you quickly realize that it probably should have been a good idea to have made a better backup plan before you actually got on that first plane. You taste that bitter feeling of disappointment again as the professor turns around, facing you with a small manilla packet with a number on it. When he hands it to you, you realize it contains a room key. You look up at him in confusion, and he gives you a reassuring smile.

“You’re welcome to stay at the school for as long as you’d like while awaiting his return, if you are comfortable of course.” You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to speak- “-and no, I promise you won’t be inconveniencing anyone at all.” He finishes. You relax a little, smiling softly back at him.

“...Thank you. I would appreciate that greatly.” Otto begins to caw again, rather peeved at the lack of attention he was receiving. As if he could understand Otto even better than you, Xavier is quick to speak up again.

“Why don’t we start with getting the two of you something to eat? I know your journey must have been very tiresome.”

Oh, did he have any idea.

In the weeks that go by while you stay at the mansion, you try to make yourself useful. You're certainly no certified teacher, but when the professor asks you to help out with a few classes, who are you to say no? In time, this place that seemed so unusual and yet welcoming was just another factor of life. Kids are comfortable in their own skin, unafraid of being discriminated against, being taught by other mutants just like themselves. Being taught by you, sometimes. It felt good. And yet, there's still a part of you that hears Stephan's words ringing in your head, no matter how hard you try to shake it.

You make friends while you're here. Many of which come and go as members of the X-men, and yet every time the Blackbird lands, the one person you want to see is absent. Jean is the first one you become close with. She’s kind, and you find that the two of you have similar taste in books. The first time you met, she recognized you before you could even introduce yourself.

“You're Kurt's friend?” She had asked, and although you felt a little strange with the title, you very quickly became known as Kurt’s Friend with the other X-men as well. Sure, they weren't wrong, but you were a bit more than friends, weren't you? You felt like you were. All this time making friends with the others, having movie nights and going out together with Jean, Ororo, and Rogue… It should have made you feel like you were settling in- and sure, it had. But the longer you stay here, the more anxious you become.

Every time you look in the mirror, you remember just how different you are now. You were barely 17 the last time you saw Kurt, and it's been many years since then. You've changed. He's changed no doubt. What did he look like now? Did he still think of you? Does he remember your promise, and is he mad at you for taking so long to find him? Surely, he wouldn’t be, right? You've heard from the others that he had bounced around a few places before landing here, so it's not like he made himself easy to find. These anxious thoughts overwhelmed you, and the past still followed you like a dark cloud.

You feel like you’re burning up when your eyes flick open. Your bed is warm and the sheets are sweaty, your heart still pounding with fear as you shake off the nightmare. Otto is gone, the window cracked open from his nightly escapades, but you know he'll return in the early hours of the morning. Your hands are burning painfully again, and when you turn on your bedside lamp, you can't help but stare at the scars on your hands. You haven’t had full feeling in them since the fire, and yet that phantom pain, just like the nightmares, refuses to leave you.

You dream about that night often. You dream about the bodies. The smell of charred flesh and fur. You dream about Nyla, speaking to you in that wise way of hers as she burns and melts into the vision of her corpse you have never been able to shake. You used to run out to the stables on nights like this, fresh after the incident. Your dad had bought Bubbles at auction after she was deemed unfit to perform, so you would talk to her until you had calmed. Nowadays, you'd call your dad and ask him to check on her. Tell her you loved her and missed her. But tonight, you simply venture into the kitchen instead.

You don't bother turning the lights on, having walked the path from the cup cabinets and to the water filter a few too many times before. It's not the first time you've been up this late at night, and it's far from the last. You still feel hot and overwhelmed, choosing one particular seat at the island that just happens to be under the air vent. The cool air brushes against your skin in a welcome prickle, and you quietly take in the feeling.

The lamp in the corner turns on in a flash, and you jump violently in surprise. Logan is standing there with a hand on the string, cocking an eyebrow at you. You sigh, hand over your heart as the rapid beating begins to slow only slightly.

“You scared me.” You whisper, hardly having enough energy to do anything but rub your eyes and take a deep breath. You hear Logan hum in response as he leaves the lamp and strolls behind the counter, opening the fridge and beginning to look through it.

“Third time this week.” He says, but you don’t really understand him.

“What?” You ask, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he pulls out a soda from the back of the fridge and offers one to you. You shake your head at him, and he shrugs. The soda can clicks as he cracks it open, sitting across the island from you.

“Third time this week you’ve been up this late.” He clarifies, after taking a long sip. You let out a small “oh” in response, frowning as you look down at your water. The two of you sit in silence for a while, before Logan speaks up.

“...They getting worse again?” He asks. You bite your lip, not really knowing how to respond. You don’t really know what to think about the fact that you’ve been here long enough for Logan to establish your sleep patterns well enough to know you’ve had nightmares this often. You know he’s probably aware that you’ve had far more nightmares this week just by your scent in the mornings, but you’re thankful that he doesn’t say anything.

