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iguana-eyanna · 2 years

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A King Can't Survive Without His Queen

Pairing: Charles Xavier x pregnant reader

Summary: Charles's past decisions start to creep up on the life he desperately wanted.

Warning: drug mentions, pregnancy complications, miscarriage mentions, medical references

It was quiet in the library.

Any other day, you would have liked the quiet. No kids were studying or trying to escape from something like class. As the head librarian, you caved in to have these kids stay longer. You made them focus on something more interesting than have them worry about what's bugging them.

Unfortunately, that wasn't ideal advice as you couldn't focus on the book in front of you. You kept on staring at the clock on the wall, seeing that it's only a few more minutes to visit Hank down at the laboratory.

Realizing you can't just burn your eyes through the clock, you got up from your seat. You suddenly felt dizzy, as you caught the edge of the table to stable yourself.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. As your thumb brushed back and forth across your sweater, your hands soon cradled the bottom of your protruding belly.

"We'll be okay." you whispered to yourself and your unborn baby.

Soon, you walked to the elevator and went downstairs alone.

The lab's doors opened for you, and you see Hank setting up.

"Hey." He says, giving you a sympathetic look.

"Hi." You said, hugging him.

He lets go and looks at you. "Is Charles coming?" he asks.

You fold your lips inward, shaking your head no.

Hank bowed his head, feeling bad.

"I'll let you get situated, you can lie down when you're ready."

You look behind him to see the folded hospital gown that was on the examination bed. You walked beside him and got dressed behind a curtain. Once you were ready, you slowly walk to the bed and lied down, only staring at the blank ceiling.

"You didn't eat any food in the past two hours?" He asks, as he starts prepping your IV.

"No, I made sure I followed procedure." You said.

You followed Hank's guidelines seriously. You made sure of it.

As Hank prepares, your thoughts started to flood your mind.

"I haven't seen him all day." You said out loud.

Hank stops what he's doing, looking down at his shoes.

"He should be here with you." Hank said with disappointment.

All you could was feel a pang in your chest.

"He blames himself, Hank. He can't even look me in the eye because he knows he'll fall apart. I can't do that to him, not now or ever."

Charles finally found himself again after everything he's been through. After the incident at the White House, he immediately started school again. Students began their studies and training, and soon, the school became a home again.

But Charles knew he had to do one more thing:

He had to make things right with you.

Your relationship was fairly new after the events of his accident on the island. Although he tried to move on from it, it was a hard recovery. Charles often woke up in a bead of sweat, screaming. He could still feel the bullet going through him.

Worst of all, his friend did it and just left him.

You tried your best to help but he didn't want it. He said he needed to stand on his two feet, and so he did.

Hank created a serum that could make him walk again, but it cost Charles to suppress his telepathy. He didn't even think for a second about the precautions before he took it without warning.

He thought he'd be happier. He could walk with you hand in hand without people giving you weird stares at the park or have your first dance together as he planned to propose.

But he became different.

He took the serum like it was drinking water for him, and you didn't like it. This wasn't the man that you fell in love with. You two often got into arguments, for days on end. You know addiction when you see it, and how it corrupts a person.

He got angry, but it was more at himself than at you. He knew that he had a problem. He just wanted to feel normal, or just feel something. But all he felt was sadness when you decided it was time to leave.

You can't see the man you love the most succumb in his own hurt and pride.

Then one day as you were heading out of your small apartment, Charles was at the door in his chair.

"I was a fool to lose you once, I don't think I can bear the thought of losing you again." he said.

Charles knew he was far from forgiveness, but you somehow stayed.

Soon, you moved back to the school and resumed your position. It wasn't long when you and Charles tied the knot, only inviting close family and friends for the small ceremony.

You two finally found your happily ever after.

But happily ever after never lasts forever.

Hank was done setting up, as he was getting ready for the procedure.

"Do you want me to go over what's going to happen next?" Hanks asks.

You shake your head no and he sits next to you on a steel stool.

"I know it's scary, you weren't planning this and-"

"Hank." You interrupted.

He could now see how your eyes became red and puffy.

"I don't need you delaying the inevitable." You whimpered.

"You may undergo so many complications. This medicine I made hasn't been tested. I can't risk losing two lives."

You look down at your belly, a teardrop falling down on your gown.

"Then save theirs." You said.

Hank looked grim, but he stood up to get ready for the procedure, picking up a long needle containing the serum.

You lay down on the bed, getting ready.

"I believe in you." You said to Hank with a trustful gaze.

Hank took a deep breath and prepped you, then inserted the needle through your IV.

You forced yourself not to cry, choosing to bite your tongue and close your eyes. He took away the needle, quickly got a wand, and performed a quick sonogram.

Looking at the screen, you saw your baby. Their heartbeat was loud and strong.

"We won't know any results until further on, but for now everything looks good."

You realized you were holding your breath until you had to draw some air. You were somehow relieved, but you knew that other tests were ahead.

All you had to do was wait.

Hank encouraged you to sleep and it wasn't until you immediately drifted off. He then stepped out for a moment, feeling angry.

This shouldn't be happening to you, Hank blamed himself for making that suppressant for him and Charles. He didn't realize that the negative effects could be passed down genetically. You and your baby's health were in jeopardy. He rushed to make the medicine since he diagnosed you as you came into his office a week ago, unconscious. Charles had to carry you in his arms all the way down to the lab. Your husband was yelling at you to wake up and even tried using his powers.

But you didn't wake up till the morning after.

That changed you and Charles when Hank gave you the results of why you were having intense symptoms. He should have done something sooner, and that's why he chose to do this procedure alone.

But that didn't mean you had to be here by yourself with no support, you wanted someone to tell you everything will be okay. He tried what he could, but he knew it wasn't enough.

He looked down at the wristband as it was connected to your heart monitor. As long as it didn't beep like hell, he knew you were fine.

He storms off upstairs, feeling his anger build up.

It was now around nighttime, and he was glad that most of the kids were sleeping.

He takes a sharp left and found the room he was looking for.

Hank almost rips off the doors of the personal study as he found Charles staring off in the distance by the window.

"You really need to get over yourself." Hank gritted.

Charles doesn't look away, not even flinching at Hank's words.

Hank scoffed at his friend, crossing his arms.

"She's downstairs, scared out of her mind and you can't even just stay at her bedside. What kind of husband are you?" Hank asks.

A beat pauses before Charles spoke out loud.

