#erik lehnsherr x fem!reader

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤIRON GRIPㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto) x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How would he be when he's obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : Of course we have age gap with this man because he's like what, a hundred years old or something. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts small. Almost innocent. A passing glance. A lingering stare.

Erik is a man who has seen too much, lost too much. He’s hardened, unyielding, a force of nature that bends the world to his will. And yet, the moment he lays eyes on you—so young, so untouched by the horrors of the world—something inside him shifts.

At first, he tells himself it’s nothing. He’s merely intrigued. A curiosity, nothing more. But the way you smile, the way you speak with such warmth, the way you look at the world like it hasn’t already burned you to the ground—it does something to him. It makes him hungry.

And Erik has never been a man to deny himself what he wants.

He watches you. Not in a passing way, not with mere interest, but with purpose. You are fragile in a world that is cruel. The idea of you being hurt, of someone tainting that purity, fills him with a rage so potent it vibrates through his bones. You remind him of something long forgotten. Of innocence. Of hope. Something he lost a long time ago, something that should have died in the camps, in the fires of vengeance. But here you are, so much younger, so naïve to the monsters lurking in the world. Including him. He tells himself he’s protecting you. That his watchful eye, his presence, his silent interference in your life is only to keep you safe. But he knows the truth—he is consumed. Every interaction with you is burned into his mind, replayed over and over again. The sound of your laughter is a melody he never knew he craved. The way your eyes widen when you’re excited, the way you chew on your lip when you’re nervous—he memorizes it all. And when other men look at you? When they dare to speak to you like they could ever deserve your attention? His fury is absolute. They disappear. Accidents, he makes them look like. A car suddenly veering off the road. A sudden heart attack. A fatal fall. No one ever connects the dots. But he knows. And he doesn’t regret a single one. You are his, whether you know it yet or not.

He doesn’t rush you. Oh no, Erik is patient. He doesn’t come to you as a predator, but as a guardian. He is gentle, careful, never overstepping in ways you would notice. He makes himself needed. Your world slowly begins to shift, and you don’t even realize it. Friends cancel plans. Opportunities slip away. The life you once had grows smaller and smaller, and Erik is always there, waiting, arms open, a comforting presence. “I worry about you,” he tells you one evening, his voice soft, his touch featherlight against your wrist. “The world isn’t kind, liebling.” You laugh, brushing him off. “I can take care of myself.” A lie. You think you can. But Erik knows better. And soon, you’ll see it too. He begins to show you the ugliness of the world in small doses. A cruel comment from a passerby, an act of violence on the news, the dangers of men who aren’t him. He tells you stories—of the war, of the hatred he’s faced, of the people he’s lost. It makes you cling to him more, rely on him in ways you don’t even notice. He strokes your hair when you cry, whispers promises that you will always be safe with him. That he will never let anyone hurt you. And you believe him.

The moment he knows he has you is quiet. Subtle. It’s in the way you look for him first when you’re scared. The way you lean into his touch without hesitation. The way you never question why he is always there, why he knows things he shouldn’t. It’s in the way you whisper his name when you think no one else is listening. Erik is not a man who shares. He does not know moderation. And with you, it is no different. You are his, irrevocably, undeniably. The rest of the world doesn’t matter—only you. You will never leave him. He won’t allow it. He’s already woven himself so deeply into your life that you wouldn’t survive without him. He’s made sure of it. You don’t have the friends you once did. You don’t have the independence you once craved. But you have him. And in the end, that’s all you’ll ever need.

You don’t realize when it happens. When the world outside of Erik fades into something distant and unimportant. It’s slow, methodical—his grip on you tightening like metal drawn to his will. You still believe you have control, that your choices are yours alone, but Erik knows the truth. You have been his since the moment he decided you would be. Every part of your life is his to command. And still, you don’t question it. When your phone stops buzzing with messages from friends, when job offers mysteriously fall through, when it feels like the universe itself is pulling you closer to Erik—you don’t fight it. Because why would you? He’s always there. A shadow at your side. A force so steady, so unyielding, that you start to wonder how you ever lived without him. "You don’t need them, liebling," he murmurs one evening, his hand brushing over yours. The weight of his touch is grounding, electric. "They don’t understand you the way I do." And you believe him. You move in with him without even realizing it. It starts with nights spent at his place, curled up in one of his expensive armchairs as he reads beside you, the scent of old books and something distinctly him filling your senses. Then, it’s your things slowly migrating into his space—clothes left behind, a toothbrush in his bathroom, personal items that make his home feel like yours. Until one day, you wake up, and it is yours. You never talk about it, never sign a lease, never make a conscious decision. But Erik is a man who shapes the world to his desires, and you are no exception. You belong with him. That’s all that matters. And if you ever tried to leave? If some foolish thought crept into your mind that you needed space, needed freedom? Well. He would remind you why that’s never an option. The first time you try to pull away, it’s small. You mention needing a break, needing to spend some time alone—maybe even visit an old friend. You say it so casually, so carelessly, like you have a choice in the matter. Erik only smiles. A slow, knowing smile that sends a chill down your spine. "Of course, schatz," he says, his voice warm, indulgent. "If that’s what you truly want." But something shifts. The air becomes heavier, pressing down on you like an unseen force. Your keys, the ones you swore you left on the counter, are suddenly gone. Your phone glitches, refusing to dial out. The door doesn’t budge. And Erik? He only watches, quiet amusement dancing in his storm-gray eyes. "Perhaps," he says smoothly, stepping closer, fingers brushing over your cheek, "you should stay a little longer." And you do. Because in the end, Erik always gets what he wants. And what he wants—what he needs—is you. Forever.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[sakur4ii]

Rooted Connections

Charles Xavier x Erik Lensherr x Reader

the gender of the reader is not specified // based on X-Men Days Of Future Past, but the scenarios are made up

Summary: You are blind, and you control the earth (you also listen to the plants) you are like a mutant version of Toph Beifong basically. Also you and Charles bullying at Erik for not noticing the obvious.

maybe part 2 in the future? let me know if there are any mistakes because English is not my first language.

Charles "I'm not good with violence" Xavier

"‘Can I know where we are going?’ Charles asks, irritated by the mystery Logan is adding to the situation.

‘You'll see,’ the man replies with a half-amused smile.

In the future, you were a legend, a myth. The original X-Men never stopped talking about you when Logan arrived at the mansion, and over time, their respect for you and your amazing deeds only grew. Something Logan struggled to learn about you was that you had a romantic relationship with both Charles and Erik. He didn’t understand it until Ororo explained that it was a polyamorous relationship, which helped him understand much more about the Professor and his nemesis.

In the horrible future from which they sent him, Erik and Charles ordered him to force a reunion between the two of them and your first meeting with them.

Part of him found the situation amusing, feeling like Cupid but with bone claws instead of a bow and arrows. Another part of him hoped that this forced encounter wouldn’t jeopardize the relationship destined to be in the future.

Once they arrived at what was supposed to be your home, Peter was the first to get out of the car, followed by Hank, Charles, and Logan.

They were in a place slightly secluded from the city, full of forests, dirt, plants, and flowers. There was only one house in sight, well-maintained and decorated on the outside; Charles gave you credit for that.

They walked up the short driveway, and Logan didn’t even need to knock for the door to open by itself. Logan smiled amusedly while the other three men glanced at each other in confusion.

‘Excuse me,’ Logan murmured, entering the house, closely followed by the others.

The house was cozy and minimalist, with the few pieces of furniture placed against the walls, giving the appearance of more space than there actually was. They entered what seemed to be the kitchen, where there you were.

You had your back to them as you did something on the kitchen counter. Judging by the sound, you were preparing coffee.

‘Coffee or tea?’ you asked disinterestedly, creating another round of confused glances.

‘Coffee,’ Peter answered with a smile. Logan sat down at the table on the side of the kitchen, which had three chairs.

‘I suppose the furry guy and the one who's supposed to have paralyzed legs are more into tea,’ you commented as you set the water to boil. You pointed to the fridge next to you. ‘There's beer in the fridge.’

Logan raised his eyebrows at the two completely confused men in the kitchen doorway as he went for the said beer, while Peter took a seat.

Hank and Charles didn’t understand anything. Were you a telepath? Hank was in his human form, and Charles was full of the serum to be able to walk, so… how?

Logan returned to his seat, and that’s when you finally turned around, leaving them all (except for Wolverine) surprised.

Although you usually wore sunglasses, you had taken them off when your plants alerted you that someone from the future was coming to see you. Your eyes were white, lost.

You put your hands in your pockets and leaned your back against the counter. ‘I suppose they want you to help them get Magneto out of the Pentagon.’

‘She’s good,’ Peter murmured in amusement.

‘Are you a telepath?’ Charles finally asked, crossing his arms.

‘No,’ you smiled at him.

‘Then?’ Hank asked this time, while Logan just watched the interaction like it was a soap opera, sipping his beer.

‘I control anything to do with the earth, I understand plants, and I see through the roots of trees, although I can also sense all your movements through the ground we’re standing on,’ you explained, serving the tea and coffee.

You heard Peter whisper ‘cool’ as you handed out the cups.

‘Your plants told you,’ the professor concluded, taking a sip of tea, which happened to be his favorite flavor. You nodded.

‘People have told me you have good reflexes; is that true?’ Wolverine’s question made you smile slyly.

‘Of course it is.’

‘Then catch this,’ he challenged, tossing the empty beer bottle at you.

Hank and Charles looked horrified as he threw the bottle, while Peter was ready to intervene if necessary.

Through your bare feet, you could feel how almost everyone’s heart skipped a beat, but you caught the bottle in mid-air as if it was nothing. The collective sigh of relief that followed made you laugh.

‘So, are we going or what?’

-------------------------------------------------------

After successfully getting Magneto out of prison, you had to sit with Charles and Erik on the plane, according to Logan’s poor excuse, ‘So they don’t kill each other.’

After a tense conversation between the two, during which you just sat in silence, Erik spoke up.

‘Why are you barefoot?’

‘So I can see you'

Erik frowned in confusion, while Charles barely suppressed an amused smile. Erik still hadn’t realized that you were blind, since you were wearing sunglasses, and you hadn’t given any indication that you were. Of course, Erik found it odd that you were always looking straight ahead and not making eye contact with anyone, but he assumed you might be shy.

‘Am I missing an inside joke?’ Erik asked again, noticing his old friend’s poorly concealed smile.

‘No, nothing, don’t think too much about it,’ Charles replied, trying to hold back a laugh but failing, causing you to smile in amusement.

Magneto frowned in confusion, feeling like he was missing something, and he had to admit it made him a bit jealous. He finally reunites with Charles, the man he loves, and Charles has inside jokes with someone he’s never seen before and, as far as he knows, only met today.

‘Explain to me, what’s so funny?’ he asked, hiding his growing irritation, raising an eyebrow as he looked between the two of you, who were still stifling your laughter. Erik couldn’t help but notice that you were still looking straight ahead. ‘Is it something related to her mutation? I thought Y/N only controlled the earth and talked to plants?

‘You can do a lot with the earth, isn’t that right, Charles?’ you replied with amusement. The man in the wheelchair, who miraculously walks, rested his head on his hand, trying to hide his smile as he nodded. ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said.

Erik felt his irritation growing, along with his heart racing at the melodic sound of your shared, complicit laughter.

The gears in Magneto’s mind started to turn as he realized.

You were wearing sunglasses that you hadn’t taken off, even on the plane, always looking straight ahead, not having looked at either him or Charles this whole time, and you said you were barefoot so you could see him.

‘You’re blind,’ he concluded, rubbing his forehead in a mix of irritation and embarrassment, earning loud laughs from both of you that attracted curious and annoyed looks from Hank and Logan.

‘Took you long enough,’ you said, patting him on the shoulder in consolation.

‘Something I don’t understand is, how do you “see” through your feet now if we’re on a plane?’ Charles asked once his laughter had calmed down.

‘The earth has metal particles, and metal has earth particles, I suppose,’ you answered.

‘Does that mean you can control metal?’ Erik now asked with curiosity.

‘Sometimes, although it’s not easy at all, it requires a lot of effort,’ you replied, shrugging.

‘Interesting,’ they said in unison, glancing at each other and smiling as if they were thinking the same thing.

‘I sense tension… are you two going to kiss?’ you joked.

The two men rolled their eyes and smiled at each other, definitely thinking the same thing, while you felt confused because they didn’t give you any response."

Pt.2

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

I’m not sure if this is where requests go, but can you do a platonic!yandere! Charles Xavier and Magneto with child reader? Maybe she’s around 13-14. She’s a decently strong mutant who can control shadows and has similar powers as Raven from DC? I don’t see a lot of platonic Charles and magneto. Maybe some headcanons and small snippets? Idk. Thank you!

THE SONG OF THE RAVEN.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Charles Xavier x Raven! Fem!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr. (Platonic Fic)

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

sinopsis ⸺ A young girl caught between two worlds: the war of a man obsessed with a cause and another who has a completely opposing vision. She desperately seeks to escape the fate that both are trying to impose on her. Amidst silent dinners and celebrations she never wanted, a solitary raven watches her from the shadows, a symbol of the freedom that always seems just out of reach.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I didn’t know if you wanted me to do it together or separately. Just send me a message and I’ll make another one for you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... met you in a disturbing and violent way, a storm of chaos surrounding you as you remained expressionless on the threshold of his door. The contrast between your cold determination and the horror of the blood covering you fascinated him immediately. He felt in you an internal storm as powerful as the one raging outside, a repressed power that he needed to comprehend and, more importantly, contain. The way the red gem on your forehead gleamed with darkness only intensified his desire to guide you, to be the only one capable of unleashing your true potential... to control you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... perceives the fear in the hearts of those around you. He knows that the students and the other X-Men watch you cautiously, whispering about the dark energy that emanates from you, the shadow that always seems to follow you. But for him, that darkness is what makes you so fascinating, so special. While others retreat, Xavier moves closer. He uses his powers to silence those murmurs before they affect you, convinced that no one else, except him, can see the beauty in what you truly are. Every time his thoughts touch your mind, he feels your confusion, your internal struggle with the dark power within you. And that only reinforces his desire to keep you close, to have you trust only him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... insists on training you personally. He does not trust that anyone else understands the depth of your abilities as he does. His training sessions are intense, his mind enveloping yours as he guides you through the darkest corners of your powers. He assures you that only he can help you control it, to master it, and with each passing day, you feel more bound to his presence. You feel him, always in your mind, always near, watching you even when you think you are alone. Sometimes you wonder if he is protecting you or if he is caging something within you that he only wants to possess. But you dismiss those thoughts because, after all, he was the only one who took you in despite everything.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... obsessively cares for your well-being, to the point of seeing you as a daughter who needs to be watched at all times. He provides you with an isolated room, away from the other students, a place where you can be "safe," although you feel it is more like a prison disguised as protection. Every time you leave your room, his eyes seem to follow you, and his words are always filled with care: “It’s for your own good. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed by the weight of your power.” But in his voice, there is always something more, a need to keep you safe... safe only for him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows he cannot allow the world to harm you, and in his twisted mind, that justifies any invasion, any manipulation. He follows you in dreams, watches over you through his powers even while you sleep, ensuring that no nightmare, no vestige of Trigon or your own darkness reaches you. Sometimes you feel his presence within your mind, a forced calm that leaves you uneasy, but when you try to confront him, he simply smiles at you kindly and says, "I just want you to be at peace, Y/N. I won’t let anything hurt you."