“...Yeah.” Is all you can muster at the moment. Logan takes another sip, and you’re once again grateful at the fact that he doesn’t look like he pities you for it. Hell, with the bare minimum you knew about him, you were sure he probably related to the restless nights. It’s quiet between you for a time, the two of you sharing the silence almost comfortingly if it weren't for the heavy topic. He doesn’t pry about your dreams, and you don’t ask about his own.

“Do you think he’ll like me, when I see him again?” You whisper eventually. Logan looks at you, and he doesn’t have to ask who you’re talking about. After all, who else would it be?

“Do you think he won’t?” Logan returns. You press your lips into a line, thinking.

“I don’t know.” Logan scoffs at that, and you give him a look that he rolls his eyes at. “I haven’t seen him since we were kids, Logan. I don’t know what to expect.”

“Exactly. You haven’t seen him in years- but you’re here. Aren’t you? And we already knew who you were when you showed up. Isn’t that enough to prove to you he still cares?” Logan’s tone is blunt, and you wish you could agree with him, but you don’t. You stare down at your palms again, and if Logan notices, he doesn't say anything.

It’s been two months since you’ve been at the school. You help out here and there, fill in for the others when they need a substitute, and do anything that makes you feel less like a freeloader, really. No one can say for sure where Kurt is, and you get the feeling that the others cannot really talk about it. As long as he was safe, that’s all that matters. Not that you really knew if he was or not.

There’s a field trip today. Ororo, Rouge, and Scott are absent on X-men duties, so you volunteer as a chaperone so that Jean and Logan aren’t overrun by the students. The morning starts early. You load kids onto the bus, hand out some mini-muffins for breakfast, and Jean finishes the role call while waiting for Logan. The bus is a little older and the seats are rather cramped, but the air is electric with the kid’s excitement despite the early hour. Otto is by your side as always, choosing to ride with you for once instead of flying overhead. The kids are smothering him with attention and feeding him muffin crumbs, and he lavishes in it. Logan rolls his eyes at the bird when he finally gets on, and the students cheer as the bus begins to move. You were sure many of them hadn’t been to a natural history museum before, and you hadn’t either. Their excitement was contagious, and you quickly find yourself looking forward to the day ahead

That energy from the morning is a distant memory when the fire alarm in the museum begins to go off. Walls have crumbled, the building is smoking, and the footsteps of sentinels are loud as they wreck everything in sight. You keep your kids close, constantly counting heads as you try to lead them to safety. But the smoke is thick, and your palms are once again burning as you try to shake your past while braving the present.

The students had been separated into three groups earlier that day, one for each of the chaperones, and you all had different schedules for the museum while agreeing to meet up at the pavilion for lunch at a specific time. It had started as such a good day. But good things never last, do they? Not for you, they didn't.

Some of your students are crying, others coughing from the smoke, and the older ones are simply tired. It’s hard to see where you’re going, the smoke mixed with the dim and dark museum lights a bad combination. You can still hear the distant footsteps of the two large sentinels that interrupted the day, and every once in a while, the bone-chilling sound of their blasts. The hallways are empty as you try to find the emergency exit, most of the other guests taking the chance to bolt out the most obvious ones-or hell, the holes in the walls that had been blasted open by the sentinels as they wrecked the place. But you weren’t any other guests, you were mutants, and that meant getting out of danger by taking the least obvious exit possible.

You don’t know where the fire is, but you know it’s raging within the building. You needed to get these kids out, and soon- but as you continue to follow each and every glowing sign pointing to the exit, the smoke only gets thicker. The building begins to shake again, and some of the students cry a little louder. You’re counting heads again when everything stops, and a sharp caw meets your ears. Otto swoops in, a shadow in the dark hallway as he lands nearby, chest heaving. The sight of him only makes you panic more. He knows he can’t be in here- the smoke is too much for his lungs, deadly for a bird of any size.

There’s an exit close by! The staff have propped open the doors because the fire is spreading faster- He hacks something horrible, a noise that only makes your anxiety worse. The guy with the attitude problem is leading the sentinels away, but you gotta get out of here soon. You swear under your breath, and as you turn to count heads one more time before instructing your group, you become aware of a tugging from the girl clinging to you.

“Where’s Alyah?” She asks, right as ice shoots through your veins. You’re missing two.

Oh god. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

Theres no time for this. You can’t dwell on it, not now. The students are scared, faces a reflection of terror as you look at them all. The plan comes out of your mouth before you have time to think it through enough.

“Jan, I need you to do something for me.” The teen steps forward nervously. The eldest of the group, Jan was 17, with a shielding mutation that was stronger than Vibranum with the proper focus. “Alyah and her brother are missing, and I need to go find them.” Jan starts to shake their head, already ahead of you.

“No, no no. I can’t-” They begin. You step forward, placing your palms on their cheeks in an attempt to soothe, making them look at you.

“Yes, you can. Look at me. Otto is going to show you the way out, I just need you to keep everyone together, and prepare to shield in case the building goes down. I know you can do this. I’ll meet you out there as soon as I can, I just need you to get everyone else out first, Okay? Okay?” They're still shaking their head no, but you don't have any other choice. The last thing you want to do is put this all on someone so young, but you needed Jan to be strong for both themselves and the others. Otto Caws again as the building starts to shake, and you know the time for this conversation is up. You take a step back as the youngest of the group begins to hold onto Jan. They look at you, and then the others, and then back at you. They purse their lips and nod, and you know they’re going to be okay.