"A husband that couldn't even protect his own child."

At that moment, Hank lost all of his anger.

Charles turns around, now looking at something in his hand. He tosses it to Hank. He looks down and realized it was the past vial from the suppressant.

"I kept that with me, as a reminder of the mistakes I made. I was supposed to help people, and instead, I only cared about my wants. Lastly, I let go of the best thing that happened to me.

It was a miracle that she wanted me back. She saw that I was changing for the better. But I'm still that selfish man."

Hank goes up to him, sitting in a chair.

"It's not your fault, Charles. We couldn't have possibly known the suppressant-"

Charles looks at his friend, tears brimming in his eyes.

"I should have tested myself before we got married. And she's downstairs fighting for our baby's life, Hank. I am the cause of her pain. I can't forgive myself if we lose our baby."

Charles roughly wipes his face.

"All of the signs were there, and I was too blind to see it. Her sudden fatigue, throwing up every single hour, the dark bags under her eyes. Then in the middle of the night, I- I thought she was coming back to bed. Then when I saw her on the floor, not moving..."

Both men were silent. They were both guilty of what happened. But that didn't mean they should be strangled within it.

"Is... Is she alright?" Charles asks.

"She's a fighter. Even told me off, not wanting to waste a single second for the procedure."

Charles chuckles.

Hank gets up and places a hand on Charles.

"Be with her." Hank said before he made his way out, letting Charles alone with his thoughts.

But one thing was for certain, a king can't survive without his queen.

A few hours later, you started to wake up. Your eyes fluttered open, glad that the lab lights were dimmed to your likeness. You then hear small noises at your side, looking over to see your husband softly snoring as he placed his head near your hand.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself. Hank suddenly popped out of the blue, looking down at a clipboard. He then looks up and sees that you're awake.

"Morning." Hank said.

You give him a small smile, but your eyes go back to your husband.

"How long has he been here?" You ask.

"He came down an hour after you fell asleep, almost pulled an all-nighter."

You look down and softly whispered to your husband.

"Charles." You said.

He slightly stirs till he flutters his eyes.

"Hi..." he says in a groggy tone.

He rubs his eyes and look at Hank.

"Is there any update on her test results?" Charles asks.

Hank smiles brightly, bringing his clipboard in the air to showcase it.

"There's no more trace of the old serum. Her bloodstream is clean along with the baby."

Your hand flies to your abdomen, relieved to hear the amazing news. Your other hand grabs Charles' hand, squeezing it.

"Thank you, Hank." You said through happy tears.

"Of course. And because this was a success, I'd like to give the medicine to Charles too, just in case you guys want to try for more kids along the way."

Charles nods his head vigorously. "Let's do it." he said.

"Good, I'll make another dose for tomorrow."

You can sense how Charles must feel horrible right now, and the way he slept didn't do much good.

"Do you think we're able to head upstairs?" You ask.

"Yeah, you two can settle back in your room anytime." Hank said as he left you two.

You turn in the other direction and see a new pair of clothes waiting for you. You swing your legs out from the bed and began to stand. Charles left his spot and tried to shadow you in case you fell. You realized that your dizziness disappeared.

You then changed to your fresh clothes and you and Charles walked out, hugging Hank before you left to your shared room.

You two didn't say a word yet until you both settled in your room.

Charles didn't know when was the right to speak. In the past days, he could only blame himself for what he almost did to you and the baby. He failed to carry his wedding vows to you. You then sat on your bed, rubbing your face to eliminate the past tension and weariness.

You look up to Charles, who's about to open his mouth but the words don't come out.

"Hey, let's cuddle right now." You said, making room for Charles. He slowly makes his way to you. Finally, you found each other in your arms and held each other as much as you can with your belly on the way.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask out loud, breaking the silence.

Charles breaks out a chuckle, but soon his mood shifted as he began to cry.

"No, no no. Please..." You begged Charles, trying to calm his tears.

"I thought I was going to lose you again, all because of my selfishness." Charles hiccuped.

Your hand soothes the back of his head as the other brushes away his tears.

"Charles, you did nothing of that matter. We couldn't have known of the repercussions," you said.

"But I did. Hank warned me the suppressant was first of its kind, and there would be side effects that can go undetected. I didn't take them seriously, and just finding you unconscious that night..."

"Love, look at me." You said.

His teary eyes make contact with yours as you guide his free hand to your belly.

"I know you've been hurting for so long, but let's just celebrate the fact that we're here right now. We're safe in each other's arms. Whatever life throws at us, we'll be able to fight for our family because we've already been through hell. Let today be our fresh start to move on."

Charles takes in a sharp breath as he overcame his tears. You lean close and kissed. He's blown away as it felt like he was in heaven. You two draw apart and sweeps a strand of hair away from your face.

"I'll forever praise you for protecting our child and for you accepting every fragment of my broken self."

"I'd never thought you were broken, not one bit" You said.

You intertwine your hands together, as all the warmth and love started to fill both your hearts again.

He is your king and you are his queen, and nothing could tear this family apart.

#charles xavier imagine #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier x pregnant reader #charles xavier #professor x imagines #professor x x reader #professor x #xmen #xmen fanfiction #xmen fic #marvel

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friendlytikek · 9 months

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where is my mind? (there's nothing in it)

Available on AO3.

Summary: She'd said, "Charles needs you," and everything after that was a blur. Suddenly, nothing else had mattered, not blossoming Genosha, not politics, not decades-old debates. Charles needed him, and so, the next thing he knew, he was here.

Preview below the cut:

The land around the mansion's grounds was thick with fog, rendering anything beyond the walls impossible to see through dense, white-grey clouds.

Erik stepped through the wrought-iron gates, out of the fog like a spectre emerging from brickwork, and stared at the mansion up ahead. His chest ached at the steadfast familiarity of it. Though he'd never stayed at the mansion for more than a handful of weeks at a time, nowhere else drifted to mind when he thought of home. This was the first place he'd felt comfortable being himself since… So long ago, the memories were fuzzy, and Erik was sure the sense of security he felt during his earliest years was only thanks to the protection of his parents, who had most likely hoped against hope that the torment of their community would abate as he grew older, not develop into –

"Genocide," Charles said, voice soft, his brows drawn together as he stared at Erik across the board. Neither of them had made a move in some minutes, their debate having grown too heated for the tiny figures and their fictional lives to matter any more. "That's what you're talking about, Erik, you realise?"