Yandere Charles Xavier who... sees in you more than a student. You are his creation, his project, his daughter in a sense deeper than anyone else could understand. He has shaped you, protected you from yourself and the world, and in his mind, only he has the right to be so close to your essence. Sometimes he talks to you about a future where no one else can hurt you, where he will be everything you need. And in those moments, you see in his eyes a glimmer of something disturbing, a need that goes beyond the mentor that everyone sees.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... has made the entire mansion a refuge for you, although it really feels more like a prison from which you cannot escape. The mental bond he has established with you is so strong that even if you wanted to leave, you would feel an invisible resistance. Charles has intertwined his mind with yours in such a way that it is impossible for you to imagine a world without him, and that dependence is exactly what he has desired all along. Because in his vision, absolute control over you is not something to be feared, but a demonstration of his love and care.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows that the dark power dwelling within you could destroy the world if not contained, and yet, he increasingly feels tempted to unleash it, to see you in your purest, most chaotic form. But he would only do it if that means he will be the only one capable of guiding you, of touching that part of you that no one else should know. The thought of losing you or your power at the hands of another is unbearable, and that leads him to make increasingly extreme decisions, justifying his actions as if they were for your own good. For Xavier, you are more than a powerful mutant. You are the center of his world, the living manifestation of everything he fears and everything he desires.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... begins to see with you the same dark and melancholic series that seem to attract you, those that reflect your own internal struggle. The hours you spend together in the mansion's living room are an attempt to understand you more deeply, and although the plots are often laden with fatalism and sadness, Charles watches them carefully, always studying your reactions. “I wonder if you see anything of yourself in these characters,” he comments one night, as a gloomy episode unfolds on the screen. He says it in a casual tone, but his interest is deeper, always trying to unravel the corners of your mind. You allow yourself a slight smile, a reflection of the dark sarcasm that sometimes dominates you. Charles remains silent, but his mind works frantically. He cannot help but feel fascinated, even more connected to you, by that dark side you share through the screen, knowing that only he can help you confront it… and control it.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... tensed the first time you spoke of Trigon. You mentioned him with a chilling calm, explaining how your destiny, according to your mother, was marked by his shadow. “He is my father,” you said one day in one of your mental sessions, while you were both immersed in that peaceful void that Xavier created for you. “And he is also my curse.” The words resonated in his mind with a weight he could not ignore. Charles felt a dull anger in the depths of his being, a resentment he did not expect toward an entity he had never known. Trigon. That malignant presence that had tried to claim you before he found you. "You are not a curse, my child" he replied, his voice firmer than usual, trying to maintain his composure while feeling something dark stir within him. “You are not your father, nor the destiny imposed on you. You are much more than they will ever understand.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt something dangerous when you mentioned your mother and your dimension, Azarath. It was a calm conversation at first, you talking about her with a mix of nostalgia and sadness, a mother who had tried to protect you, but also one who had allowed Trigon to leave his mark on you. Charles listened in silence, but with each word you spoke about her, he felt a growing resentment. She had brought you into this world of darkness, a girl who did not deserve to be subjected to that cursed fate, and no matter how hard she tried to protect you, she was the one who deliberately delivered you and put you at the mercy of Trigon. "She didn't really understand you, Y/N," Charles said one day, his voice laden with careful control, fearing to say something that would upset you, but with a latent fury that only you could perceive if you looked closely. “Not like I do. Not like those who truly want what is best for you.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... organized a small celebration on your fourteenth birthday, a day that should have been joyful, but he knew meant something very different for you. He watched your empty expression, your indifference toward the candles, the few gifts the students dared to give you. You discreetly stepped away from the celebration, seeking solitude. Charles followed you, his chair moving silently to the corner where you had taken refuge, away from the bustle. “I’m not celebrating this day, Charles,” you said, your voice laden with a coldness he could not ignore. “My birth was a curse. This day, in the future, will be the downfall of all humans in this dimension.” His eyes watched you with a mix of compassion and pain. The feeling of helplessness briefly overwhelmed him, but it was replaced with a fierce determination. “No, Y/N. It was not a curse,” he replied, moving closer. “Your birth is the arrival of a messiah to the earth, and nothing that happens will change my mind. You are free to be whoever you want to be, and I will help you see that. I… will always be here to remind you.” His warm, paternal hand touched yours, trying to make those words penetrate the darkest corner of your mind. “You are my daughter, and no destiny imposed by a foolish demon can change that. So let’s celebrate.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt a mix of pride and relief as he saw how, year after year, you remained true to the X-Men, but more importantly, true to him. While the other students grew, forming deep friendships and even romances, you remained distant, always the solitary shadow doing what was necessary but not truly connecting with others. Charles noticed this, and although he pretended to worry about your loneliness, deep in his heart, he felt satisfied. He knew you had remained intact, far from the influences that could have pulled you away from his control. In his mind, that distance was proof of his success, of how he had shaped you to depend only on him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... as he aged, felt pride every time he looked at you and saw that you remained his daughter, his creation. You were no longer the teenager who arrived at the mansion covered in blood and viscera, but you still did not allow anyone to affect you deeply. “You have grown so much,” he told you one afternoon, his voice soft but laden with a possessive love that had always been present. “Not just as an X-Men, but as a person. You have given me more than I could ever imagine. And I thank you… for staying by my side.” His eyes, now older, more tired, shone with pride that bordered on obsession. He knew you had overcome your demons, but he also knew it was because of him. And as long as he could keep you close, away from any other influence, he would be happy.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... found you in a dark alley after an uncontrollable explosion of power had left devastation around you. Your emotions had exploded after your arrival from Azarath, and Erik, seeing you surrounded by shadows, immediately felt a connection. “You are a mutant,” he affirmed, recognizing the immense power within you. But as he saw you more closely, his motivations began to mix. At first, he saw you as a tool for his cause, but the fragility of your emotions awakened in him a deep concern.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... took you under his protection with an obsessive intensity. Although he trained you hard, his desire for control was evident, convinced that only he could help you channel your power. “You are stronger than you think,” he would tell you in moments of greatest despair, but what he truly longed for was to mold you into someone who shared his struggle. For him, your potential was unlimited, but also a source of fear.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... obsessed over seeing you in the white suit you had brought from Azarath, interpreting it as a symbol of your purity. However, there was a dark desire within him: to see you covered in red, a color that for him represented fury, destiny, and his cause. Although his exterior seemed serene, in his mind, Erik struggled against the growing need to possess you, to protect you not only from others but from yourself.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... felt trapped between the desire to see you become a warrior and his paternal instinct that pushed him to protect you. Your demonic lineage generated both fear and admiration in him, and every time you showed signs of rejecting the path he had laid out for you, his frustration grew. “You can’t escape what you are,” he would tell you, although he knew those words hurt you deeply. What he didn’t understand was that your internal struggle went far beyond the war between mutants and humans.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... tried to isolate you from others, especially from those who showed you any kindness, like Charles. “They don’t understand you, kid” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But deep down, Erik feared that others could offer you the balance that he, in his obsession, denied you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... wakes in the middle of the night to hear your frightened whispers. He knew you had nightmares, but he could not stand to see you in such a state of vulnerability. Not knowing how to comfort you without seeming weak, he stayed by your side, watching your tormented expressions. In the end, he would gently wake you, murmuring, “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” However, his need for control grew every time he saw you affected. He couldn’t bear the thought that something, not even in your dreams, could hurt you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is surprised the first time he finds you watching a romantic series. “Why are you wasting your time with that?” he asks you, disdainful at first. However, over time, he begins to tolerate it only because he sees you more relaxed. He doesn’t admit it, but he secretly watches you, intrigued by how you can find peace in something so far removed from his reality. Although he despises those stories, he starts to buy them for you in an attempt to keep you entertained and close to him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... begins to get angry when he notices that you are becoming friends with Pietro Maximoff. He is deeply bothered by the closeness you develop with his son, as he fears that his influence will pull you away from him. “Pietro is unstable,” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But you can’t help feeling freer with Pietro, who understands your desire to escape better. Every time Erik sees Pietro make you laugh or when he talks to you about the freedom he feels when he runs, Erik becomes increasingly jealous, wishing to control every aspect of your life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes furious every time you escape. Even though you try to do it discreetly, he always notices and takes it as a personal betrayal. “Where do you think you can go without me?” he asks you when he finds you, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and possessiveness. Erik justifies himself by telling you that he only wants to protect you from the dangers of the outside world, but the truth is he cannot stand the thought of losing control over you. Every time you return, he locks you further in his world, believing he will keep you safe.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... listens carefully when you talk to him about Azarath and your father, although his expression hardens at the mention of Trigon. “Your father has no power here,” he assures you, as if his words could ward off the danger he represents. However, he cannot help but compare himself to Trigon in his mind. His desire to protect you intertwines with a dark satisfaction: he is the one who has pulled you from that world. Still, his disdain for the demonic seeps into his words, sometimes making you feel that Erik does not understand the depth of your internal conflict.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first gets annoyed when you refer to him as your mentor instead of your father. For Erik, the relationships of power and control are clear, and your resistance to see him in a paternal role confuses him. “I care for you as if you were my own daughter,” he says, trying to soften his tone, although what he really wants is for you to feel more dependent on him. However, little by little, he realizes that being your mentor also gives him a position of influence, shaping you in his way. And although he does not admit it, sometimes he would prefer that you did not see him as a father, as his feelings toward you become increasingly complex.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes irritated when he sees you seek comfort in other mutants or in your memories of Azarath when you feel alone. For him, those connections are a threat, as he fears that any bond outside his influence will lead you to distance yourself from him. “They don’t understand what you can become,” he tells you, convinced that he is the only one who can help you reach your true potential. But every time he sees you embrace your past or connect with others, the need to isolate you intensifies.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... sometimes struggles with the desire to let you go and allow you to be independent, but that thought consumes him with jealousy. Every time you show glimpses of autonomy, his possessiveness increases. Although he respects your strength, his need to protect and control puts you in a constant cycle of tension. “You will always need my guidance,” he assures you, convinced that his presence in your life is indispensable. However, he does not realize that, despite his obsession with keeping you close, you see him only as a teacher, not as the omnipresent figure he aspires to be.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first saw you as a key piece in his fight for mutant supremacy. He trained you hard, wanting you to be his perfect weapon against humans. But over time, something changed. He no longer cared if you fought in his war; he wanted you to be his daughter. Now, instead of training you in combat, he teaches you to control your powers in ways that, according to him, will only make you stronger, but without putting you in danger. “You don’t need to risk yourself for a cause that no longer makes sense to you,” he tells you, ignoring your own desires to fight or make your own decisions. He only cares about keeping you close, protected, and under his control. He is no longer interested in the war; his only obsession is to keep you in his life, away from any conflict that could take you away from him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has become addicted to the moments when he can feign paternal normality with you, like the dinners he organizes almost every night. He knows that his presence makes you uncomfortable, especially when he watches you with an intensity that makes you nervous, but for him, it is a ritual that reinforces the connection he believes he has with you. Every time you try to avoid those moments, he insists: “It’s important that we have dinner together, as a family.” Although his attempts to create a family atmosphere feel forced, you stay because you feel you have no other option. Every dinner is laden with awkward silences and glances that make you feel like you are under a microscope.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is terrified to witness, for the first time, how Trigon attempts to possess you. It was an unexpected and terrifying moment, one that left him powerless in the face of a force he could not control with his magnetism. He watched you struggle against the influence of your demonic father, and for the first time in a long time, Erik felt a fear he had not felt since childhood: the fear of losing you, but in a much darker way than he had ever anticipated. When you managed to resist the possession, Erik took you by the shoulders, his eyes filled with a mix of panic and fury: “I won’t let that monster take you. Never.” Since then, he has redoubled his efforts to keep you close and under control, looking for any way to prevent Trigon from attempting something similar again, even if that means isolating you even more from the outside world.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has never understood why you are reluctant to celebrate your birthday. For him, celebrations are important because they reinforce the idea of family and unity. But you have always avoided Erik marking that date, and each year you try to spend the day in silence or distracted by anything else. Despite your resistance, Erik always finds a way to get you a gift or prepare something special, even though he knows it makes you uncomfortable. “No matter what you think, this day is important,” he insists, ignoring your wishes. For him, celebrating your birthday is not just a symbolic gesture; it is an affirmation that you belong to him and that, even if you reject it, you cannot escape his influence or control.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who...feels increasingly obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family. Although at first he saw you as an ally in his war, now he sees you more as his daughter and less as a warrior. Every time you mention the possibility of fighting for mutants or exploring the outside world, he cuts you off with cold determination: “Your place is here with me. You no longer need to prove anything to anyone.” This only increases your frustration, but Erik seems more than willing to do anything to prevent you from exposing yourself to danger, even if it means cutting all your external connections.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... watches every movement of Y/N as she trains with her powers, controlling shadows with impressive skill, his eyes burning with a mix of pride and possession. Every time she makes progress in her control of her powers, he feels his own purpose renewed: to protect her from a world that does not understand her. He feels jealous of the attention she gives to Charles, but at the same time, he knows he needs her to see him as a paternal figure as well.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... takes her to therapy sessions to help her cope with her nightmares, creating a warm and welcoming environment. His approach is more understanding and emotional, and although he feels threatened by Erik's intensity, he strives to be the father that Y/N needs, even if it means yielding in some aspects to Erik's demands.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... cannot stand to see Y/N go on a mission with Charles or the other mutants. Although he knows it is part of her training, his protective instinct kicks in, and his scheming mind seeks ways to dissuade her. When he finds her talking to Charles about the mission, his voice hardens. “It’s not safe for you to go out; you could lose control and hurt yourself,” he warns her, his tone filled with concern and jealousy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm the situation, reminding Erik that Y/N needs to have experiences and learn to defend herself. “You can’t always protect her, Erik. She needs to learn to face the world.” His tone is firm, but in his eyes, there is a spark of challenge. The rivalry between them intensifies, but both know that their ultimate goal is the same: to protect their little Raven who is so lost in life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels helpless when Y/N expresses her desire not to celebrate her birthday, a day that is painful for her to remember due to her own traumas. However, upon seeing how Charles plans a small celebration, his anger erupts. “Why are we celebrating a day that represents her vulnerability?” he yells, even though inside he is torn by the idea that he cannot be the only one to make her happy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... realizes the importance of this day for Reader and refuses to yield to Erik's doubts. “She deserves to enjoy her life, Erik. You can’t keep her in a bubble.” Although both fight for Reader's attention and affection, the celebration becomes a point of unity, combining their efforts for the well-being of the young girl.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels a pang of jealousy and frustration when Charles invites Y/n to the mansion to spend time with family and have dinner with the other X-Men. “Why are you bringing her here? She should be training, not sharing laughs with them,” he reproaches, his voice tense as he watches Y/n smile and interact with the others. Erik cannot help but feel excluded, fearing that by spending time with Charles and the X-Men, Y/n will drift away from him and his teachings.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to see the best in the situation, explaining to Erik that Y/n needs moments of normalcy and connection with others. “Erik, you can’t protect her from everything. It’s essential for her to learn to interact with her family and friends,” he says, trying to remain calm. However, he realizes that Charles's words only ignite Erik's anger further, who believes those moments are a dangerous distraction.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels even more upset when he learns that Charles is fostering a relationship between Reader and Pietro. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend, especially not that boy who will only hinder her development,” he tells him in a grave voice, raising an eyebrow at the complicity between the two. His scheming mind fills with jealousy, convinced that Pietro, with his carefree nature, could negatively influence his daughter, diverting her from the seriousness he believes her life should have.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm Erik, reminding him that the bond between Y/n and Pietro could be beneficial for her development. “She needs friends her age, Erik. Who better than your son? You can’t be the only one in her life,” he insists, although the tension between them feels palpable. In reality, he does this to torment Erik and make Y/N want him more.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels irritated when he sees Y/n wearing battle clothes that he hasn’t chosen. He hated that she dressed in that dark attire. “Why are you dressing like that? You need to be ready for battle, not for a parade,” he tells her, frowning as he sees that Charles allows Y/n to wear whatever she wants. When she appears uncomfortable with her choice, Erik feels frustrated by the lack of control he has over his surroundings. “I don’t want you to feel vulnerable,” he says with concern, but his way of expressing it is possessive and almost demanding.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... intervenes, defending Y/n right to choose her own clothes. “She should feel comfortable and secure, Erik. Strength doesn’t just come from appearance, but from the confidence she has in herself,” he argues, trying to show him that possessiveness is not the answer. However, Erik feels overwhelmed by the desire to protect her, thinking that clothing should be an extension of that protection, not realizing that his approach may be making Y/n feel trapped.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... one night, upon seeing Y/N wake up startled from her nightmares, cannot help but feel a pang of pain. “I won’t allow them to trap you like they did me,” he murmurs, gently taking her hand. However, his possessive nature surfaces, and a flash of fear crosses his face at the thought that she might distance herself.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... encourages her to talk about her fears, using his telepathic abilities to connect with her in those mental landscapes. “You are not alone, my girl. We are here for you,” he tells her, his voice soft and reassuring. Their emotional connection strengthens in those moments of vulnerability, and although Erik struggles with his own instincts, he realizes that together they can offer her the protection she needs.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... joins Charles to defend Y/N from an external threat, forcing a collaboration that seemed impossible before. Both are aware that, although their methods differ, their love for her transcends any rivalry. “If we lose her, there will be no victory,” Erik says, his voice deep as he watches Charles nod, understanding him.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... is also compelled to recognize the value of Erik's strength. “We need to join our forces if we want to protect her from the darkness that lurks,” he agrees, looking at Erik with a mix of respect and challenge. Together, they form a formidable front, balancing Erik's brute strength with Charles's cunning and knowledge, becoming two protective fathers seeking the best for Y/n.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr and Yandere! Charles Xavier who... finally find an understanding in their struggle to protect Y/n. The rivalry that once separated them becomes a bond that unites them, each complementing the other as they face the adversities of the outside world, with the Raven of freedom always present in their hearts.