You only stay long enough to make sure the entirety of the students in your group are following Otto to the exit before you quickly retrace your steps down the smokey hallway. The building continues to shake, metal and concrete bending and screaming as you desperately try to figure out where the two kids could have gone. You counted all 15 at the paleontology section, and again at the hominin artifacts…

You can’t begin to panic. Not now. Eventually, you have to stop. You breathe as deeply as you can, and you try to gather your senses. There’s no one to ask, no animal or bird or person, and in times like these you wish your mutant ability had been anything else- and then you hear it.

There’s muffled cries coming from the adjacent room. You quickly make your way over, stepping over debris and fallen statues, and in the corner of this small room is Alyah and her brother, Malachi. You breathe a sigh of relief, rushing over to them as they call out your name.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” You ask them, trying to be as calm as possible. Malachi only cries, rushing forward to hug you.

“I’m sorry.” Alyah cries, grabbing ahold of your shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost. Malachi tripped- and I was trying to help him but when we got up we didn’t see you and-” You shush her, gathering her in a big hug with her brother.

“It’s okay! You’re okay. We just need to leave, alright? We need to leave now.” You tell her, doing your best to still stay calm. She doesn't have time to respond before the building rumbles again, sending the three of you unsteady on your feet as the ground begins to shake. There’s a screech above you, and you barley manage to cover the heads of the two young mutants as the doorway collapses into rubble. No, no no no. The kids begin to cry louder, scared. Mindless reassurances fall from your mouth as you stare in horror, trapped in the room with no way out.

The kids curl into your arms, and you don't know what to do. Another loud rumble makes you flinch as the shaking gets worse. You pull them in close, hunching over them as they sob. The room smells like sulfur and brimstone, the noise of the building too loud to hear anything else as the bones of the museum begin to give out, crumbling on top of you.

A second later, your head is spinning.

The warmth of the stuffy, smokey room is gone, replaced by the cool air of the breeze. Someone's arms fall away from you, and when you open your eyes, you're outside. Your heart is still beating like it's going to give out as you whisper to Alyah and Malachi that everything is okay, leaning back enough to check on them, brushing hair away from their face and making sure that you're all here, somehow.

“Are all of you alright?” A voice behind you asks- and it's… familiar.

It's like the world stills. You see the look on Malachi's face when he recognizes the figure of one of his teachers, a bright smile spreading across his cheeks as he pulls away from you and bolts for the man.

“Nightcrawler!” The boy cheers. Your eyes follow him as he jumps into the arms of a familiar face. Elf-like ears. Yellow eyes, and fuzzy blue skin. You stand in shock, Kurt swinging Malachi around in a big hug as Alyah joins her brother and Latches onto him as tight as she can muster. He's saying something to them, but you can't hear it past the blood thats rushing in your ears.

“Kurt?” His name comes out a little more broken than you intended, but he hears it all the same. The smile on his face instantly drops as his head snaps away from the kids and over to the spot where you stand. He's frozen for a second, but the recognition in his eyes is immediate. Kurt sets Malachi down carefully before disappearing completely. It takes only a fraction of a second before he's back again in a puff of smoke and his arms are tightly wound around you.

“You’re here? Mein Gott, I cannot believe that you are actually here.” He says airily, almost in complete disbelief. You're hugging him back just as tightly, face buried in his chest as your hands clutch at the fabric of his suit. You don't know what to say. You've been looking for years, and then you waited for months knowing he's right at your fingertips. And now that he's finally here, you don't have any words. His face is full of joy when he pulls back a bit, hands coming to cup your cheeks as he takes a good look at you.

“Look at you, more beautiful than ever!” Kurt cheers, and your hands come up to hold his wrists as you shake your head and laugh at him. He hasn't changed, has he? His smile falters only slightly when he sees the scars on your hands, but he looks up before he says anything, and his eyes go wide with panic.

You’re gone from the spot instantly, Kurt having teleported you to the kids, grabbed them, and teleported away before you could even form a thought about the situation. Once you get your bearings, you realize the four of you are far, far away from the spot where you had been standing, and in your place is a crater of smoke and ash, a sentinel now standing in your place. Its head moves, searching for the mutants it had missed, but you don't see it for long as Kurt grabs you by the shoulders.

“I've got this from here. I just need you to get back to the bus. Jean and the other students are waiting there already.” His face is serious, his brows furrowed, and completely different than you had ever seen before. You nod, reluctant to leave him the moment you finally had him back- but he gives you a reassuring smile, and you realize he already knows.

“I’ll be back for you, Schatz. I promise.” He pulls you close again, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, and as quick as he came, he’s gone once again.

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x men x men 97 x men 97 x reader I NEARLY MISSED PEAK UPDATE

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lesbiansaulgoodman2

3 months ago

LETS GOOOO RAAAAAAH RAAAAAH I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN

So uh- would it be a possibility to request your interpretation of the club as girls? Please and thank you for a consideration :)