A scoff escaped Erik. "Don't," he said, pointing at Charles with one finger, the rest wrapped securely around his glass of whiskey. "Don't compare me to them," he said. He raised the glass and gulped down the amber liquid within. Then, he snapped, "Don't twist my words. Human extinction is inevitable. So what if they're given a helping hand? The world would be better off for it."

"It will be a long, long time before mutants are the dominant population of the planet, my friend," Charles said. "It certainly won't happen in our lifetime. It definitely won't happen if you kill all of the non-mutants now. The X-gene isn't anywhere near prevalent enough."

"I didn't say to kill them all now," Erik said, irritation nipping at him. It felt as if Charles was making a conscious effort to be obtuse. "I said we should be open about who we are and willing to eradicate those who oppose our very existence –"

Erik breathed in deeply and squeezed his eyes shut, shoving the memory back into the corners of his mind. The cold air chilled his throat, his lungs, but worked to ground him back in the present moment. When he opened his eyes again, the mansion was still there, solid, unwavering. No matter how many disagreements he had with Charles, he wouldn't abandon him in a time of need, and that was how Mystique had described it.

She'd said, "Charles needs you," and everything after that was a blur. Suddenly, nothing else had mattered, not blossoming Genosha, not politics, not decades-old debates. Charles needed him, and so, the next thing he knew, he was here.

The skies above him were dark grey with water-laden clouds. That, combined with the fog, in addition to the total silence enveloping the mansion and its grounds, more than established the mood. Westchester itself seemed miserable. Whatever was going on was nothing good. But then, perhaps the fact Erik had been summoned at all ought to have been indication enough of that.

As he began the long walk up the driveway, the sandy gravel crunched underfoot. Nobody rushed out to protest the arrival of Magneto. In fact, nobody appeared at all to greet him. There wasn't a soul in sight as he approached the front door of the mansion. The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach only grew. His gut told him to turn tail and run, whatever was going on within the mansion's walls causing his stomach to churn with anxiety. Inexplicable panic crawled up his throat. He couldn't pinpoint why until he realised he hadn't felt the warmth of Charles touching his mind in greeting. He hadn't brought his helmet, so there was no reason for him not to have said hello and welcomed him back home.

Fighting the urge to flee, Erik raised his hand to knock on the door, only for it to open before he could. Before him stood Beast, who sighed at the sight of him. His blue fur was a welcome splash of colour after the miserable grey of the outside world.

Hank gestured for him to enter and follow him through the mansion. His quiet was unsettling, but all Erik could do was trail after him. "What's going on?" Erik asked, stomach writhing. "Mystique - Raven - didn't really… She hasn't explained."

They were heading for the elevator. Even the metal of that didn't bring him any comfort. Everything felt so cold and sterile. Hank was quiet as they entered it and then pressed the button to take them down into the bowels of the mansion, where Cerebro and Hank's lab and makeshift medical clinic were located. Only a year ago, he'd been here, checking over the final details with Charles –

"Don't tell Hank," Charles said, lips twitching up into a smile. He was admiring Erik's handiwork, looking up at the angular plates of Cerebro. It was one of the last things to be done, only justifiable to complete once all the children had a roof over their heads again. "But I think this version of Cerebro is even better than the last."

"Of course it is," Erik said, resting against the console, meeting Charles' smile with a playful smirk of his own. "I built it."

Which was only right, considering he'd contributed to the destruction of the original. "Careful," Charles said, eyes bright as he teased. "Wouldn't want to have to take the place apart again to get your head out."

" – telepathic attack," Hank was saying. Erik blinked back to the present again, trying to focus on the explanation. The elevator came to a smooth halt and the doors slid open. "It hasn't just hurt his mind, but the brain itself. His brain activity has been decimated. He's scoring a three on the Glasgow Coma Scale."

That was practically nothing. Erik's stomach churned again as he stared along the white corridor ahead and let Hank lead the way. "And what about…" Erik gestured to his temple. "Can't someone go in? Repair the damage?"

"We can't risk a telepath venturing in there," Hank said. "Not yet. He's too unstable. Once he's stabilised, we can try, maybe. For now, the best thing to do is just talk to him. Let him know you're here."

Once he'd stabilised. Not if he stabilised. That wording, at least, gave Erik some hope. He let out a breath.

They stepped into Hank's medical clinic, which was as professional and sterile as a legitimate hospital and in the centre of the room was a bed, upon which lay Charles. The soft, baby blue bedding contrasted starkly with the white and silver walls and equipment of the room but Charles' pale hands, in turn, stood out against the bedsheets. There were wires all over him, trailing under the hospital gown, running down his arms. There was a tube rammed down his throat, a machine helping him to breathe. No, not helping him – forcing him to breathe. Keeping him alive.

The breath was knocked out of Erik's lungs as he approached the bed. There was a seat beside Charles, which Erik allowed himself to sink into and then he reached out to touch Charles' cool hand. He glanced over his shoulder, but Hank had vanished, likely sensing he'd be intruding on a private moment if he stayed.

It was awkward, at first, words failing Erik. What was he meant to say? Even if it was to argue, he was used to Charles being able to reply to him. He never just talked at him. He cleared his throat, fingers absently drawing a pattern on the back of Charles' hand, and wracked his brain, searching for the right words.

"I don't know if you can hear me," Erik said, swallowing down any embarrassment at the reality of talking aloud to an unconscious person. "But I'm here. For what my presence is worth. If it's worth anything at all. I should've been here sooner. I could've helped," he murmured. He should've been here to help, not playing at being a leader on an island nation with only a handful of occupants.

Of course, if a telepathic attack had done this to a telepath as powerful as Charles, Erik shuddered at the thought of what it would do to a non-telepath. But, at least Erik would've had his helmet. You couldn't be attacked by a telepath if you blocked them out and killed them –

"You haven't killed me," Charles said, not turning his head to look at Erik. "Though it might have been kinder if you had. You have some nerve coming here."

The hospital in New York was state of the art, handpicked by Hank for its expertise in spinal injuries, or so Charles had said a few minutes previously. It wouldn't be enough to make much difference to Charles' recovery. Though it hadn't been a complete spinal injury, the delay in treatment had resulted in extensive nerve damage which there was little hope of healing enough to allow Charles to walk again.