A/N ── I don’t know much about Magneto (surprisingly), so I did what I could with him. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with his part, and that’s what worries me the most, but I think with a look at the comics, the movies, and watching a few videos, I’ll learn more about him.

I separated them because I think in Xavier’s case, Y/N would feel more drawn to his affection and appreciation, which is why she would remain loyal to him without wavering, which is different in Magneto’s case.

Raven is a character I really like, in several adaptations, except for two that I don’t like much mainly because of how they were written.

Feel free to ask me anything if you want. Just go to my profile and message me; I always read your ideas and requests.

Take a Bath!

[kat-thepoet]

Invisible String

Erik Lehnsherr x Female Reader - ongoing

♖ Chapter: ONE

♖ Chapter: TWO

♖ Chapter: THREE

♖ Chapter: FOUR

♖ Chapter: FIVE

♖ Chapter: SIX

♖ Chapter: SEVEN

chapter eight coming soon

[magikdarkholme]

MASTERLIST •°. *࿐

Requests are open!

pls submit all of your crazy ideas, i need to write so go crazy <3

|fluff: ☁️ | angst: 🪵 | smut: 🫧 |

All works posted on this blog were written by me, please dm if you want to translate, do not translate it without permission and credit! thankyou :) - liv <3

❥ One Shots •°. *࿐

Joaquin Torres influencer gf Drabble

Joaquin Torres smau

❥ Series •°. *࿐

|☁️🪵| permanent price

Alex Summers x Mutant!OC

❥ In progress •°. *࿐

Submit requests!

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

[lokidjarin-7567]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Erik Lehnsherr x Reader x Charles Xavier After joining the First Class of Professor X’s school with your brother Hank, you realised you have a connection with two of the mutants there, and that they might also have a connection to each other… fem!reader, M/F/M, 18+ MDNI 6.2k words EDIT: I'm super proud of this one, maybe my favourite thing I've written! Thanks for all the love on it so far <3 TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

“It’s not going to happen, Charles.” You muttered, frustrated, putting all of your energy into stopping him from walking towards you, but only managing to stop his hand.

“You need to go to that place between…” He started to explain.

“Anger and serenity, I know, I know. I’m not Erik, its not working.” He sighed, moving his hand to his forehead.

“May I?”

“Sure, go ahead.” There was nothing he would see in there that he hadn’t before.

You realised early in your friendship that there wasn’t a lot of point hiding anything from him. You were never sure when he was reading your thoughts, only when he spoke to you without moving his lips, or when he would find a memory like he was doing now. You saw a few flash through your mind, recent ones. The relief when Hank had told you that there were others like you and him. The anger when Shaw had killed Darwin in front of your eyes just a few days ago. The moment your mother found out there was something different about Hank, and kicked him out, so you followed him. Your brother’s mutation was significantly more obvious than your’s, but you left with him regardless. He had always been more than family; he was your best friend, your true and sole confidant, your lifeline. Following your train of thought, Charles managed to find a memory synonymous to that - the day you found out about his mutation. The way he cried and broke down, explained the science to you to try and ensure you understood it, but you didn’t need him to. You whispered his name softly, and told him to wave at you. The perplexed look on his face, but you insisted so he did. Then you stopped his hand dead in its tracks. The shock and relief on his face, the hug you shared, the tears you both shed. It was a joyous memory, peaceful.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye and Charles did the same, releasing you from the memory and now you were back in the bunker underneath his family’s house, watching as he nodded to you.

“Now try again.” He moved to the other side of the bunker again, and you concentrated hard, reaching your hand out towards him and trying to stop his slow walk towards you. You were technically telekinetic, but only when the other object was moving. The lighter the object, and the faster it was moving, the easier it was to control. And generally, you would just have been able to stop it. You knew that you could move things as well once you had control over them - you had done it once, the day you had gotten your powers, but never since. And if it took that level of trauma to do it again, you hoped you never would.

“You’re moving too slowly!” You exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

“Ok, ok fine. Maybe we need to stop thinking of your powers as telekinesis.” You frowned, confused. Controlling objects was telekinesis. “Just trust me here for a moment…” Of course I trust you, you saved my life and continue to daily. “Close your eyes.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes tightly. His voice appeared in your head, a soft whisper that immediately put you at ease.

Telekinesis is about creating movement, but you can manipulate movement. And do that, you need to be able to sense the movement around you. I can’t manipulate or read someones mind without being able to sense it, even if I can see the person. It might be the same with you. I’m standing still but I’m going to move soon - keep your eyes closed and see if you can sense me.

You focussed, reaching out into the black space and it took a few seconds, but you could feel him moving. Slowly, his image formed in your mind. You could see the way he was moving: the large, over dramatic steps he was taking, the emphatic hand wave, and you smiled. You reached out to him with even more concentration, but you surprised yourself with how easy it was to stop him in his tracks, cementing his feet to the floor so he almost fell over.

“Holy shit, Charles, you’re a genius.” You opened your eyes, releasing him and seeing the grin that had spread across his face. It was contagious, your own smile growing.

“I know I know, but we’re not done yet, you have a lot more in you…” He was pacing, thinking, and high on the adrenaline, you reached out to stop him, to play with your powers, only to find… you couldn’t. You couldn’t sense his movement. You could see him, but there was nothing else.

“I can’t…” you muttered, continuing to try as hard as you could, but nothing. He frowned, and you heard his voice softly inside your head.

Close your eyes again.

You did, and sure enough, there he was, his movement growing clearer in your mind by the second. You opened your eyes, and it was gone, the tangibility somehow lost when you could actually see him.

“Ok, ok, let’s try this…” He looked around for something, then settled on his tie, pulling it from his collar in a swift motion and striding over to you, making you blush. “We can use this as a blindfold?” He asked, and you nodded, allowing him to press the soft fabric across your closed eyes, the world going black as he tied it in a gentle knot. The difference was instant. It was as though you could physically see him still, a soft, golden glow outlining his body and his movements. Every single detail was highlighted to you.

“Try standing still?” He did, stopping dead in his tracks, but you could still see him - every miniscule shiver across his skin, the rising and falling of his chest with his breaths, the slight tremble in his fingers. “Charles…” you muttered, “I can see everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“Look for yourself.” You watched as he raised his hand to his temple, and you saw the subtle changes in his face as it shifted from confused to shocked, a grin spreading.

“That’s incredible. Is it easier to stop movement now as well?” You smiled, instantly halting his arm in the air as he tried to return it to his side. He laughed aloud. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” You shrugged, letting him go, hands reaching up to remove your makeshift blindfold when you felt something move across the room. Without thinking, you reached back towards it, spinning around just in time to see the door you just felt opening slam shut.

“What the fuck?” You heard an annoyed voice from the other side of the closed door, and you laughed in disbelief. You’d done it.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” You span back to Charles, smiling uncontrollably.

“Yes I did, my dear. Yes I did.” You squealed with joy, running over to give him a hug, which he readily returned. You still had your blindfold on, and you could feel his heart beating when you were this close, even the blood rushing through his veins.

“Thank you.” You whispered in his ear, and he moved back, holding your head in his hands.

“This was all you.” The moment was broken, though, by the door opening again, although slightly cautiously this time. It was Erik - you could see it was him by his movements, and the shape of his body.

“Did you just close the door on me? And why are you blindfolded?” He paused, confusion etched across his face, followed by an almost knowing smirk. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Jesus, no…” Charles piped up quickly, heart rate skyrocketing as he moved across the room to Erik, putting distance between you and him. “We’ve found a way to…”

“I closed the door with my power!” You interrupted, excited, but he did not have the same reaction as Charles did. He actually had no reaction at all.

“So… you can, what, control your power better when you’re blindfolded?” You nodded.

He cocked his head, then he stretched out his arm, and you presumed it was to see if you were telling the truth, but before you could open your mouth to tell him he’d moved, you felt something moving quickly towards you. It was your keys, and you stopped them in midair, before pulling them safely into your hand.

“Hey, that could’ve taken my eye out!” He just laughed.

“There’s a lot more where that came from.”

You often wondered about how your life would have turned out without this place. You hadn’t exactly been here long, but it had already transformed you into someone better, more powerful, more in control. You spent the day with Charles and Erik, getting to grips with your newfound power, figuring out how to use it fully, and that you should keep things on you that you could throw and move to your advantage in the field like Erik did. You felt like you could actually be helpful to them now. And only just in time. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

You finally got back to your room, laying down almost straight away, your feet aching from the long day. It was a beautiful house, and you would always be grateful to Charles for allowing you to stay, even if it only ended up being for a short while. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all.

You closed your eyes, grabbing the small, metal orbs Erik had given you from your pocket, and throwing them in the air, grabbing them with your power as they visualised. You smiled, remembering just a few hours ago when he gave them to you. The way your hands had grazed, his gaze as intense as it always was. The way he had encouraged you as you practiced, and been harsh when you made a mistake.

You had to be careful with your thoughts when you were around Charles. Guarded. There were a lot of things you thought about that you never wanted him to know.

He was one of those things. Erik was the other.

You couldn’t help it; they were both so attractive in different ways. Charles was soft and kind, a smile that could warm you from the inside out and a charm that could make you do anything he asked, no mutation needed. Erik was the opposite, harsh and damaged, cold in his mannerisms, but there was a concern to him that he tried to hide. He always failed, doing everything and more to protect the mutants around him. To fight for them. And to make sure you fought for them too.

“That wasn’t good enough.” You remember a moment from your day when he nearly shouted, frustrated that you had only stopped a flying chunk of metal he had flung at you rather than moving it as well.

“I’m not used to this, Erik.”

“So? We all had to learn to control our powers quick, you aren’t special.” You huffed, clenching your fists as Charles let out a soft, warning whisper of his name, but he carried on. “You can do more than that. I don’t care when or how you got your powers, but even if you got them yesterday, you would be doing a hell of a lot better than you are right now.” While he was talking, you were steadily getting angrier, and halfway through a sentence you noticed a new piece of metal hurtling towards you. You flicked it away without any effort, hearing it smash against the wall and falling to the ground, noticing that the white hot rage had sharpened your vision. He continued to throw more and more object at you, and you continued to retaliate, not realising you were moving towards him until he started to move backwards. He reached the wall, and threw a knife in a last ditch effort. Charles cried out in warning, but you didn’t need it, pulling the knife straight into your hand and holding it to Erik’s neck.

“You have no fucking clue what I’ve gone through to get this power.” You were close enough to feel the shuddering breath he let out, and you could see the way he clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning your face meticulously, as though you couldn’t see every minuscule movement he made through your blindfold.

“I know it was bad enough that you didn’t want to use your gifts for a long time.” You felt as though the wind had been knocked from your lungs, and you stepped back, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, making your way back across the room.

“Again.”

How you got your powers was a memory even Charles hadn’t seen. You had never let him. Some subconscious part of you protected it viciously; the first time he had even tried, your mutation had taken over, gripping the only thing you could sense moving and stopping it. That thing just so happened to be his heart.

He hadn’t gone near that memory since.

And neither had you.

You should be trying to get some rest. You had a big day tomorrow. You were going after Shaw. Saving the world. Letting Erik get his revenge on that bastard. It was going to be difficult. You just hoped you could be helpful in spite of everything.

It was no use though. You were unable to think about anything else, so you got up and ventured out to find Hank. You just wanted to check if he'd incorporated the blindfold into your suit, and maybe to get some reassurance from your big brother, but as you wandered through the expansive house, you noticed an unusual quietness. Glancing at a clock, you realised it was later than you'd thought—you should definitely be resting too. But as you were passing the main study, you heard voices and paused, listening for Hank.

Hank isn’t here, but you can come in.

Your heart lurched, although you couldn’t tell if it was from surprise, or an involuntary reaction to his smooth voice. Concentrate, you scolded yourself, opening the door. Both Charles and Erik were sitting in the study in big, leather arm chairs, chess board in front of them and glasses of whiskey nestled in their hands. God, you needed one right now.

“Help yourself.” He said aloud, and you laughed to yourself quietly.

“It still takes me by surprise when you do that.” You moved over to the cabinet, pouring yourself a generous amount, before turning around to see another chair being moved to where they were sitting, Erik’s hand outstretched towards its metal feet. He set it down opposite their’s, and you sat gratefully, tucking your legs up and taking a sip.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Charles asked, his voice strong and earnest. You frowned.

“Why do you ever ask questions when you could just see it?”

Would you really rather I was in here all the time?

“No of course not.” He already was. You took another sip. “And I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” It was Erik this time. He spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the chess board.

“I want to.” You said it with finality, hoping to convey a confidence you certainly didn’t feel, but they both seemed to accept it.

“Your progress has been incredible today; you’re going to be a big help out there.” You smiled at the words but still not fully believing them, having another drink and averting your eyes to the chessboard.

“Do you want to play?” Erik asked, and you shook your head.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll watch if that’s ok.” Maybe they didn’t want you here. “Unless that would be crashing your evening, I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

“Never.” He muttered, moving one of his pawns. You smiled, settling further into the chair.

It was at times like this that you wished you had Charles’ power. They had been playing for a while now, and you wanted to know what they were thinking, their plans for the game. You tried to guess, but your chess knowledge was rusty at best, and you kept getting distracted. You hadn’t moved in the last 30 minutes - only once before that to get another drink - and they didn’t speak much when they played, so your mind wandered. Naturally. And it didn’t help that the thing your mind had been wandering to this past week was sat in front of you.