"I had to see you - when Mystique said…" Erik's throat closed up. "Charles, I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies," Charles snapped. "We both know you're only here to make yourself feel better. I won't be forgiving you today. Look at what you've done to me." He gestured down to his motionless legs. "If you have an ounce of humanity in you, you'll go and leave me in peace. And you can tell my sister to stay away, too, if she doesn't have the strength to actually talk to me instead of skulking around in a nurse's skin."

Erik's mouth opened and then shut again. His eyes burned. There was another apology on the tip of his tongue, but Charles was right. He was here for the sake of his own conscience, and he didn't deserve forgiveness. He certainly wouldn't be forgiving himself for his carelessness any time soon.

Would Charles send him away if he were awake now? Maybe not. Probably not. It had been over twenty years since Cuba and though he still didn't deserve forgiveness, a lot of healing had happened in the weeks following Apocalypse's destruction. The two of them had healthy, productive conversations as the mansion was slowly rebuilt. Erik's fingers continued to trace patterns on Charles' hand. They'd had fleeting moments where their hands had brushed while the mansion was being rebuilt, but they'd been a long way from 1962, and the memory of Magda had been too raw for Erik to dare push for anything more. What Erik wouldn't give now for Charles to return his touch, to even just wiggle his fingers a little.

Erik lifted Charles' limp hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm sorry," he said. He squeezed his eyes shut and then rested his head on the mattress by Charles' side, unable to find anything more to say. He had time to find the right words. He had no intention of leaving until Charles opened his eyes again.

...continue reading on AO3

#xmen #xmen fic #cherik #cherik fic #fic #my writing

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scottxlogan · 6 months

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This was written for the @marvelrarepairbingo

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Peter Maximoff Characters: Peter Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier Additional Tags: Family Bonding, Drama, Saving the World, contemplations, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Family, inner thoughts, Saving the Day, Bombs, Danger

Summary: Peter finds himself working to save the school from the dangers by the enemy and in doing so he contemplates all that can happen in sixty-nine seconds and what it means to the here and now and his relationship with his father.

#mrp2023 #marvel rare pair bingo #quicksilver #magneto #charles xavier #peter maximoff #erik lehnsherr #professor x #xmen fic

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eternally-tired-cryptid · 2 months

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Guess what I'm working onnnnn

#jasper rambles #xmen #xmen fic

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lyingdistortion · 1 month

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Charles Xavier is converting to Judaism. This is a collection of snapshots into Charles conversion process with a focus on him and Erik.

This chapter is Charles telling Erik hes gonna start daily prayer

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all-or-nothing-baby · 2 years

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I BLAME YOU FOR THE MOONLIT SKY

cherik WIP, set during 'x-men: first class', rated teen (subject to change), charles POV, first kiss.

With vision still blotted with his friend's tears, an admittedly prideful Charles watches on in awe.

Erik—a true force of nature—is now masterfully harnessing his powers: turning three-thousand tons of satellite dish, slowly but very surely, towards the balcony on which they stand.

Charles is mostly watching Erik, though.

The man is… incredible. Everything about Erik leaves Charles a little breathless. His extremely impressive mutation is exemplary, of course, but what really wows Charles is his layers of complexity. Erik is the archetypal lone wolf, yes, but one that actually craves a pack. Charles can feel it; can almost taste Erik's loneliness. Also, how one man can have endured so much pain and suffering and loss and yet somehow managed to have come out of it stronger, is a simply baffling concept. Charles respects his ruthlessness and resilience. His determination. But above all, after just sharing such a beautiful memory, Charles now marvels at the fact that Erik Lehnsherr still has so much love inside of him. It may seem, to Erik, to be buried deep, but Charles can see it lays rest in only in the shallowest of graves.

Charles senses it. All of it, all of the time. It permeates his every fibre, emotions stronger than any he has previously felt—in himself or another. It's intoxicating, actually. So much so, Charles knows he is drunk on it.

Drunk on Erik.

It may not be a good excuse, but it's definitely the reason Charles now throws all reasonable acts out of his mind's conjured Room of Reason and moves too, too close to Erik, flinging an arm around broad shoulders as they laugh heartily in exhalation at Erik's impossible feat.

With Erik exuding all manner of wonderful feelings, Charles is overwhelmed and therefore taken by surprise when Erik throws all of himself around Charles in turn, in an embrace where—as much as is physically possible whilst standing—every bit of their bodies seem to be touching.

Maybe Charles is just making more of it than he should. He becomes aware of the fact he isn't breathing.

Hands still clutching at Charles's shoulders, a beaming Erik now pulls back, but only enough to whisper a "thank you," very intimately into Charles's ear, warm breath ticking at tiny hairs and causing neurons to shoot through Charles's body like wildfire, licking at something more than mere arousal.

For a fragment of a spilt second, he has the vague thought that what he's contemplating is probably simultaneously the best and worst compulsion he's ever had. But then it passes before he has the time to think about what he's going to do, completely swept up in the their exuberant moment.

Charles turns, angling his head just-so, and kisses Erik, just a small peck to the corner of still-smiling lips.

Oh, God.

note: i've almost completed this oneshot and it'll be somewhere around 2k when done (with the possibility of it turning into a series). if anybody would like tagging in when i link the finished thing, pls feel free to let me know in the comments :)

EDIT: READ THE REST ON AO3 HERE

#IN WRITING AGAIN! HUZZAH!#lol #cherik #cherik fic #x men fanfiction #x men #xmen #xmen fic #xmen first class #x men first class #first kiss #charles pov #charles x erik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #fanfic #fanfiction #all-or-nothing-writes #all-or-nothing-baby

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 years

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Sick Day (Peter Maximoff x reader)

Description: when you come down with a cold, Peter decides to take care of you

A/N: I wrote this fic for @spider-starry (sorry it took so long to finish 😭) enjoy <3

Warnings: mentions of being sick, hurt/comfort, that's it I think

Peter had been looking for you all day. When you didn't show up to breakfast, he brushed it off, thinking maybe you'd just slept in late or were catching up on some school work. His mood quickly changed, however, when he noticed you hadn't shown up to any of your classes.

By lunchtime his usually calm demeanor had been taken over by worry as he zoomed around the school, checking the classrooms and grounds alike. He was so wrapped up in finding you he ended up running into Jubilee, quite literally.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, Jubilee." He quickly apologized before asking her if she knew where you were.

"I think they mentioned something last night about not feeling too well, and earlier I heard loud coughing coming from their room."

"Okay, thanks," he called over his shoulder as he zoomed off to your room.

When he got there, he knocked lightly on your door so as not to disturb you. Upon hearing your raspy voice call out "come in", he gently pushed the door open and entered your room.

Inside, it was a lot worse than he thought. The entire room was covered head to toe with what could safely be called nothing other than a giant mess.

Dirty piles of clothes were thrown in a heap on the floor, and crumpled tissues were clumped together on your nightstand. Random garbage from snack food items, such as chips, cookies, and candy, littered the foot of your bed, and empty soda cans seemed to be standing in line by the trash can, almost as if they were mocking you for missing it completely when you went to throw them away.

At first, he thought you were somewhere else, and that he'd just heard things, but this theory was quickly disproven when the lump on the bed began to move around, leading him to realize the lump was, in fact, you.

You had barricaded yourself under a pile of pillows and blankets, trying to sleep off a nasty cold when you'd heard a knock on your door. You invited whoever it was in, thinking it might be one of the teachers with your homework, and started moving around once you'd heard the door open.

Lifting your head up just far enough to see who was standing there, you let out a groan when you realized it was Peter, your boyfriend.

"Go away, I'm sick," you said, hiding your face under the blanket again.

"I know, that's why I came to see you. I was worried."

"Well, clearly I'm fine. I haven't died yet, so you can stop worrying and go." You pointed towards the door as you tried to convince him to leave.

"No can do, I'm not going anywhere until I make sure you're feeling better again," he said, walking over to where you were laying and sitting on the bed near your feet, accidentally crushing a half eaten bag of Lay's in the process.

"Don't look at me, I'm ill. I feel gross," you mumbled.

"Maybe you'd feel better if you took a shower," he suggested.

"Maybe. It has been a few days since I've last had one."

"Okay, how about this: you go take a shower, and while you do that I can pick up the stuff in your room for you," he offered.

You looked up at him. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, I would." He planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "Now c'mon, get up so I can get your bed cleaned off and I won't have to worry about sitting on a bag of chips again."

You let out a small laugh, bringing a smile to his face. After getting out of the plush barricade you made on your bed for yourself, you grabbed some clean clothes and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

Thirty minutes later, you left the bathroom, wearing the clothes you'd picked out. You found Peter'd cleaned almost your entire room (minus the mess that was already there before you got sick); not that you'd expected anything less of your favorite speedster.

"Hey," he greeted, having zoomed back after getting rid of at least three garbage bags that you could only assume held all the trash that once littered your bedroom.

"Hey," you said back, walking over to him and pressing a kiss against his cheek. "Thanks for cleaning for me, I really owe you one."

"Nah, it was no biggie," he said, his face flushed at your sudden and unexpected show of affection. "Enjoy your shower?"

"Yeah, I did. I don't feel as bad as before, so that's a plus." You flopped on your bed, sighing contentedly while you stared at the ceiling. "Now, I feel like I need a nap."

You turned on your side and opened your arms, inviting him to join you. He did, climbing next to you on the bed and snuggling up against your side.

"Thanks for helping me feel better today," you said. "I really love you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," he responded, to which you playfully hit him on the arm. "I was joking! Don't worry, I love you, too."

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @nevilleismywhore @your-next-daydream

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poormeowmeowcollector · 2 years

Text

No One Will Hurt You Again

Relationship: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr

Warnings: implied smut, trauma, smoking, alcohol, antisemitism, language, canon typical violence

Summary: Charles finds a mutant wrecking havoc at Miami because he's thirsty for revenge. So, he adopts him. (X-Men: First Class retelling but with Maneskin lyrics)

Notes: part of Lu Creative Time Challenge, song of choice is Coraline by Maneskin. Regarding Loki and Two Kings And One Guard, I don't know when I will finish it and go back to writing Loki, but I will see what I can do.

read on AO3

After Erik's interrogation was done, the CIA agreed with Charles' wish to keep him on the mutant team with a ground total of 3 people. The director told them they'd stay in a motel for the night. Moira and the others still distrust Erik, so Charles offered to take a room with him, insisting that he can keep a close eye on him. He didn't lie, but he didn't clarify what eye he'd be keeping.

Italian: Coraline bella come il sole / Guerriera dal cuore zelante / Capelli come rose rosse / Preziosi quei fili di rame, amore, portali da me

English: Coraline beautiful like the sun / A warrior with a zealous heart / Hair like red roses / Those copper-like wires, love, give them to me

The cheap motel room (possibly to avoid suspicion) only has one king-sized bed and no couch or even armchair. Charles freezes, taking turns staring at the bed and at Erik.

“Should I ask if we can get another room? One with two beds?” he asks. He might know basically all about Erik, but that's not mutual, there's no guarantee he'll be comfortable sleeping with a stranger. Instead, Erik glares at him like the suggestion was the worst of insults.

“Why are you asking?” he growls, like he's expecting disgust but is still willing to fight it. Charles needs a second to decode why Erik would snap, and his eyes widen when he realizes.

“No, no, no issue with you. But, we don't know each other…” he trails off, trying to save something. Erik's stance relaxes slightly, the furious fire in his steel cold eyes toning down but not disappearing.

“One night won't kill us, and I trust you are not stupid enough to attempt anything,” he shrugs, kicking off his boots and claiming one side of the bed. Charles sits on the edge, focused on untying his shoes, peeling off his clothes until he's left with a shirt and pants, and hesitantly gets in the bed.

Of course, Erik just lies on his back, head turned away from Charles and to the door, his breathing slow and steady as he sleeps. Unaware that Charles can't take his eyes off him, his lean yet firm body, the soft curls of his auburn hair that the moonlight allows Charles to see.

Erik's not like Charles. He's not a telepath. How could he know? How could he know that he's not the only gay man in the motel room, that Charles's dreams that night were filled with that skilled body, that soft voice, that beautiful copper hair? And how could Charles tell him?

Charles is famished, so he just drags Erik to the closest restaurant and sits down. Erik doesn't even bat an eye, it's not the first time since they started recruiting, and he knows that Charles' telepathy is making him need more calories than a baseline human. And, to be honest, Charles is not the only one who requires a bit more to manifest his powers properly.

Italian: Se senti campane cantare / Vedrai Coraline che piange / Che prende il dolore degli altri / E poi lo porta dentro lei

English: if you hear bells singing / You'll see Coraline crying / Taking the pain of others / Carrying it inside of her

When they receive the menu, Charles smirks slightly at Erik's surprise.