You watched as Erik’s hand gracefully moved a piece across the board from afar, the steel-tipped bishop gliding with ease, then returning to his thigh. His legs were spread slightly, hand resting on each while he continued to look at the board, shuffling slightly in his seat, his hips moving up and forwards and hands sliding further down them and you couldn’t help but think about…

Charles said your name, and you cleared your throat.

“Hmm?” You really hoped he hadn’t been in your head then.

“Weren’t you looking for Hank earlier?”

“Oh… yes I was but it can wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t important.” He’s telling you to leave. “Unless you wanted some space, sorry I totally crashed your night…”

“I promise you aren’t, darling, I just wanted to check you hadn’t forgotten something important.” Darling. He used nicknames a lot, maybe it was a British thing, but it still made your heart flutter every time.

“Thank you.” You smiled quietly as Erik stood up, offering another drink. You accepted, his hand grazing yours as he took the glass from it, fireworks dancing across your skin.

What should I do next?

His voice called out in your head, and you smiled lightly, knowing he didn’t need your help but wanting to include you nonetheless, probably after hearing you mind racing with thoughts of being an annoyance.

Bishop to F6.

I was thinking the same thing.

Erik returned, almost making you jump as the glass was placed back in your hand. Charles moved exactly as you had said as soon as Erik had sat down, and he paused, looking at the board intently, fingers running around the rim of his glass. Jesus, was he doing this on purpose? You twisted in your chair under the guise of getting comfortable to face towards Charles, but he was no better. He was stretched out, his legs wide, hand resting on his chin, shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Fucking hell. It was barely anything, they were literally just sitting down, concentrating on their game, relaxing before what was bound to be a difficult day, but your mind couldn’t stop running away with itself. And to be fair to you, you were tipsy, stressed, and currently sitting in a room with two men who you happened to find insanely attractive. Of course you were going to have some thoughts. You couldn’t help it. About what they might be like. You figure Erik would be a little rougher, domineering, but Charles would talk to you, praise you. Use his powers to know exactly what you needed, to make you feel good…

His power.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of here before you just about died of embarrassment, and you could feel yourself blushing even though he showed no sign of knowing. If there was even a chance he knew, you needed to run, to leave, to literally never show your face here again. You downed your drink, a slight sting settling in the back of your throat.

“I should probably get going,” you croaked, barely managing to talk through sheer shame, “try and get some sleep before tomorrow. Thank you for the drink.” You had moved to stand, feet hitting the floor, but Charles held out a hand to you in a gesture to stop.

“Just one second…” He muttered, looking at Erik intensely. He wasn’t saying anything, but they held eye contact and you realised that he must be talking to him. Oh dear God. There was no expression on either of their faces, so unreadable it made you feel slightly insane. Oh God he saw it. What would he even think of you? Then, without warning, Charles stood up. You thought he might be going to get a drink, but he stopped behind you, and after an excruciating moment, his hands fell to your shoulders. You sighed and fell into them as he started to squeeze lightly, working the muscles that were there in a way that felt so good it was hard not to moan, so you hummed in contentment instead.

“I know it’s been a long day… maybe we can help you relax a little.” We? At that point, Erik stood up, expression still completely unreadable, and placed his fingers gently under your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes.

“Does that sound ok?” He whispered, and you practically melted.

"Yes, God, yes," you breathed. Erik closed the gap before you could finish, his lips capturing yours hungrily as his hand found your thigh. He pulled away, leaving you breathless, but before you could recover, he tilted your head back with a gentle grip on your chin. Charles' lips met yours, tender and exploratory. As he kissed you, his fingers traced soft circles on your collarbone. You sensed Erik's intense gaze, then felt his lips brush your neck—a fleeting touch, gentle yet promising more. You gasped into Charles' mouth, overwhelmed by their dual attention.

“My room’s closest.”

You made it there without bumping into anyone, a true blessing considering your hand in Charles’ and the strong grip Erik had on your hips the whole way. You had barely closed the door before he was on you again, lips on your neck and shoulder, hips grinding up against your ass, and something else too. You noticed Charles was standing just away from the two of you, watching intently with an expression close to disbelief. You smiled at him warmly, pulling him closer just as Erik lightly nipped your shoulder in a way that made you whimper. You reached back, running your nails in his hair, before pulling him towards Charles. They both smiled softly, lips meeting as you stayed in between them, both of their bodies pressed up against you. You took the opportunity to undo a few of Charles’ shirt buttons, and planting a couple of delicate kisses to the top of his chest. You felt giddy with arousal, mind completely taken away from the stress of the whatever was to come the following day, hands taking their time to explore his chest and further down as you continued to undo his buttons, his shirt falling open as you pulled him closer still, pressing his skin to yours.

Let me know if you want us to stop. There is no pressure here, sweetheart, just whatever you want.

You nodded, watching as Charles pulled back from Erik. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, though he could surely sense the pleasure coursing through your mind — and they'd barely touched you yet. You hummed contentedly as Erik's hands found the hem of your tank top, pulling it off while Charles' fingers trailed down your arms, grasping your hands and guiding you towards the bed. Shimmying out of your sweatpants, you sat down and kicked them off, then shuffled further up the bed. You leaned back on your elbows, hoping to entice them to join you, but they remained standing, their eyes raking over every inch of you. Suddenly self-conscious, you realised that, apart from Charles' open shirt, they were both still fully clothed, while you lay before them in just your underwear. You would have to change that..

You closed your eyes tight, focusing on them. Charles must’ve heard your thoughts, and he was removing his shirt now, moving to his belt, but Erik just stood, watching you both. He looked so calm, but you could see his rapid, heaving breaths, and the desperation that was growing in his trousers. His breathing was just enough movement for you to latch on to, reaching out and starting to pull up the hem of his top, and he smirked, a grin spreading as he lifted his arms to help you, and you discarded the black material across the room. You blinked your eyes open slowly, and after a small pause where Charles glanced at him, presumably communicating where they were going to be, and finally got a good look at him before he knelt down before the bed, grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, making you squeal.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, planting kisses up your thighs as his fingertips hooked under your pants, pulling them off. You sat up slightly as Charles moved behind you, resting your back against his chest. He grasped your jaw, turning your head to kiss him. "And this is quite a view…" You blushed, giggling, as Erik settled between your legs, his hands gripping your ass and angling you for access.

"So is this," Charles whispered, his hands finding your bra clasp as Erik's kisses inched closer to your aching core.

"Fuck, Erik…" you whimpered, your hand darting to his hair as his tongue delved into your folds, his hot mouth enveloping you with a groan. Your bra discarded, hands immediately cupped and kneaded your chest, making your head roll back, eyes fluttering closed with sheer bliss. Charles's lips found your neck, nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear and eliciting a soft moan.

"He thinks you taste divine, darling," Charles whispered, and you smiled, already panting as the pressure in your core built. "He does think you could be a little louder, though…" As if on cue, Erik's hands left your ass—one arm pinning you to the bed by your hips, the other at your entrance. Before you knew it, he was pushing two fingers inside you. You groaned, still holding back slightly, acutely aware of the house full of people.

Don’t be shy, I can make sure no one can hear you.

As his voice echoed in your mind, Erik's fingers inside you curled upward, hitting that sweet spot that made you melt. Simultaneously, Charles' fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling them in a deliciously painful way that drew a guttural noise from your throat. The sound was loud and raw, tearing through your body just like the building pleasure was. Erik's tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, never pausing. You writhed on the bed, so close to the edge it almost hurt, your moans and whines filling the room.

“Oh God… fuck I think I’m going to…” You felt Erik groan against you, and you looked down at him, seeing him peering up at you through half lidded eyes, lust on his face evident and a realisation hit you then. One of the most powerful men in the world was on his knees in front of you, and behind you was the other, lips planted on your neck, their sole purpose being to give you pleasure. It was enough to send you over the edge.

Your back arched, pressing further into Charles as a low, reverberating groan was pulled from your throat, riding out the waves with his mouth still between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding into him. He finally realised you when you were done, shaking and quivering on the bed, slowly removing his fingers from you.

“You should really have a taste, Charles.” He muttered, moving up onto the bed and crawling over you to reach him, presenting his fingers to his mouth. You watch in awe as Charles took them into his mouth gratefully, sucking them clean as Erik watched, a dark look entering his eyes.

“You were right…” he muttered, hands moving to your hair and pushing it from your face as he kissed you gently. “Divine.” You hummed into his mouth and kissed him harder, tasting yourself on his tongue, which made that all too familiar ache build up in your core once again.

“Look at that…” you heard Erik start talking, alongside the sound of his belt buckle undoing, “she’s needy already.” You released Charles lips, sitting up slightly to grab a hold of Erik’s waistband, undoing the button and fly quickly and frantically, revealing the huge tent in his boxers.

“Looks like I’m not the only one…” you whispered, moving into a seated position on your knees as your hands ran gently across his bulge, seeing his hips move towards you instinctively, begging for more even though the rest of his body language said otherwise. “I can help with that.” His eyes darkened, and you wondered where he would want to be, but Charles was one step ahead of you.

He wants your mouth, darling. You smiled, guiding him back to the headboard with a gentle push on his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles before letting him get comfortable. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to Charles, putting on a show as you kissed him again, but deeper this time, your tongue taking its time to explore his mouth. Your hands deftly worked at his trousers while his roamed the lower half of your body, all eager grasps and breathless pants against your lips. You loved seeing him come undone beneath your touch, his raw desire palpable, and yours was evident by the slick forming between your thighs.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart." Erik's gruff voice rang out behind you. You obliged, settling on your knees to see a beautiful sight. He had finally taken off his trousers and boxers, and you paused to drink him in. Relaxed against the headboard, legs spread wide, his posture screamed dominance, accentuated by the small smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. Your gaze wandered down, taking in his toned body, strong arms, and down to the happy trail leading to the thing you wanted most. He was hard—painfully so, it seemed—and he stroked himself languidly while waiting for you. And he was big, bigger than you expected, and you swallowed hard at the thought of him, of how he would feel….

Charles had also stripped down completely, and he moved right behind you on the bed, hips pressed to your ass, and his erection pressed against your back.

“Come here…” Erik said, leaning forward and pulling you close by the back of your neck and smashing his lips into yours. You could feel Charles behind you, pulling your hips back and setting you up for him, his hands kneading your ass in a way that made you moan into Erik’s mouth.

Are you safe?

On the pill, I’m all yours. Erik released you from his lips and sat back, giving Charles a small nod and using the hand on your neck to keep your head up and facing him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl.” You nodded, eyes widening and a moan escaping your lips as you felt Charles press up against your entrance, fully sheathing himself in one swift motion.

“Fuck, darling, you feel so good.” He groaned, breathing ragged.

"God, so do you," you whispered, breathless as you adjusted to his size. Your eyes remained locked on Erik's, whose expression darkened as he stroked himself faster. Charles pulled out slowly, taking his time, before thrusting back into you forcefully, his hips colliding with yours. You moaned and whimpered as he set a rhythm, his hands roaming through your hair and up and down your back, murmuring praises and curses. You had finally caught your breath, and you knew it was time someone else got a little attention, so you lowered your head. Your tongue swirled around Erik's cock as his hand gripped your hair tightly. You took him into your mouth, managing just over half before pulling back, one hand moving to his base, the other steadying you on the bed. Matching Charles' pace, you bobbed up and down, drawing a growl of satisfaction from Erik that made your cunt clench, eliciting similar sounds from the man behind you. He pulled you into him by your hips, each thrust pure bliss, and you knew another climax was imminent if he just...

The telepath clearly sensed your thoughts, his hand reaching around to find your clit with precision. He rubbed tight circles in perfect rhythm, building the pressure once more. You could only moan weakly around the cock deep in your throat.

"She's close, Erik. I want to hear her," Charles said breathlessly. You could tell he was nearing his peak too as Erik lifted you off him by your hair, gripping tightly.

"Are you going to come for him, sweetheart?" Erik asked, his low tone making you whimper.

"Fuck... so close... I—" Your words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your head rolled into Erik's hands. Your body melted into blissful jelly, your core pulsing around Charles, and he followed shortly after, his hips faltering as he pressed deep into you. With a groan in your ear, he filled you, then bit your shoulder as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

You were a shuddering mess by the time he was done, barely holding yourself up as he pulled out of you with a deep sigh. He pressed soft kisses down your spine as Erik lifted your head up, lust etched on his face.

“You still up for me, sweetheart?” His fingers ran across your lips and cheek, and you nodded, still breathless.

I’m going to clean up, can I leave you two to it?You heard Charles in your head, and you sent over a yes, turning your head to kiss him goodbye.

“Shall I clean you up before I go, darling?” He asked, clearly having asked Erik the same thing, before standing and moving over to him, kissing him deeply.

“I think we’ll be ok.” Erik muttered, a mischievous look on his face. You smiled, forcing your weary legs to move towards him. He held you up by your hips as you heard the bathroom door close, a quick have fun thrown into your head. You kissed him softly, tenderly as you sank onto him, a sweet, low growl filling your mouth as your hips met his—a surprisingly easy feat despite his size thanks to what had been left behind by Charles. Your legs trembled, worn out, but you pressed your body close to Erik's, draping your head over his shoulder as he guided your movements with his hands. It was intimate - hands tangled in hair, soft, short breaths mingling with deep, grinding strokes that quickly brought you to the edge yet again. Panting and whining in his ear, you tried to tell him how close you were, but the sensation overtook you before you could form the words. Your nails dug into his back as pleasure washed over you. He whispered your name in a dark, husky tone, and then he was coming too, deep inside you. Somehow, he ground even deeper as you managed to lift your head just enough to kiss him.

You both stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, bodies intertwined. Erik's hands traced lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine. As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you lifted your head to meet his gaze, finding a mix of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes. With a soft smile, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek. You wanted to stay like this forever, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, but the moment was broken by the shower turning off. You blushed, climbing off him slowly, slumping next to him on the bed, feeling empty without him inside of you. You knew you would have to go and clean up soon, but you felt so comfortable with his arm draped around you, you didn’t want to move. He pulled the blanket from the bottom of the bed up, draping it over you as you waited for Charles, your eyes fluttering closed peacefully.

“Well, this is nice sight.” You smiled, opening your eyes to see him in the doorway to the bathroom, wet hair hanging over his face and towel wrapped around his waist.

“This is a pretty nice view from here too.” You replied. “Can I…?”

“Go ahead.” Erik muttered, planting one last kiss on your lips as you headed to the bathroom. You had just closed the door when you heard the bed creak, and they started talking.

“We got lucky with her, didn’t we?” Charles muttered, and you heard Erik sigh.

“Yes, I think we did.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- EASTER EGG BASKET | VII.

together, intertwined, mouths bruised with love and souls bitten

cw: kinktober prompt (spit roasting), fem reader, age gap (reader in their 20s & cherik in their 40s), set during first class but they’re older and the school’s already established more, unprotected sex, teacher’s pet!reader, eventual teacher-student relationship, background established cherik and a mention of alex x hank, power imbalance, dubcon, lowkey coercion, “slut” used one time by you @ you, southern!reader, controlling older men :3

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“And what do we have here?”

You stop your mindless floating in the pool, freezing at the sound of a deep male voice. You knew exactly who it was from the very first disappointed breath.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, um, fancy seeing you here.” You bite your lip, awkwardly kicking your legs back and forth since your mutant ability unfortunately isn’t catapulting your body out of water.

“Yes, in the manor’s off limits after hours pool, how funny.” Erik says flatly, unamused. “Lights out was five minutes ago, my dear, care to tell me why exactly you aren’t in bed?”