“You will let me order for you,” Erik orders, his voice having that tone that's excluding no from the acceptable answers. Charles nods and watches Erik inspect the menu and then order what sounds like enough food for five people, not a single word familiar to Charles' ears.

“Please don't poison me,” Charles mumbles after the waiter leaves with the menus. Erik shakes his head, a playful smile on his lips as he takes off the leather jacket that has become an extension of his skin despite the heatwave.

“Why would I poison the only tolerable person on the planet?” he snorts and watches Charles laugh at the reaction. Then, they sit in silence, both enjoying Erik's ease with the place, like he finally found where he can breathe. Just because he happened to be dragged to a Jewish owned restaurant during Charles' crusade for food.

“Can I ask you something?” Charles hesitates, he doesn't want to spoil Erik's mood. It's the first time he sees him so unguarded, and it'd be a shame to ruin it. Erik shrugs, waiting. “How long has it been since you last ate what you ordered?” he watches carefully for a negative reaction, but it never comes.

Charles knows that Erik has stopped believing. It's something he found out when he searched his mind that night with the submarine. And, by his refusal to cook anything other than fried eggs and pasta, he knows that his cooking skills are barely existent. Yet, he asks.

“Oh, well…” Erik mutters, trying to remember. His memory is usually better than most, so that's not a good indicator. “Since I was… 8-ish? It was harder for my mother to find ingredients after we fled after Kristallnacht, and I never really learned how to cook on my own,” he doesn't sound upset, not really. But Charles knows that the low hum of his mind is the same grief as every time he mentions his mother, his life before Shaw or the camp.

Erik keeps that hum as private as he can, letting it slip only whenever he thinks Charles is asleep, well after midnight. And Charles knows how to identify that hum only because he searched Erik's mind. But Erik is now letting that hum play, in a public place. Charles doesn't see the angry man everyone sees right now, just someone deprived of comfort, and he's willing to deliver.

“Then, I am sure you'll enjoy them,” he smiles, his eyes gleaming when he notices Erik's smirk, the hum getting more quiet. They're quick to fall into a familiar trance, sharing a comfortable silence that's interrupted only by judging the bystanders.

All until the food arrives.

Erik likes to present himself as a cynical man, someone untouched by whatever happened to him and whatever happens to people around him. He's exceptionally good at this, so good that even he believes it to be true. But after that night in the dock in Miami, Charles knows that he's the exact opposite. If he hadn't been in his mind, he'd also believe what everyone else does, that Erik is cold and emotionless.

And if he did, watching him stay frozen at the sight of the full of food dishes would be completely unexpected. But he knows better.

“Erik?” he asks, his voice low as he tries to not startle him. Erik still tenses for a split second, the dull knife on his right turning towards Charles. He shakes his head, tries to speak, but stays with his mouth agape before forcing it shut. One hand goes to his face, tries to rub off something from his eyes, Charles needs time to realize he’s wiping tears.

“Pardon me…” Erik's voice is barely audible as he gets up and escapes to the bathroom. Everything inside Charles screams at him to follow, to make sure Erik's okay, not alone, anything. But he knows that Erik doesn't exactly welcome emotional support, that he'll just go elsewhere until he recomposes himself.

The food is cold when Erik returns, untouched, even though Charles' body begs for food. He still manages to eat most of the table, Erik nibbling from here and there between taunts at how nothing will disappear if Charles breathes between bites. But Erik's voice is deeper, tinted with that sadness the low hum indicates, and his mood won't lift until the next morning.

“You can read me whenever you feel like it, you're always welcome,” Erik says, still coming down from the high, pressing Charles' naked back against his bare chest. His voice is a murmur, easier to feel than to listen. Charles's head isn't in a better state, he doesn't question. And even if he did, Erik would be asleep before he could answer.

Italian: Però lei sa la verità / Non è per tutti andare avanti / Con il cuore che è diviso in due metà, / È freddo già. / È una bambina però sente come un peso / E prima o poi si spezzerà

English: But she knows the truth / Not everyone can carry on / With their heart split in two / And it's cold already / She's a child, but she feels a weight / And sooner or later she'll break

He still meant it. Never offended or scared as Charles brushes through his thoughts. They would stay silent together, their minds mixed into one, like colors during a sunrise. One would use the link instead of speaking, either for privacy or because he didn't dare break the silence.

And Charles loves Erik's mind. It shines among the others like a diamond among gravel, attracting his telepathy like the most powerful magnet. He doesn't know if it's part of Erik's mutation or just the way he is, but there's no complaint. There's a pleasant mix of everything in Erik's mind, like a busy but cozy room. A harmony of languages, memories, ideas, and emotions, all one intertwining with the other as if threads of a luxurious piece of fabric.

But Erik's mind is not always the best place to be.

Charles's telepathy can sense trauma, spot it with ease. In most minds, it's like a flood of memories and feelings, threatening to tear apart everything with the most simple tap. Erik's mind is unique even in that way. It's not a flood, never a flood. Not even when he is overwhelmed or upset. It's like a pipe with a small leak, drop after drop hitting his mind, the erosion slowly doing its work but never stopping.

Charles is welcome in Erik's mind, but Erik still has areas that are restricted, protected by walls, areas the erosion has affected. Charles doesn't mess with the walls, averts his attention whenever he gets close, and he knows that Erik avoids these places as well.

Only a few times they touched these areas, when Charles was keeping the link while they were both tired and drunk in their motel room. At that moment, the walls were thin, and Charles's presence in Erik's mind was the tap to break them down.

Within moments, both men were reduced to hyperventilating messes, clenching onto one another like their lives depend on it. They tried to soothe each other, Charles apologizing for messing with his mind and Erik insisting that it's just a memory, that he knows how to handle it, but it's something new for Charles. They'll need almost two hours and five packs of cigarettes to manage to calm down relatively, but sleep is long forgotten.

Charles is still invited in Erik's mind, but he knows to keep the walls at arm's length.

Charles is reading in the leisure area on the base, enjoying the few moments of privacy. Until Moira comes in.

Italian: E la gente dirà: "Non vale niente / Non riesce neanche a uscire da una misera porta" / Ma un giorno, una volta, lei ci riuscirà

English: And people will say: “she's worth nothing / She can't even walk out of one stupid door” / But one day, some day, she'll do it

“We need to talk about Erik,” she drags a chair right in front of Charles, stubbornly sitting in.