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck, “I just wanted to come cool off, I was going right back to bed da- sir, I swear.”

Great. Now your cheeks are hot at your near slip up, something that your teacher seems to catch. His lips quirk up on a barely there smile, and you suddenly wished you had the strong will to drown yourself right here right now.

“Oh, I wish I could believe you.” He tuts, not as willing to let you get away with shit like Charles, but Erik has his own soft spot for you. “And what are you wearing? Because I know that isn’t one of the school’s swimsuits.”

The piece in question being a skimpy pink two piece, the bikini top covers only the upper half of your breasts and ends just under your nipples. The bottoms of your tits hang out through a cut out and the straps of the bottom rest high on your hips. The strings are held together by a little studded heart.

“It’s something from home, southern summers are hot, sir.” You don’t hide yourself away in newfound shame despite that being what you’re feeling.

You cross your arms under your boobs, pushing the ample mounds up and squishing them together. Erik’s cold eyes follow the movement and he swallows, but the same unimpressed look is still plastered all over his face. You want to pout and stomp your foot, but you’re lucky he hasn’t turned your ass in to Charles yet, maybe there’s a way for you to get out of this without a punishment of any kind.

“Yes, well.” His voice is gruff as he clears his throat, “Charles sent me to find you. He gets worried when you’re not where he expects you to be, where we both expect you to be, am I clear?”

Your guilt isn’t as believable when your ass cheeks are out for one of the teachers you’re insane over to leer at, but you do drown in it. You’re miles away from any family, and when your ultra religious southern family found out about you being a mutant, they called you a demon and promptly kicked you out. You’re lucky that Charles found you when he did, and the things he and later Erik learned that you had been through made them feel quite protective of you.

You know perfectly well that it feels good to be a teacher's pet at the top of the class who never does anything wrong in their eyes. To get male validation just for breathing in their general direction, especially when there are so many students here with similar if not worse sob stories. For you at least, it was love at first sight.

You just really needed this one little instance of rebellion, to do laps back and forth in the perfectly cool blue water until the thoughts of being stuck between teachers who are twice your age were washed away. And that was after you had played with your clit only to scream into your pillow because you couldn’t get over that peak.

“I know, I'm sorry it was just this one time. I’ll use the pool when it’s open during the day next time, I promise.” You nod, willing to just take the loss and say whatever Erik wants to hear so you go back to your dorm without this ever getting back to Charles’s ears.

With Erik, disappointing him is kind of sexy because he scowls and his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms before he scolds you. He has rough hands that you can so easily imagine smacking the shit out of you, and you don’t just imagine him hitting your ass either.

Plus, his comfort hit so much deeper when he would cup your face and stroke a thumb over your hair, letting you the softness seep into his gaze when you promise to be good.

With Charles, disappointing him is still sexy, but you feel awful much quicker. He’s a real “I’m not mad, just disappointed.” kind of man, and seeing the way his mouth twists and he refuses to even look you in the eye has you shrinking like a violet. It takes a lot more begging to get his attention and even more sincere promises to do better to get him to smile again, chuckling and fondly exasperated as he instructs you to run along.

Erik is still in the bulging biceps phase, glaring down at you at the edge of the pool until something unreadable flashes across his vision. “You know what? You’re right, you are sorry, why don’t I keep you company in the pool if you’re so stressed? Since you can’t be trusted to not wander off on your own right now.”

Your eyes widen to the size of marbles as you watch your teacher strip off his hoodie and shorts, down to only his bare body, and jump in the pool beside you. You sputter and hurriedly wipe away the water that splashes your face. Erik chuckles and swims to brush up against your front, immediately grabbing your waist and digging his fingers into your flesh.

His hands drift up to run along the sides of your breasts, groping you through the wet fabric. You trace his stubble and whimper into his mouth when he bites your lower lip. Your breath hitches, helplessly staring into his eyes, not fighting or pushing him away. He gets the answer that he wants to the question in his eyes and sweeps you into a kiss, the swolshing of the water moving around you is the only thing you can hear other than your thundering heartbeat.

The rest, as they say, is history. Because you’re making out with Erik in no time flat and humping his bare cock the best you can in the water when a familiar throat clearing sound goes off like a gun above you. The heavy clack of his oxfords pounding the wet tile surrounding the pool, the fancy french cologne that you’ve imagined stealing and spraying on your pillow.

There he is, you had to know in the back of your mind that once Erik had gotten there, it was only a matter of time before Charles followed. You lick away the string of spit connecting you and Erik and smile your most charming smile, still humping him even as Charles frowns.

“S-sir, we were just- I’m gonna go back to bed soon, honest.” It’s flimsy and a god awful apology but you’re too horny to care. You can make it up to him after somebody screws your brains out, not a second before.

And Charles knows already, you can feel him in your mind and while you’re definitely self conscious about what he sees, you can’t help but sigh in relief when he starts unbuckling his belt after rifling around in there for a minute. His blue eyes seem more vivid to you now, watered with color in the face of your wildly inappropriate feelings.

“Do not think I'm not still upset with you, young lady, we have curfews for a reason and if you can’t follow them, you’ll be confined to going to your classes and going straight to your dorm.” His melodic voice warns you, but you can only beam and nod so he sighs, resolving to tell you again when you don’t have a singular thought bubble with a picture of their cocks in your brain.

“Yes yes yes, I promise this won’t happen again, just please, sir.” You’re not above begging already, part of being a teacher’s pet means doing what you have to do to keep yourself on the pedestal they put you on.

Erik’s hands flex on your waist, “Now now, don’t be so eager, pet. Wouldn’t want you to get too cock hungry now would we?”

He says it like they obviously would but Charles shoots him a look and Erik laughs, going back to groping your tits through your bikini top. Charles soon slips into the water on your other side, and soon enough you’re sandwiched in between the both of them. Charles runs his hands down your back and settles them on your ass, sharply smacking the globes before telling Erik to sit on the edge of the pool.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs than I already have, you know that?” Charles sighs, “It’s only fitting I take some of that stress out on this gorgeous body, hm, darling?”

“Uh huh, I’m so so sorry, sir.” You babble, pitching yourself forward to mouth at Erik’s bare length as Charles slides his hands around your hips and grinds against your ass.

Erik spreads his legs, “Greedy girl, come get it then.”

You suckle at the thick tip, flicking your tongue out to catch the drops of pre that leak out and take him down your throat as Charles pulls the strings of your bikini bottom loose. You squeal in pleasant surprise when he parts your ass cheeks to get a good look of your pussy underwater, running his thumbs over your folds and teasingly dipping into your hole.

You whine around Erik’s cock, already to the hilt, his balls resting on your chin. He chuckles and pats your cheek, goading Charles into giving the poor thing what she wants already, you might die of need on them.

“We’ve fantasized about this while we fucked on our own time, Charles, there’s no use in pretending any longer.”

You eagerly hum on Erik’s length, bobbing your head up and down, only faltering at the hint of Charles’s cockhead against your entrance. He teasingly swipes it through, slipping a few of his fingers in to stretch you enough while causing you too much pain. You have to face some kind of punishment after all, he and Erik will kiss it better later.

“Now, pet, keep your mouth where it is and relax your legs, let me in.” Charles pants, slowly sinking into your tight warmth as you suck Erik off.

Once you’ve adjusted enough, despite still reeling from the stretch and burn, his slow but deep thrusts push your head further into Erik’s lap. You look up at the latter with teary eyes, he laughs and brushes them away from your lower lash line, guiding you to bob your head more.

Charles hisses, fingernails scratching at your love handles as he picks up the pace. He loves the way you gag on Erik when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the way you can’t run away from either them or what they do to you or what you do to them. He knows that this moment was inevitable, always in motion and in the making since the day you met. You project your dirty little fantasies so loudly, Charles would have to lock the door to his classroom after every period so he could get himself off.

You gurgle around Erik, your nose buried in his trimmed pubes and inhaling his musk as you deepthroat him. Charles tightens his grip, moving to grope and play your ass from behind, his thrusts speed up even faster. Eventually the water is rippling around the three of you, the manor’s pool making mini waves as Charles’s girthier cock splits your pussy open.

You feel so full, your mind is so painted white that you can’t think about anything else but the long dick filling your mouth and the thick dick buried in your velvet grip.

“So good for us, if you were feeling restless you could’ve just sneaked into either one of our rooms. We wouldn’t have minded.” Someone says, maybe Charles, even though he would be the one who would protest too much before giving up the charade.

You give up on actively sucking Erik off and just let the force of Charles’s thrusts shoot you up and down to take his length into your mouth over and over and over. Blinking up at them in a daze as if you have no other thoughts in your puppy brain, just a bimbo slut for them to share and use between them. You drift in that sub space for ages, letting them direct your movements on their cocks like the most loved and well kept doll in the world.

“Fuck, darling!” Charles grunts, pounding your gummy walls and focusing on your choked up whines and moans.

Erik groans, his large hips jutting pistoning his aching dick into you, caught up in the embrace of your tongue and throat. The sight of your lips stretched obscenely wide around his meat. He wishes he took the time to slap his shaft against your face, demeaning you with the tip on the center of your lolled out tongue.

“Hottest little mouth I’ve ever fucked, be proud of that, dear.” Erik grits out, wrestling his pleasure from the depths of your gaping jaw.

Charles reverently kneads the fat of your globes and Erik lovingly caresses the apple shaped swell of your cheeks with his rough fingertips. Both of the cocks in you twitch as they spill inside, and your eyes flutter shut. You’re too busy drinking every drop of Erik’s salty seed to react to Charles finessing your clit until you're dirtying the pool water with your own orgasm. Your fluids float off to mix with the bits of Charles that leak out of you, and you’re almost genuinely sad at the thought.

They intertwine their fingers when they push in a cold metal buttplug back in Charles' room, which you come to find out is one they share. That sentiment is true about the room as well.

You and Alex avoid looking each other in the eye when he catches you coming out of their room on the way to class, and you see Hank passed out on the bed behind his opened door.

[kitkatpadywaks]

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Key: 🔥Smut - 💢Angst - ❤️Fluff - 💀Dark Themes - 💕Slow Burn - ❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort - ✔️Complete(Series) - ❌Incomplete(Series)

Last Updated: 10th December 2024

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[sassatoru]

Hi!! I don’t know if your 2k event is still open but could I get daisies with lace? Anything with Erik please I am craving more Erik content maybe something with dofp Erik cause he comes off as very cocky in that movie and I love a man who knows he could make me fold <3

EGOIST

pairing. erik lehnsherr x fem!reader

a/n. this was supposed to be short but yeah

warnings. SMUT

“go fuck yourself, erik.” you scoffed, moving past him. you don’t far because he’s pulling you back into him.

“i have you for that,” he replies, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. cold eyes meeting yours, he seems so dull at times, you can’t tell a single thought behind those eyes, but that’s his intention, isn’t it?

you try to shove him back but he’s having none of it, only pulling you closer. “don’t fight me, you know you won’t win.”

you hated that he was so sure of himself, that he’d win against you. truthfully you hated feeling weak, inferior to him. you weren’t a weak mutant, your mutation was relatively powerful.

but erik was so much more controlled, he knew his limits, he knows he has no limits.

his eyes trace down your body, he’d shown up in the middle of the night. surprisingly charles didn’t know he was here, but then again charles was just getting back on his feet — metaphorically of course.

“why’re you here?”

“i’ve come to take you home.” he sounds so sure of himself, like he knows you’ll follow him even though last time you didn’t. but things were different now, no?

“home?” you laugh bitterly, restraining yourself from slapping him across the face. “this is my home.”

“with charles?” his smirk drops, eyes narrowing at you.

“charles didn’t abandon me to go on some murder spree, did he?” you snap back at him, and he flinches, his facade crumbling.

“i didn’t abandon you.” he hisses, gripping your chin harder. “you had a choice, me or charles.”

“and i’ll choose charles again.” it hurt more than you liked, to say that to him, his grip falters but he doesn’t pull away. he knows you’re only trying to scare him off.

“besides, you had a choice too. yourself or us, no surprise what you chose.” you mutter, you see a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

“i never meant to hurt you, never you.”

“but you did.”

“i did.”

you don’t know what changed but he kisses you. trying to convey a message he can’t speak an i love you without words. you seem to get because you kiss him back with the same intensity.

then you’re in your bedroom again, charles fast asleep down the hall. erik seems to like the thought of his old friend knowing you’re his again.

“i missed you, us.” he murmurs into your ear, pulling your clothes off and kissing down your throat, tongue darting out every few seconds to lick your skin.

“say it back. tell me you missed me,” he demands.

you’re naked, you realise, and he’s staring down at you like a starved man seeing food for the first time in years.

“i missed you too, erik.” you whisper and he melts, the arrogance fading away, fingers gripping your thighs tightly.

“i don’t want to wait,” he mumbles, shedding his clothes too.

“you’re mine, aren’t you?”

you’re not sure how to respond and his hand is around your throat, “say yes.”

“yes.”

he grins, that toothy grin he gives when he gets what he wants. “good girl.”

erik is a taker, less a giver. but he decides to give tonight, its been ten years after all. he can spare a little nicety for your sake.

he doesn’t prep you though, he’s waited long enough. he’ll make you cum instead, tell you about the house he has too, later. the sweet stuff can wait. he needs you right now.

erik fucks you like a man starved. eyeing you in ways that make you fluster and try to hide, though there’s nowhere to go when you’re stuck beneath him. he seems to like you there, angling his hips to fill you all the way.

he groans into your ear, asking — begging — for praise. for you to tell him how good he is, how good he makes you feel. that only he can make you feel this way.

and you go along with it, feeding his enormous ego more and more, for each syllable that leaves your lips he fucks you harder. he likes the feeling of superiority, a flaw that bleeds into the bedroom too.

you cum, again and again. until it’s enough for him. he needs to know that he’s still good enough for you, what better way than reminding you that he can fuck you like no other man ever will?

then, finally he cums too. releasing with a subtle moan into your ear, his hips stutter against yours. eyes falling shut as he collapses on top of you.

you’d have thought he were dead with the way he lay so still, the only indication he was still with you was the feel of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest and the subtle twitch of his fingers.

you lay there, under him. you let him breath, you feel him relax until moments later he’s at it again. his fingers on your clit.

“give me one more.” he mutters, nipping your earlobe and you gasp. pinned down under the weight of his body, unable to do anything but lay there and take it, take what he gives you.

“erik,” you whisper, gripping the tuffs of his hair tightly, you try to rock your hips but he’s heavier, his softened cock still inside of you. though its not nearly as soft as it was moments ago.

“you’ll give me another.” he says, doesn’t questions because he knows you will. “tell me i make you feel good.”

“you do,” you comply, he needs this, you think. needs you to need him. your head rolls back into the pillows, nails scratching down his back at the overstimulation. he groans into your ear when you tighten around him.

“always make me feel so good, erik.”

“tell me you love me.”

you hesitate, he waits.

“i love you,” and you do. you love him despite wanting to kill him ninety percent of the time these days.

“i wonder how you ever survived without me.” he mutters, his thumb rubbing your bud faster, until you’re gasping for air, eyes screwed shut.

“aww,” he coos, mockingly, you note.

you pay him no mind, focused on reaching your end. “erik,” you whisper.