“If it's about the leftover incident, he said your food is, and I quote, so unseasoned she could be eating paper and never know unless she started farting confetti, so I doubt he'll steal from you again,” Charles tilts his head, book closed on his lap.

“He is a liability, he won't hesitate to go rogue upon seeing Shaw,” she informs Charles, her eyes scanning him. “And we don't know if he's in position to help,” she adds, hesitant. Charles needs just one glance in her mind to find what made her suddenly so unsure about Erik.

The CIA has files on everyone, Erik Included. She opened it, found out about Erik's history with Shaw.

“I assure you, Moira. Erik is dedicated to stopping Shaw, powerful enough to do so and in his right mind,” he smiles, trying to brush off her concern without using his power. She doesn't seem to listen.

“Charles, he was in a camp! He met Shaw there! You can't possibly think it's a good idea to have him involved,” she insists, more upset about the information she received than about the strategy. Charles pauses for a bit, tries to think of his next move.

“I hope that you understand that this means that Erik is the one insisting on this, not that he is not in the state to confront Shaw,” Charles leans forward, smiling as Moira's mouth is agape.

“You can't possibly trust him! He's…” she trails off, and everything clicks.

“I think, if you have any argument about Erik's presence, he should be present to listen to your criticism,” he points out, watching Moira's blood leave her face. “Unless, of course, you know he'll be angry at your ideas, and for a good reason,” he smirks as the woman stays speechless.

“Listen to me well, Moira. You could drop the Shaw case, and so could I. Erik will either kill Shaw or die trying. On this mission, he is the most rigid of us, the most likely to take this to the end. And, if your bigotry gets in our way, I'll have him informed, and I assure you, he has no mercy for people like you and I have no reason to put some on his head. So, either you keep those words to yourself and assist us in stopping Shaw, or we continue without you, and I leave you unprotected to Erik's will. Do we have an understanding?” he watches satisfied as Moira struggles to find words, as she glances at the door, waiting for Erik to storm in.

“He will die trying,” she whispers, her confidence gone. At this, Charles chuckles.

“It's more possible for the sun to rise from the West,” he knows very well that his smile as he forms the words isn't because he won the argument.

No one is up at that hour. Moira and the rest of the kids have long fallen asleep. But Charles still feels the buzz of a mind keeping him up. When he realizes that the mind will just not shut up, he takes matters into his own hands.

Italian: E ho detto a Coraline che può crescere / Prendere le sue cose e poi partire / Ma sente un mostro che la tiene in gabbia / Che le ricopre la strada di mine

English: And I tell Coraline she can grow up / Take her things and then leave / But she feels a monster caging her / And covering her path with mine

He doesn't need to wander around, but he does have to look up at the roof to spot Erik sitting on the roof tiles and gazing at the woods.

«I suppose you are not looking for company, right?» Charles asks, his eyes on Erik as he drifts his gaze from the horizon to the balcony, to Charles.

«This doesn't mean you should go,» he pushes the thought away, a faint smile barely visible in the dark. Charles smiles back, swiftly climbs up until he's sitting by Erik's side.

“I didn't have you for such a good climber,” Erik smirks, eyes back to the forest.

“I grew up here, Erik. I know how to go anywhere in this house. The question is, how did you get up here?” he asks back, his eyebrow raised instinctively as he watches Erik.

“You have your tricks, I have mine…” he sighs, his fingers tapping the metal ashtray he somehow managed to get up here. Charles takes a deep breath, hugs one leg without thinking about it.

“You know, I have been thinking…” he trails off, testing the waters. He knows Erik won't like it, but he can present it lightly.

“You do that quite often,” Erik hums, one hand holding Charles's, tracing lines. He looks calm, that's a good sign.

“Are you sure you need to take down Shaw? You don't owe it to anyone. I understand it's what you built your life on, and it's definitely within your abilities. But Shaw's death won't lessen your pain, won't bring you peace,” Charles is careful, scanning Erik. He doesn't tense, doesn't emit rage like whenever Moira tries to discourage him from continuing. He just stays silent, then slowly brings his cigarette to his lips for a long drag.

“Peace was never an option,” he turns around, his gaze locking with Charles's. “And even if it is, it's not available to me. It's not an option I can follow. This… it's all I know, Charles. All I am. Whatever light you say is in me, you brought back to the surface, it's just there to push me forward, to… help me form an idea of what I want to create,” Erik speaks about a time after Shaw for the first time. Charles didn't even know that he had a plan for after Shaw. He can't help but smile, despite the promise that Erik will kill Shaw.

“And… I want you to be part of it, Charles. That monster may have made our paths cross, but we can make something great out of it,” Erik cups Charles's hand, his eyes moving all around Charles's face. An alliance, a common goal beyond Shaw. A life with Erik.

How can Charles say no?

They don't know how long they've been on that roof, just enjoying the silence, but Charles can see the sun rising between the trees. He turns, watches as the morning light illustrates Erik, makes his hair slowly get back its reddening tint, his eyes claiming that odd color, not quite blue but not quite green. He's never been so glad that his telepathy gives him an incredible memory, that he'll never forget that image.

Italian: Sarò il fuoco ed il freddo / Riparo d'inverno / Sarò ciò che respiri / Capirò cosa hai dentro / E sarò l'acqua da bere / Il significato del bene / Sarò anche un soldato / O la luce di sera / E in cambio non chiedo niente / Soltanto un sorriso / Ogni tua piccola lacrima è oceano sopra al mio viso / E in cambio non chiedo niente / Solo un po' di tempo / Sarò vessillo, scudo / O la tua spada d'argento

English: I'll be your fire and your cold / Your winter shelter / I'll be what you breathe / I'll understand what you have inside you / I'll be the water you drink / The meaning of good / I'll even be a soldier / Or your light in the evening / And in return I ask for nothing / Just a smile / Every little tear of yours is an ocean to my face / And in return I ask nothing / Just a little time / I'll be your banner, your shield / Or your silver sword

“You know, you don't have to do it all alone. I am here for you,” Charles doesn't think before he speaks, holding his breath in case Erik doesn't take it lightly.

Maybe it's the warmth of the moment, or the sleeplessness, but Erik laughs. His shoulders are shaking, his feet closer to his chest as he wipes tears.