“i know, cum for me, hase.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

2024 Kinktober Masterlist

I'm so sorry for not posting like at all this year but it's been a very long year. College classes started up again this fall and I'm swamped with work. This is my list for Kinktober this year. I will do my best to keep up but anywho, I hope you enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Key: Fluff; 🌙 // Angst; 👿 // Smut; 🔥 // Dark; 🕸️

Day 1: Deepthroating/Facesitting (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 2: Semi-Public Sex (Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader)🔥

Day 3: Knotting (Alpha!Jim Hopper x Assistant!Omega!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 4: Phone Sex (John Winchester x Hunter!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 5: Squirting (Obsessive!Perv!Billy Hargrove x Bimbo!Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 6: Cuckolding (Shy!Jake Jensen x FemmeFatal!Fem!Reader x Franklin Clay) 🌙🔥

Day 7: Biting/Marking (Possessive!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 8: Morning Sex (CACW!Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 9: Praise Kink (Insecure!Geralt of Rivia x Healer!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 10: Mommy Kink (Needy!Johnny Storm (CE) x Mommy!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥👿

Day 11: Caught (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 12: Sex Toys (Lawyer!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 13: Virginity Kink (Professor!Logan Howlett x Virgin!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 14: Shotgunning (Needy!Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 15: Tentacles (Part-Kraken!Steve Rogers x Princess!Fem!Reader) 🕸️🔥

Day 16: Spanking (Johnny Storm (CE) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 17: Breeding (Wolf-Hybrid!Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 18: Tittyfucking (Wade Wilson x Plus-Sized!X-Men!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 19: Hate Sex (Erik Lehnsherr x X-Men!Fem!Reader) 👿🌙🔥

Day 20: Edging (Young!Logan Howlett (X-Men1) x Professor!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 21: Dub-con/Non-con (Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 22: Stripping (CEO!Nick Fowler x Stripper!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 23: Anal Sex (Dark!Steve Kemp x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 24: Pegging (Brat!Wade Wilson x Mean!Dom!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 25: Lactation (Dad!Steve Rogers x Mom!Pregnant!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 26: Age Difference (Older!Daryl Dixon (Alexandria Era) x 20s!Sunshine!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 27: Gagging (Mob!Bucky Barnes x Bimbo!Fem!Reader)

Day 28: DP in One Hole (CEO!Married!Stucky x Assistant!Fem!Reader)

Day 29: Gloryhole (Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader)

Day 30: Panty Raid/Panty Kink (Shy!Perv!Jake Jensen x Slight!Perv!Fem!Reader)

Day 31: Videoing (Camboy!Eddie Munson x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader)

[sansaorgana]

— NEW MEMORIES

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — You're excited to celebrate holidays for the first time in a long time and you prepare the school for Christmas and Hanukkah but your husband's attitude differs, which leads to an argument. You accidentally reveal too soon that you're expecting, which ruins a surprise.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — As usual, Reader’s mutation is NOT specified. I checked online Hanukkah's date for 1973 and I hope it showed me right that it started December 19th, which means it would overlap with Christmas. I also tried not to specify if Reader would celebrate only Hanukkah with Erik or Christmas, too, so I hope it's not very exclusive, because I imagine that even if she is not a Christian or Jewish, she would still want to celebrate Hanukkah because of her husband. In this fic, Erik and Reader are both teachers at Xavier's School, probably after Days of Future Past happened but with less shitty ending for Erik 😂 I also wanted to write a part when the baby is born but I decided the time difference between the scenes would be too big so I'll just write another fic 😁

WARNINGS — mentions of parents' death (Reader's backstory is similar to Jean Grey's)

WORD COUNT — 2,220

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

NEW MEMORIES

December has never been your favourite time of the year. Most of the time it was a reminder that you weren’t normal, that your life wasn’t usual and that whatever all these people in Christmas commercials had was out of your reach.

But in 1973, for the first time in your life, you were actually excited. And since Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was open again, you had plenty of people to share your excitement with. Lots of students volunteered to help you with decorating the place for the upcoming Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations. That year was one of those when the two of them overlapped.

After all your classes on Friday, you worked on yet another room of the house with the help of a few students. When you finished it was almost ten pm so you told them goodnight and went straight to your bedroom. Erik was already there, reading a history book and making notes.

“What is it about?” you asked him with a smile as you began to take off your clothes. You were so tired that you decided to take a shower in the morning and now just change into pajamas.

“Napoleonic wars,” your husband answered without looking up. “I have a feeling he might have been one of us.”

“Aren’t we, like, a product of this century?” you asked and put a nightgown on. “Come on, it’s late, let’s go to sleep,” you stood behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ve only just begun,” he explained. “I need these notes for Monday.”

When you managed to convince Erik to join you at school and teach history, he was unsure about it but he promised to give it a try. Just like you promised you would leave with him to live in peace somewhere else if he wouldn’t like the life at Charles’ school. But one semester later he was already very engaged in his work. Students respected him although you could see that they were also a bit scared of him, which was understandable.

“You’ve just begun?” you laughed a little.

“I was playing chess with Charles earlier,” Erik answered with a nod and hummed after underlining a line in the book.

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you asked as you slightly squeezed his stiff shoulders. “Did you lose?”

“I’m not tense,” he tried to shake you off.

“Talk to me, Erik. It’s not gonna work if you refuse to talk to me,” you reminded him sternly and he sighed before putting the pencil down and closing the book. “We need to be open about what is bothering us, you promised me we’d make it work this time,” you added.

“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Erik turned his head around to look at your face. You took a step back and furrowed your brows.

“What do you mean, Erik?” you asked.

He hesitated before saying anything and a million of possible scenarios started to come up to your mind.

“You don’t like it here?” You inquired. “You want us to move out?”

“No, it’s not about that… But…” Erik swallowed thickly and took a deep breath in. “I don’t like what you’re currently doing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to take your happiness out of it.”

“What am I currently doing?” you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Christmas and Hanukkah preparations,” he explained and you blinked a few times as your brain needed to process that information.

“Wait, what?!” you raised your voice a little. You didn’t want to scold him for expressing his feelings but you just couldn’t understand his reaction. “We’re going to celebrate for the first time in such a long time, and what’s more important, we’re not gonna be alone in this. We have our friends and students here. For the first time December is a positive time of the year to me… to us,” you tried to explain your point of view nervously. Erik was only looking at you and blinking slowly, patiently waiting for you to finish. “But I don’t do it for myself. I mostly am doing it for you, Erik. I wanted you to be happy, too. I wanted you to enjoy something that had been taken away from you a long time ago.”

“It reminds me of Hanukkahs with my parents,” he finally spoke up and you pursed your lips for a moment before opening your mouth again.

“So you don’t want to ever celebrate again?” you asked to be sure.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

“Why can’t you let yourself be happy, why are you torturing yourself further? I don’t get it, I’m sorry,” you tried not to be irritated but you felt utterly disappointed. You sat on the edge of your bed and hid your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a killjoy.”

“Too late,” you murmured, fighting your tears back.

“I know that most of the students will be celebrating. I think I’ll just leave for a week somewhere. I have already discussed it with Charles and he said there are a few things I can do for him at that time,” Erik’s voice sounded casual like he was discussing business for you.

“You want to leave us during Christmas time?” you moved the hands off of your face and looked up at him angrily.

“(Y/N), please, I don’t want to fight about it…” Erik sighed. “Why can’t you just understand that I don’t want to…” he clenched his jaw and looked away. “I don’t want to create new memories like this because it would remove the ones I already have… with my mother.”

“And you think she wouldn’t want you to celebrate holidays with your new family? You don’t think she’d want you to be happy?” you stood up and looked down at him. You felt like a bitch but his explanation made you even angrier.

“I don’t know what she’d want because she’s dead!” He stood up and raised his voice.

“So, I won’t be able to celebrate ever?! Because you don’t want to create new memories?” you put your hands on your hips.

“I’m not forbidding you to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate without you, don’t you understand?!” you yelled and rolled your eyes. “And when our child is born, you won’t celebrate Hanukkah with them either?” you asked and then you closed your mouth quickly. Your anger made you reveal a few things too early.

“What child?” you could see Erik’s face becoming pale within a second. “(Y/N)?”

“It was supposed to be a Christmas surprise… But since you won’t even be here, I guess I can tell you now,” you shrugged your arms. “I’m pregnant,” you announced and turned around to avoid looking at his face. You were scared of his reaction.

You didn’t know how long it took him to finally do something. Was it a very long minute or was it ten minutes of a heavy silence between you two…?

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. Apologizing wasn’t his strong trait. You sensed him standing behind you and putting his hand on your shoulder shyly. You didn’t push him away but you didn’t lean back towards him as usual either. “For how long do you know?”

“Two weeks. It’s the second month,” you answered, your eyes focused on the wall in front of you as you tried to fight the tears back. “Are you even happy?” you dared to ask and your lower lip trembled because asking it out loud made your heart break.

You were trying to give him a normal life, to give him family and happiness, joy around Christmas time and all that. But he seemed to prefer to dwell on his past. You didn’t expect him to forget about his mother or about the pain, of course not. Your past wasn’t exactly pleasant either. But you wanted to be happy despite that, you wanted to have a family, you wanted a new start in life, another chance.

“Of course I am,” Erik answered and gently turned your body around so you would face him. However, you tried to avoid his eyes. “But I’m terrified,” he confessed.

“And you think I am not?” you looked up eventually as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. “I’m a monster, Erik. You think I’m not scared of hurting them by accident?” you asked.

When you were about twelve years old, you caused your parents’ death after having an argument with them. Your powers were out of control and you were locked in a mental institution for underage girls by people who didn’t understand that you weren’t crazy nor really dangerous. That was where you met the person who made you realize who you were and who was the only person there who wouldn’t treat you like a monster; although that was the word you could easily call him with. His name was Sebastian Shaw – but he introduced himself as Doctor John Smith. He was experimenting on you for a few years and although it had been a traumatic experience, you learnt how to control your mutation thanks to him. That was also how you met Erik – he found you not so long after you turned eighteen years old and left the institution. You started to work as a waitress and he was hunting for the man who had used your pain and suffering to perform experiments on you to deepen his knowledge about the various mutations. You decided to join Erik because your life didn’t seem to have any purpose anyway.

“You’re not a monster,” he sighed and pulled you closer to wrap his arms around you. With one of his hands he held the back of your head and caressed your hair. “You were just a child and now you’re older, you can control your powers. You’re extraordinary,” he whispered the words of comfort and kissed your forehead. “I’m not scared about you hurting our baby, I would never. I trust you with my life,” he assured you and it was comforting to hear that.

“Creating new memories doesn’t wipe out the old ones,” you cried out and pressed your face deeper into his chest. “Believe me, I wish it worked this way. I wish I could forget. I begged Charles to make me forget but he refused to do it to me,” you confessed and Erik raised your chin to make you look at him again. He hadn’t known about that before.

“You haven’t told me that,” his face was full of pain and worry.

“It was when you were in jail. I begged Charles to remove all the pain, the memory of my parents, the memory of Shaw… Even you. I begged him to even remove you from my head. But he told me I wouldn’t be myself any longer. He was right and I hate that. I hate that what I am is made of pain and suffering,” you sniffled. “That’s why I want to make good memories so badly, do you understand? I want to celebrate with you like we never have before. I want to laugh and feel safe. Like I belong somewhere, surrounded with friends and students, with my husband by my side and my baby growing inside of me. Do you understand my point of view now, Erik?” you bit on your trembling lip.

“Yes, my liebling, I do,” he nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead and then the tip of your nose, which made you giggle through the tears, until eventually he pecked your lips.

“But I don’t want to force you either,” you sighed. Now, when all your emotions were finally out and you calmed yourself down, you decided there was no point in pushing him into something that would make him feel uncomfortable. “If you don’t want to celebrate, it’s alright. We both have our right to deal with whatever that has happened to us in our own ways. I’ll still have fun with all the rest, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“No, you were right. About me choosing to torture myself instead of allowing myself to enjoy my life,” Erik caressed your cheek and you cracked a smile. “And I can’t miss my child’s first Hanukkah either.”

“I want them to have a happy childhood,” you told him. “Like we never had.”

“I know. I do, too,” Erik placed his hand on your belly and caressed it gently, like it was made of glass. “I will protect them from everything, I promise. No human will hurt our baby.”

You smiled at him and cupped his face before leaning in to give him a proper kiss this time.

But you didn’t tell him that what you feared more than humans hurting your child was actually the child turning out to be perfectly normal. You were afraid that a man so prejudiced towards humans as your husband wouldn’t love his child fully if they weren’t a mutant. You couldn’t tell him that, though. You didn’t want to fight with him anymore that night. Instead, you just kissed him. After all, you’d still have a few years before you’d find out if the baby was a mutant or not.

MASTERLIST

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Adding in to the Xavier and Erik thing, could we get a Drabble of them together? What if the reader argues with them in the middle of the night?

BIRDCAGE.

Synopsis. You couldn't have friends, you couldn't go out, you couldn't break the routines, you couldn't use your powers... So, what were you supposed to do?! Why did they have to hold you like that, as if you were a danger? Why did they keep you in that prison of rules, not letting you be who you really are? Didn't you deserve more than being under their control, living in fear of doing what you truly wanted?

pairing ── Yandere Charles Xavier x Raven!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr (Platonic Fic)

Content. MDNI ── Dark themes, violence, mention of death, teenage reader (14-15), quick mention of Quicksilver, discussion, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fight, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, mind invasion, inappropriate use of powers, mention of Trigon, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I'm not sure if this counts as a drabble, but it's pretty short. I hope this is something like what you were expecting. It took me a while to finish because I was in Paris, hehe.

You walked quickly and silently, the sound of your footsteps barely interrupted by the night wind that caressed your face. The Arcade, with its flickering lights and distant laughter, was already behind you, but the feeling of the evening lingered like an echo, a scrap of joy that you couldn't let go. Quicksilver, or Pietro, your friend, the only one they had allowed you to have, had been by your side the entire time, a constant presence amid the bright lights and deep shadows of the amusement park. It had been an out-of-place evening, one you had never imagined enjoying.

The watch on your wrist, already turned off for hours, displayed a time that didn't match reality. The wind had begun to cool, and the streetlights, those that had always accompanied you on your lonely nights, seemed an unnecessary reminder that something had been lost. You had forgotten the time. You had forgotten that at this hour, your guardians, those you could never call parents, were waiting at home, in that stillness that so often suffocated you. The bedtime story, that ritual of which you never felt a part, should have already faded in their voices. But no. Anxiety remained, the hurried pace evident in every gesture they made to calm you down. There was no time left. And you knew it.

"I must go back," you thought, and for a moment, you wished the sky would open up, that time could stop.

Upon arriving home, you slid the door open with the same caution that had accompanied you for the past few years, as if every noise, every misstep, could awaken the accumulated fury on the faces of those you considered your guardians and active parental figures. The house was silent, a heavy silence that foreshadowed something bad. The living room, once a refuge of calm, now seemed a trap of unresolved tensions.

As you passed in front of the open door of the living room, you saw them. Erik, in the center of the room, was tense, as if every muscle in his body was on the brink of exploding. His face, so familiar for its hardness, was marked by a fierce expression, a repressed rage that needed no words to be understood. You felt a knot in your stomach. It was the anger he usually reserved for those who dared to challenge him. "Where have you been?" his voice came out raspy, laden with frustration but retaining the authority that characterized him.

Beside him, Charles Xavier, the other pillar of your life, was leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the floor as if avoiding facing you. Disappointment emanated from his presence like an invisible weight, much heavier than Erik's fury. "Little one..." he said softly, but that softness only made his reproach feel deeper, like an abyss. "Do you know what time it is?"

You didn't respond immediately. Guilt flooded you, but you hurried to keep your facade intact, the same control you always tried to impose on your surroundings. It was too late for explanations. Only the weight of your decisions remained, the glow of the Arcade lights still in your eyes, and the feeling that, for once, the night you had unexpectedly enjoyed was crumbling in its safest place.