“I thought that this was already established,” he breathes out eventually, leaning back until he's laying on the roof. There's something in that glint behind his eyes, that toothy smile. Charles can't help but find himself just as relaxed.

“No, I mean… you can talk to me about things… you can… I won't be just an ally to your fight. I want to be more. Your… your support… your serenity. Erik, if you let me, I'll be anything you need,” he pierces Erik with his eyes, watching as he rubs his face, lazily stretches his legs.

“Can you be just Charles? That's all I'll ever ask you to be…” Erik manages to hide a yawn perfectly, but his sleepiness is loud to Charles's mind. Charles chuckles, offering a small nod as an answer.

“Sure, but can we get down before you fall asleep on the roof?” he playfully nudges Erik, who in return rolls his eyes.

“I'm not tired, you're tired. You just… throw your tiredness into my mind,” the half-baked claim is accompanied by a series of vague gestures on the space between Erik's and Charles's head. It just makes Charles laugh more.

“Whatever, say that when you start snoring,” Charles slowly moves to the edge, watching Erik follow.

He doesn't say a word, just carefully goes down to the balcony and drags Charles with him to their bedroom. Neither bother to change clothes, just to kick off their shoes and collapse on the bed. Charles feels his eyes heavier, maybe Erik wasn't wrong about him being tired as well.

“Charles?” Erik mumbles, face plastered in the pillow, but he doesn't care enough to turn around. Charles gives him a small hum, eyes closing. “You really mean it? You'll be there?” he asks, not alert enough to have that conversation.

“Of course, I love you,” Charles doesn't think before he answers, and doesn't care if Erik reacts negatively.

“Mmm, I love you too,” Erik's words are barely there, he falls asleep before he could see Charles smiling.

They had found comfort in sleeping side by side, on the same bed. Charles feels less lonely with Erik's warm (always warm, always buzzing with life, always beautiful) body at arm's reach and Erik feels safe with Charles's power protecting him, for the first time since he was a kid.

Italian: E Coraline piange / Coraline ha l'ansia / Coraline vuole il mare ma ha paura dell'acqua / E forse il mare è dentro di lei / E ogni parola è un'ascia / Un taglio sulla schiena / Come una zattera che naviga in un fiume in piena / E forse il fiume è dentro di lei, di leip

English: And Coraline cries / Coraline's anxious / Coraline wants the sea but is afraid of water / And maybe the water is inside her / And every words is an axe / A cut on the back / Like a raft sailing on a raging river / And maybe the river is inside her, inside her.

But Erik still can't sleep, can't even close his eyes.

Tomorrow's the day they'll fight Shaw, when he'll kill him or die trying. He feels the coin burning in his jacket's pocket, he doesn't know if it's his imagination or his powers.

Killing Shaw will not bring you peace, Charles had said to him some time ago. Charles, who's now sleeping by his side, blissfully unaware. But can Erik have peace? After everything he's seen, he's gone through, and he's done, is he worthy of peace. Does he even know how to live a peaceful life, when he barely remembers his life before the camp?

He knows very well that his mother wouldn't want to see him get drowned in violence, and he knows Charles expects more, knows that Erik is more. But no matter how hard Erik wants to be that more, he doesn't know how. He has no clue how to be something other than his anger, and then his guilt. He's trapped in the life of vengeance that he formed, a cage of his own creation.

He doesn't know when he started crying, he wasn't even aware of it until Charles is awake, his huge blue eyes filled with worry. “Erik? Come here, please,” Charles raises one hand, laid on his side. Without a second or even a first thought, Erik sinks into the embrace.

He doesn't like people watching him cry, or show any type of vulnerability. And he's sure that Charles has only seen him tear up, shed a tear or two. But tonight, he lets it all out. He lets himself sob, weep, dig his hands on Charles's bare skin as his body and the metal bed frame are shaking. Charles stays there, traces flowers on Erik's back, mutters sweet nonsense with his soft posh voice until Erik can breathe again.

Erik doesn't push Charles away, but Charles lies on his back, makes Erik put his head on his chest, feel the telepath's heartbeat as his feet from ankle down are hanging over the bed. He closes his eyes, focuses on the air going in and out.

“You know, you don't have to know how to live a peaceful life. You can learn and adapt. And I'm sure you'll do great,” Charles muses. Others would be offended by Charles's snooping around, but Erik knows it's his natural state, and he would never kick Charles out. He doesn't have the words, but he does his best to send a wave of gratitude to Charles. By his smile, Erik assumes it's a success.

Son? Son?!

Italian: Coraline, bella come il sole / Ha perso il frutto del suo ventre / Non ha conosciuto l'amore / Ma un padre che di padre ha niente / Le han detto in città c'è un castello / Con mura talmente potenti / Che se ci vai a vivere dentro / Non potrà colpirti più niente

English: Coraline beautiful like the sun / She lost the fruit of her womb / She never knew love / She has a father that's nothing like a father / They told her there's a castle in town / With such strong walls / That if you live in there / Nothing will hurt you again

The asshole had the audacity to call Erik his son?! After he killed his mother? After he experimented on him?

Erik feels his blood boiling with rage, every fiber of his being ready to kill Shaw. Charles, still in his mind, screams at Erik that he's better, that he doesn't have to.

Charles says he's been in Erik's mind, that he knows. He doesn't know shit.

Shaw is frozen in place, holding the helmet. A helmet against telepaths, against Charles.

A helmet that will keep Erik intact, that will never allow anyone else inside.

A helmet that will keep him safe from harm.

His hands are slow as he puts it on, as Charles fades with a scream. Now it's just him and Shaw, as Erik pushes the coin inside the fucker's skull.

It's all done. He took his revenge, he's free. And with his helmet, he's free from everyone.

Italian: Non potrà colpirti più niente

English: Nothing will hurt you again

~~~~~

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @wrenhyperfixates @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress @weirdfangirl2416 @darkacademicfrom2021 @nicoistrying @twhiddlestonsstuff @kozkalovesloki @thewindandthewolves @gaitwae @leucoratia

#lucreatives02 #xmen fic #cherik fic #xmen fanfiction #xmen first class #cherik fanfic #xmen fanfic #implied smut #trauma tw #tw smoking #mention of alcohol #tw antisemitism #tw language #canon typical violence #angst #no beta we get sucked into turbohell like men #no beta we saunter vaguely downwards like crowley #no beta we go to superhell like gay angels #no beta this is war

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