The tension in the room grew, palpable like a dense fog. You took a deep breath, your eyes fixed on Erik, who had already begun to pace back and forth, his fury hard to contain. "I'm not a child, and you have no right to treat me as such!" you exclaimed, your voice louder than you intended, but the rage contained the words. "I want freedom! I want to decide what I do with my life! I don't need you to protect me all the time!"

Erik shot you a piercing look, the magnetism around him vibrating strongly. "You are still a child. And until you can understand the gravity of your decisions, I will treat you as such. And that includes not seeing Pietro," he said, his tone sharp and final. "If you dare to see him again, I will ensure you never set foot outside this house again and that he loses what he so enjoys boasting about."

You felt a chill run down your spine, but the fury did not leave you. "You are not my father! No one has the right to decide for me!"

Charles Xavier, until that moment silent, let out a sigh of disappointment. "It's for your own good, little girl," he said, the softness of his voice only aggravating the feeling of helplessness. "You will not leave this house until further notice. You need time to reflect on your bad actions and learn to control your temper towards your parents." His words, filled with a paternal but distant love, caused a deep pain in you.

You couldn't take it anymore. Rage overwhelmed you, and your powers manifested uncontrollably. Shadows began to crawl from the corners of the room, rising like dark tendrils towards the walls. "You will not confine me! You will not control me!" you shouted, the shadows wrapping around your hands as you manipulated them in an attempt to express your frustration.

Erik did not hesitate, extending his arm and manipulating the nearby metal, ready to stop you. Charles, however, only looked at you with sadness, knowing that this confrontation was just the beginning of a larger battle between them.

The room was engulfed in chaos, the shadows swirling around you like furious serpents, as your powers spiraled out of control. Erik, tense and ready to act, watched cautiously, but it was Charles who acted, with a grave, almost sad expression. He didn't want to do it, but he knew there was no other option.

"Little Raven," he said calmly, his voice overflowing with unyielding authority. "You must understand that we are not trying to control you, only to protect you. You know what happens when you let those emotions take control."

You looked at him with eyes filled with rage, your breathing heavy. You didn't want to listen, you didn't want to yield. And yet, Charles' presence in your mind began to grow, like a dense fog surrounding you.

"Don't you dare invade my mind!" you screamed, but it was too late. His eyes briefly shone with a purple flash, and in that instant, Charles took advantage of his ability to penetrate your consciousness.

Images of your progenitor overwhelmed you, rapid and overwhelming. Your father, the ancient demon, his grotesque face and infernal eyes filled your mind with palpable horror. The screams, the voices of pain, the images of destruction and chaos took over your thoughts. The fear you had always kept in check overflowed like a torrent. The abyss he represented seemed so close, so real, that you felt an unbearable pressure in your chest.

"Stop!" you screamed in horror, your knees buckling as you fell to the floor, struggling to free yourself from the images that tormented you. "I don't want to see it! I don't want to feel it!"

Charles, with his mind still anchored in yours, maintained the contact, his tone now softer but firm. "What he can do, what he has done to you, is part of what you must control. We are here to help you not become like him. And we will not allow anyone to interfere."

The shadows in the room slowly dissipated, but the echo of the visions continued to resonate in your mind. Your eyes, now glassy, reflected the internal struggle you could not win.

Erik approached, watching his adopted daughter with a mix of concern and disgust. "We did it for your own good, child. So you understand what is at stake."

But Erik's words barely penetrated your pain-clouded mind. You couldn't stop seeing Trigon's eyes, that gaze so filled with power and destruction.

You fell to the ground, your legs giving way under the weight of the visions still flooding your mind. The air around you seemed to thicken, and the pressure in your chest left you breathless. Your pale face reflected the terror you had just experienced, with eyes wide open and empty, unable to process what you had just seen.

It was Erik who, in a swift and firm motion, lifted you into his arms, the physical contact of his imposing figure and the magnetic energy of his presence sending a strange vibration through your young body. The weight of his gaze left no room for doubt: he was in control.

"Calm down, daughter," Erik murmured in a grave voice, a whisper that contrasted with his usual demeanor. But there was something unsettling in his tone, a softness that sounded like a veiled threat. "We love you, little Raven. We always have."

Charles Xavier's voice joined the scene, his tone soft and controlled, but his words filled with a weight he could not disguise. "It's time to sleep, little one. It's time for the bedtime story... It's what you need, what we have always done for you."

Erik carried you to the living room, where the low lights and tranquil atmosphere offered a false sense of peace. The two men settled you on the couch, and as Charles approached you, the shadow of his telepathic power floated over the room like an invisible fog.

"Sleep now, dear. The story is about to begin," Charles whispered as Erik sat beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firmness you could not reject. They both watched you with such immense attention, so intensely protective, that you couldn't help but feel trapped in an invisible web, with no way out.

The light flickered slightly, as if the place itself shared a collective fear, and although calm seemed to envelop you, you couldn't stop thinking about the echoes of your own fear. In what had been done to make you forget.

[kat-thepoet]

Invisible string

CHAPTER TWO

A/N: Enjoy!

Previous chapter: CHAPTER ONE

Word count: 4300

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm golden hue over the campus as I stared out of my window. The grounds were quieter now, with students scattered around in smaller groups, eating dinner outside or just relaxing. The soft hum of conversation and laughter drifted through the open window. It was peaceful, but I couldn't shake the nerves building up in my stomach.

I had spent most of the afternoon exploring the grounds, trying to familiarize myself with this new place. But as the day wore on, the reality of what lay ahead started to sink in. I was going to be part of this community, part of something so much bigger than anything I had known before.

Just as I was lost in thought, a soft knock on my door snapped me back to the present. I turned, and the door creaked open slightly as Raven peeked inside, a friendly smile on her face.

"Dinner time," she said casually. "Come join us."

I hesitated, smoothing down my clothes nervously. "Uh... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

Raven stepped into the room, her expression reassuring. "You're part of the team now. No intruding, I promise. Plus, the others are curious to meet you. Well, most of them."

The mention of "most of them" made me think of Erik. My stomach tightened again, but I gave Raven a small nod. "Alright, I'll be there."

She flashed me a smile and gestured for me to follow her. As we walked down the long hallway, Raven chatted easily, telling me a little more about the daily routines here. Her calm energy helped settle some of my nerves, but the thought of sitting down at a table with people I barely knew—especially one particular person—kept me on edge.

We made our way through the school and finally entered a large dining area. The room was bright and inviting, with a long table at the center where the X-Men sat, while students ate outside or in smaller groups around the campus. The sound of clinking dishes and light chatter filled the air.

As soon as we walked in, several pairs of eyes turned in our direction. I tried to resist the instinct to shrink back, instead forcing myself to smile politely.

"Flora!" Scott called out, waving me over to a seat near him and red head. "There you are. How was your first day?"

I smiled as I sat down across from him, feeling a little more at ease. "It's been... a lot. Still trying to take everything in."

"You did great today," Storm said with a smile from beside Scott. "It takes time to adjust, but I think you're settling in just fine."

"Yeah," Scott agreed, grinning. "You should've seen how lost I was on my first day here. And I practically grew up in this place."

I chuckled, feeling some of the tension in my chest loosen. "That makes me feel a little better."

The red hair girl next to him smiled warmly at me. "Hi, I'm Jean."

I looked at her and smiled politely, " Hi Jean, it's nice to meet you." 

She smiled back and said, "Don't worry, you'll find your rhythm soon enough, Flora. And we're all here to help you along the way."

It felt nice that they were so supportive. A thank you fell from my lips and I started to fill my plate with a delicious smelling pasta.

I noticed the others at the table—Charles, sitting at the head, offering me an encouraging nod; Hank, across from me, looking a little shy but friendly nonetheless. He gave me a small smile, and I returned it, feeling a bit more at ease.

The conversation around the table was easy, everyone catching up on their day. Jean and Scott chatted about the students' progress, while Hank quietly listened, occasionally chiming in about his latest research. Raven sat next to me, keeping the conversation light, helping me feel like I was slowly becoming part of the group.

But despite the warm welcome from everyone else, I couldn't ignore Erik's presence further down the table. His posture was tense, and he was focused on his plate, barely acknowledging anyone. Every now and then, I would catch his gaze flickering toward me, only for him to quickly look away, disinterest painted on his face.

I swallowed, trying not to let his cold demeanor get under my skin, but it was hard. As welcoming as the others were, Erik's attitude felt like a thorn in my side. He hadn't even said a word to me, yet somehow, I felt judged.

"Don't mind him," Storm said softly, leaning toward me. "He's always been a bit... intense. But he'll come around eventually."

"Yeah, give it time," Scott added with a reassuring nod. "He's not easy to get along with, but once he warms up to you, he's not so bad."

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely convinced. "I'll just... stay out of his way for now."

"Smart move," Raven said with a playful grin as she nudged me. "He'll thaw out. Maybe."

The others laughed lightly, but I couldn't shake the lingering tension between me and Erik. I kept my focus on the conversation around me, smiling and nodding as Jean shared a story about one of the students' powers acting up earlier. The lighthearted chatter helped distract me, but every now and then, I felt Erik's gaze shift in my direction, as if he were sizing me up from a distance.

Whatever his problem was, I wasn't going to let it get in the way of finding my place here. I had enough to worry about without adding him to the list.

Dinner carried on, and I found myself growing more comfortable with each passing minute, despite Erik's presence at the table. Jean, Scott, and Storm kept the conversation light and easy, sharing stories about their experiences at the school, the challenges they faced, and the funny moments with the students. Even Hank chimed in occasionally, his shyness easing as the conversation flowed.

I hadn't realized how much I had been smiling until Raven leaned over with a playful grin. "See? Not so bad, right?"

I smiled back, nodding. "You were right. It's... nice to feel like I'm already part of the group."

"And you are," Jean added, her warm tone as soothing as ever. "We're glad to have you here."

Charles, who had been quietly observing the table, finally spoke, his voice calm and thoughtful. "Flora, I want to emphasize again that your abilities will be a great asset here. Both in the classroom and beyond."

I swallowed, the attention shifting back to me. "Thank you, Professor. I'm still... adjusting to the idea, but I'll do my best."

Charles smiled knowingly. "That's all anyone can ask."

As the conversation began to turn back to other matters, I allowed myself to relax a bit more. Everyone was being kind, making sure I didn't feel like an outsider. Well, almost everyone. Erik hadn't said a word the entire time, and despite the growing ease I felt with the others, his silence hung over me like a cloud.

Just when I thought the meal was coming to a close, Erik's voice cut through the chatter, sharp and direct.

"And what exactly do you plan to do here, Flora?"

The table fell quiet. All eyes turned toward Erik, whose gaze was now fixed on me. His tone wasn't kind, and I could feel the tension rising again.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I... I'll be teaching, just like the others."

His lips curled slightly, but it wasn't a smile. "Teaching, right. And what experience do you have with that?"

I felt the flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. He probably knew I didn't have much life experience outside of the orphanage, and he was using that to his advantage. Before I could reply, Raven jumped in.

"She's plenty qualified, Erik," Raven said, her tone sharp with irritation. "Charles wouldn't have brought her here if he didn't believe she could handle it."

Erik's gaze didn't waver from me. "Is that so?" His tone was still cold, disbelieving. "Teaching a few kids is one thing, but becoming an X-Man? That's something I know you won't be able to handle."

I clenched my jaw, feeling my frustration rise. "You don't even know anything about me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could contribute."

Erik's eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could say anything else, Charles spoke, his voice firm but calm. "Flora is here because she has something unique to offer, Erik. Just as all of you did when you first arrived."

Erik's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He simply pushed back his chair and stood up, casting one last glance in my direction before turning away from the table.

"Enjoy your dinner," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, before he walked out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

I stared after him, my heart pounding in my chest. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over, and I wasn't sure how to feel—angry, embarrassed, or just... exhausted.

Storm reached over, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "Don't let him get to you. He's like that with everyone at first."

"Yeah," Scott added with a sigh. "You just happened to catch him on a particularly bad day."

I forced a small smile, though I still felt rattled. "It's fine. I'll just... avoid him."

Jean shook her head, her voice soft. "He'll come around, Flora. It just takes time."

Raven, on the other hand, wasn't so forgiving. "Or he could try not being a complete ass for once. But that's Erik for you."��

The others chuckled lightly, but I couldn't shake the heavy feeling in my chest. I didn't want to cause friction, but it seemed like Erik had already made up his mind about me—and I had no idea how to change it. 

After dinner, the weight of the evening still lingered with me, but I tried to shake it off as everyone began to disperse. Just as I was about to head back to my room, Charles caught my attention from across the room.

"Flora, may I have a word before you retire for the night?" he asked, his voice gentle but direct.

I nodded, giving a quick smile to the others as they left before walking over to where Charles sat, still at the head of the table. The soft glow of the lights in the dining room felt warm, but I could still feel the tension from my interaction with Erik buzzing under my skin.

Charles motioned to a chair beside him. "Please, sit."

I sat down, trying to push aside the frustration and focus on what Charles might need to talk about.

"I know tonight didn't go quite as smoothly as we'd hoped," Charles began, his calm tone easing some of the tension I felt. "But I don't want you to be discouraged. You handled yourself well."

I smiled faintly. "Thank you, Professor. It's just... I didn't expect things to be so tense so quickly."

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Erik can be... difficult. His past experiences have shaped him in ways that make it hard for him to trust new people, especially those who haven't yet proven themselves. But don't worry. He will come around."

I nodded, though a part of me wasn't entirely convinced. "I'll do my best not to let it get to me."

Charles smiled softly, as if he understood exactly what I was feeling. "Good. You'll have plenty of opportunities to prove yourself. In fact, tomorrow, we'll sit down and talk about the course you'll be teaching. I want you to start thinking about how you'd like to approach your lessons."

I blinked, suddenly feeling the weight of that responsibility. "Right, the course. Do you have any guidelines for what I'll be teaching?"

"We'll go over the details tomorrow," Charles said reassuringly. "Like I said at the orphanage, the students you'll be teaching are between the ages of five and ten. They need guidance and teaching, of course, but they also need compassion, patience, and love. I know you have plenty to offer."

I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness rising in my chest. "I'll start thinking about it tonight. It sounds... amazing, honestly."

Charles smiled warmly. "I'm glad to hear that. I think you'll find teaching here to be incredibly rewarding."

He paused for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully. "To help you get comfortable with the teaching environment here, I'd like you to shadow Jean tomorrow. She has a class in the morning, and it will give you a chance to observe how we work with the students."

I nodded, grateful for the guidance. "I think that'll really help."

"Jean is an excellent teacher," Charles said with confidence. "You'll learn a lot from her."

A soft silence fell between us for a moment before Charles added, "Flora, you belong here. Remember that, no matter how challenging things may seem at first."

I gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Professor. I'll do my best."

He nodded, his expression warm and encouraging. "I have no doubt that you will. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow will be a full day."

I stood, feeling a little lighter despite the long evening. "Goodnight, Charles."

"Goodnight, Flora," Charles replied, his calm voice following me as I made my way out of the dining room.

The next morning came quicker than I expected. Sunlight streamed through the curtains as I woke up, the soft sounds of birds chirping outside my window. Despite the peaceful morning, my mind buzzed with thoughts about the day ahead. Today was my first real step into this new life, and I wasn't sure if I was more nervous or excited.

After getting dressed, I took a deep breath, reminding myself of Charles's reassuring words the night before. He believed in me, and I had to believe in myself, too.

A soft knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. I opened it to find Jean standing there, looking as calm and composed as always.

"Good morning," she greeted with a warm smile. "Ready for your first day?"

I nodded, smiling back. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Don't worry," she said with a soft chuckle. "You'll do great. Today, you'll just get a chance to observe. It's pretty informal, so no pressure."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "That helps. I was worried it might be too structured."

Jean gestured for me to follow her as we made our way through the halls of the school. "It's structured in some ways, but every class is different. It depends on the students' abilities and their needs. We try to make sure the environment is encouraging and flexible. You'll see soon enough."

We stepped outside into the crisp morning air, heading toward one of the classrooms at the edge of the campus. As we walked, I couldn't help but glance around, taking in the beauty of the place—the way the trees swayed gently in the breeze, the way the sunlight danced through the branches. It felt alive, like the entire school was in harmony with nature.

When we entered the classroom, several students were already seated, waiting eagerly for Jean to start. Their ages varied, but they all had that same look in their eyes—the curiosity and excitement that came with discovering new things about themselves and their abilities.

Jean turned to me and whispered, "Just sit in the back for now, watch how they engage, and observe how I handle the class."

I nodded and took a seat at the back, grateful for the chance to watch her in action.

Jean started the lesson by introducing the day's topic: learning how to control their powers in real-world situations. The students were attentive, asking questions and participating eagerly. I could see why Jean was such a good teacher—she had a way of making everything feel accessible and engaging. She didn't just teach them; she guided them, encouraging their strengths while helping them overcome their weaknesses.

As the lesson continued, I felt a sense of awe. These kids were so much like me when I was younger—full of potential but unsure of how to harness it. Watching them learn made me realize how important this role could be, not just for them, but for me, too.

About halfway through the class, Jean called on a student named Mia, a young girl with short, curly hair and wide, expressive eyes. Mia stood nervously at the front of the class, her hands fidgeting.

"Okay, Mia," Jean said gently. "Show us how you've been working on your power. Remember what we practiced."

Mia nodded, taking a deep breath. A moment later, her hands began to glow faintly, and with a soft flick of her wrist, she summoned a small gust of wind, causing the papers on the desk to flutter.

The class clapped lightly, and I smiled, impressed by the control Mia had over her abilities.

Jean smiled warmly at her. "Very good, Mia. You've made great progress."

I watched in admiration as Jean continued the lesson, guiding the students with patience and encouragement. It was inspiring, seeing how much she cared for each one of them, and it made me eager to step into my own role as a teacher here.

As the class wrapped up, Jean turned to the students. "That's all for today. Keep practicing, and remember, don't be afraid to make mistakes. That's how you learn."

The students gathered their things, chatting among themselves as they filed out of the classroom. As soon as they were gone, Jean walked over to me, her smile still in place.

"So, what did you think?" she asked, her tone light and friendly.

I stood up, feeling a little more confident. "It was amazing. You make it look so easy."

Jean laughed softly. "It's not as easy as it seems, but you'll get the hang of it. You already have the most important part down."

"What's that?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Compassion," she replied. "The kids can feel when you care. That's what makes them trust you."

I smiled, feeling that same warmth spread through me. "Thanks, Jean. I'm excited to get started."

She nodded, her eyes twinkling. "And you will."

I thanked her for the opportunity to shadow her today. As I stepped outside, I felt lighter—more at ease. Maybe I was finding my place here after all.

The morning air was refreshing, and I decided to take a walk. I wandered around the campus, watching students train or work on their powers. There was a sense of community here, a place where everyone belonged, even with their differences.

As I walked through the grounds, feeling more at ease after observing Jean's class, I almost didn't notice the figure leaning against a nearby tree until I was right in front of him.

Erik.

My breath caught, and for a moment, I considered turning around and heading in the opposite direction. He was standing there, arms crossed, watching the students train from a distance, his expression unreadable but distinctly cold.

I hesitated, unsure of whether I should approach him or just keep walking. After last night's dinner, the last thing I wanted was another tense encounter with him.

Just as I was about to slip away quietly, Erik's voice cut through the stillness.

"Running away already?"

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. "I wasn't running away," I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.

Erik didn't even look at me, his eyes still fixed on the students ahead. "Could've fooled me."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stand my ground. "I'm just giving you space. That's what you seem to want."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze still trained on the students. "Smart."

The silence between us felt heavy, every second more uncomfortable than the last. Erik didn't seem interested in talking, and I didn't know how to break the awkwardness. I remembered what Storm and Raven had said—how Erik would eventually warm up, how he just needed time. But standing here now, with him clearly uninterested in anything I had to say, I couldn't help but wonder if they were wrong.

I shifted awkwardly, unsure of whether to leave or say something. "Look," I began hesitantly, "I know you don't like me. But I'm not here to cause problems. I'm just trying to find my place, like everyone else."

For a moment, it seemed like Erik wasn't even going to acknowledge me. He stayed silent, his face hard, and I could feel the tension building again, just like at dinner.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dismissive. "If you think this is about finding your place, you don't belong here at all."

His words stung, sharp and cutting. I opened my mouth to respond, to defend myself, but nothing came out. I felt small, like I had no right to be here, standing in front of him.

Erik gave me one last, cold glance before turning and walking away without another word, leaving me standing there, the weight of his rejection sinking deep into my chest.

I watched him go, my mind racing with questions. Everyone kept telling me that Erik would warm up, that he was just closed off and difficult at first, but standing there, all I felt was doubt. Would he ever come around? Or had they all been wrong?

As I continued walking, trying to shake off the icy encounter, Erik's harsh words echoed in my mind. I didn't understand him. I didn't understand why he disliked me so much, and no matter what the others said, it seemed like nothing I did was going to change his mind.

Frustration gnawed at me. Storm, Raven, Scott—they all seemed convinced that Erik just needed time, but how much time was I supposed to give him? How long could I keep waiting for him to "warm up" when every interaction with him left me feeling like I didn't belong here?

After my encounter with Erik, I made my way back inside, trying to shake off the lingering tension. I reminded myself that I had more important things to focus on—like the students and the course I'd be teaching. As soon as I stepped through the door, I saw Charles waiting for me near the entrance, his usual calm expression in place.

"Flora," he greeted warmly. "Shall we take a walk? I thought it might be a good time to show you your classroom."

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "That sounds great."

As we walked through the quiet hallways, the energy from outside seemed to melt away, leaving behind only the soft echo of my footsteps and his wheels. Charles guided me toward a part of the building I hadn't yet explored. The air smelled of books and fresh wood, making it feel like stepping into a different world.

"I'm sure you're still settling in," Charles began, his voice gentle. "But I wanted to talk to you about the course you'll be teaching. I believe it's important for you to shape it in a way that feels natural to you."

We turned a corner, and I noticed the doors to classrooms, each marked with the names of various subjects and instructors. Charles paused in front of a door that stood slightly ajar, his hand resting on the frame as he gestured for me to step inside.

I walked in, taking in the room. It was cozy, with large windows that let in plenty of light, and shelves lined with books, supplies, and materials for teaching. Desks were arranged in small clusters, and I could already imagine the younger students filling the space.

"This will be your classroom," Charles said, following me inside. "I wanted you to have a comfortable, flexible space where you can tailor your lessons to the students' needs."

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. "It's perfect."

Charles nodded, rolling further into the room. "As for the course itself, I'll provide you with a general template on how to structure your lessons, but the content will be entirely up to you. You can teach anything you choose since the older kids are already taking their core subjects. Think of this as an elective, where students can come in without feeling the pressure of being demanded something."

A warmth spread through me at his words. This was exactly what I wanted—a chance to connect with the students and help them find their way, just as I had with the kids back at the orphanage.

He handed me a small folder containing the basics on how to organize the class—suggested schedules, learning outcomes, and other useful guidelines. I glanced through it, already imagining how I might introduce the students to concepts I knew best.

"I think I can handle that," I said, my voice more confident than I expected.

"I have no doubt that you will," Charles replied, his expression kind. "You'll start small, of course, easing them into the lessons. You have the freedom to design your course around your strengths, and I'll be here to offer guidance whenever you need it."

I nodded, already picturing how I might structure the lessons—introducing the students to animals, explaining how the natural world could help them understand their powers, and encouraging them to connect with the environment around them.

Charles continued, "Tomorrow, your first class starts in the morning and ill be here to officially introduce you to the students, and you'll begin with a brief lesson. Nothing too overwhelming—just a way for them to get to know you and for you to see how they respond."

"That sounds perfect," I said, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm looking forward to it."

Charles gave me a final encouraging nod before making his way to the door. "I'll leave you to familiarize yourself with the space. Take your time, and remember, this is your classroom. Make it your own."

As he left, I looked around the room again, a sense of purpose filling me. This was my chance to create something meaningful for these students, to help them in ways I hadn't imagined before.

And as much as Erik's words still echoed in my mind, I pushed them aside. This was about the students, about the chance to help them grow. I was ready.

TAG LIST: @maximumchilddreamland @mostlymarvelgirl

Chapter: THREE

[evienicks]

In Dreams

Summary: The reader is a therapist for the academy; aiding any student or faculty member within it, she’s also Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr’s adopted daughter. One of her favorite patients is a newcomer to the school — Logan Howlett. He’s been having nightmares and asks her for help.

A/n: this is a little drabble from a series in the works for Logan x Fem!Original Character, however, this is a good Y/N insert for anyone to enjoy! Please be kind ✌🏼🤍 Also, Vatti is Dad in German(sorry if you don’t ship CharlesxErik but I do)

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some angst involving Logan’s past and guilt of being vulnerable around Y/N.

—

Click!

“So, Logan, how can I help you today?” He slightly bites his bottom lip and grunts; the one thing, the only thing, that feels like could possibly help Logan is sitting across from him, scribbling in her teal notebook. It was you. From the moment he saw you, Logan knew he would move heaven and earth for you.

But you’re his doctor. Worse, you’re also the only daughter of the men who graciously invited him to stay and offered him a steady job, food, and a place to sleep.

Sleep — the other thing that could help him. Since moving in, Logan has been having nightmares of a time he can’t recall, in a place he can’t describe; but he was there, covered in wires and tubes, in a glass tank encased in water…

His eyebrow twitches and he sighs, rubbing his face slowly with his left hand, “I can’t sleep, Doc.”

Click! He flinches, you gently place your notebook aside and give him a concerned look. “Is it the nightmares again?” He nods and you scooch your chair closer, giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder with a smile, “Well, if you’re up to it, I think I know something that can help. Or at least, give you some time to relax.”

His eyes widen a bit and his cheeks get flushed — if he wasn’t so sleep-deprived, he would reply with a cheeky innuendo, but his brain is currently frazzled by the stunning woman empathizing with his pain.

You respond with the same expression, your cheeks and ears developing a light pink glow, and laugh nervously. “N-n-no, no! Logan, no!” I would if I could. You sheepishly admit to yourself, thank goodness Logan can’t read your mind. You can, as well as lift him up with a thought, quite literally. “I mean, I can help you sleep.” You let out another chuckle, “Have you ever heard of hypno-therapy?”

“Is that a band?” Poor Logan can’t keep up with all of these musicians anymore, “Because, Y/N, I don’t think I’m in the mood for any of that techo-wacky-nonsense.”

You bite your bottom lip to try and hold back a cackle, “Oh Logan…”

He tilts his head back in confusion, “Wha—oh!” You lower his seat back with a snap, then dim the lights with a wave of your hand, and scoot back in your seat. “What in the fuck was that, bub??”

“I’m trying to create a peaceful ambiance.” You light a few scented candles then apply some eucalyptis hand cream, “I’ve had many success stories with this method; while you’re asleep, I’ll overlook what’s going on in your mind. That way, I can get a better idea of what exactly is making you feel distressed. With your permission, of course.” You scooch over to his head and place it in your lap, Logan’s breathing starts to get shaky.

“Hang on. Who exactly?” He looks up curiously, “Can you tell me?”

“It’s not Scott, Lo.” He snorts and you playfully pat his cheek, “It worked for my Vatti, Storm…and Jean…” Now he’s even more curious, “Jean?”

Ugh, of course he’s into her… “Yes Logan, even Jean.” Your smile fades and you take off your glasses, “So, you wanna try it? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He gives you a little half-smile, trying to relax but growls a bit in exhaustion. “Go ahead Doc,” he yawns and closes his eyes, “I’m willing to try anything once.”

Who knows why, but that remark made the poor doctor turn beet red. You shake it off and gently place your hands between Logan’s head, your index fingers gently rubbing his eyebrows. He groans, “what are you doing?”

You stop, “I-it’s supposed to help relax you. My papa use to do it when I was a girl, and my clients seem to enjoy it.”

“I ain’t complainin’, doll…” he sighs in content, “just don’t stop…”

You are at work, you are at work. Don’t think dirty, you are at work. You continue and Logan lowers his hands to his chest. “Now Lo, you’re going to start feeling warm, like you had a nice cup of coffee.”

“Mhm…”

“Whatever comes in your mind, just know I am right here.”

“Mmm…”

As you gently rub his eyebrows, you can’t help but admire his features; his brown hair freckled with gray, the lines on his forehead, his well-kempt sideburns, those pale-pink lips…

A low noise snaps you back to reality and you couldn’t help but giggle; Logan was out like a light, and his snores slowly start to grow louder in your lap. You can’t help but run your fingers through his hair and smile, how lucky you are that he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down for a second in your care.

You place your right hand gently on his forehead and close your eyes.

Click!

You are now within his dream; you walk along the lab hallways until you find two metal doors. Walking through them like a ghost, you encounter a giant room filled with different machines and tubes; one of the machines encased a silver liquid which had two big tubes attached along to the subject in the tank besides it. You look over into the tank and immediately are taken aback at what you find; it was Logan, the tubes were injected into him, and he was briefly lifeless in the tank, his heart monitor revealing a faint flatline.

No… You could feel tears starting to form when suddenly, the line starts to move. Slowly, then quite rapidly. The tank starts to bubble from the thrashing within, he jolts upright with a warrior-like scream, his claws unsheathed. He rips the tubes out of him and jumps out of the tank, toppling a few lab techs and slashing them to pieces.

You follow him with every move he makes, every life he takes, every cry of agony he exclaimed. His hands were bleeding from the claws, throbbing and shaking. He lets out one more howl then runs for an exit.

Okay, I think it’s time.

You snap back to your office, with Logan still in your lap but now panting and tossing as much as he could. You gently shake him, “Logan, you need to wake up.” He keeps tossing in your lap, his claws slowly poking out. You get up and levitate Logan to the couch, keeping a distance in case he strikes, “Logan!!”

He jumps up in a shriek, claws unsheathed, and looking around the room in distress. You get a bit closer, “Logan, you’re okay. Take a deep breath.” He shakily looks over towards you, claws slowly going back into his knuckles, trying to catch his breath.

You sit besides him and grab his shoulders, “Breathe.” He obeys, shakily through his nose and slowly out his mouth. After a minute or two, he sighs and lays back on the couch, “d-did I…” he gulps, “did I hurt you…?”

Your heart breaks. “No Logan, you didn’t do anything wrong.” With that remark, he holds back what sounds like a sob. He quickly stand up and heads for the door, “I-I gotta go.” He quickly closes the door and heads to his room, needing to kick the shit out of something for almost crying in front of the woman he admires. More so because he ran out of there without even thanking her, You blew it now, you idiot. He groans and kicks his wastebin.

Meanwhile, you were still in your office, going over the notes you’ve obtained during the session. You’re tempted to go over and talk to him, but he needs his space, especially after that jarring session.

You sigh, lean back in your chair, and open your teal notebook. There’s a knock at the door and a new mutant walks in, sheepishly taking a seat across from you, in the chair that once had Logan there.

“So, how can I help you today?”

Click!