…where is the AU in which Erik owns a hardware store with his cute husband who charms everyone at the register omg
Erik almost threw a wrench at the customer’s retreating back.
The only thing that stopped him was Charles’ arms wrapping tightly around his…
black—betty asked: Charles wearing Erik’s clothes as a tease.
—
It starts off innocently enough, with a pair of brown leather gloves.
Charles doesn’t ask and neither does Erik when he sees them on Charles’ hands, snug and warm and rather cunningly pilfered from Erik’s coat pocket. Erik doesn’t mind; those thumbless woollen monstrosities that Charles usually wears are neither use nor ornament, and it’s good to see Charles taking care of himself for once. It’s especially nice when Charles threads those lovely warm fingers through Erik’s own a little while later, his smile as warm and soft as old, supple leather.
Little things begin to vanish after that, items of clothing that Erik doesn’t even notice are missing until he sees Charles wearing them; a belt, a pair of socks, a thin black tie for their recruiting trip to the strip club. Despite his nomadic lifestyle, Erik has always chosen to wear the finer things in life, from cashmere sweaters to designer sunglasses. After the flea-ridden, threadbare uniforms of the concentration camps, the comfort of a well-made leather jacket is especially potent. And Charles looks magnificent in Erik’s Armani shirt, even if it is a little long for him. Erik can only imagine how it would look without pants, its hem falling coyly past Charles’ hips, brushing his thighs, the rise of his cock tenting the fabric just so —
Charles didn’t mention having overheard the fantasy, but the telltale smirk on the telepath’s lips when Erik had walked into their hotel room later that same night and found Charles waiting on the edge of the bed wearing that damned shirt and only that damned shirt spoke volumes.
It isn’t until Charles takes his favourite sweater that Erik realises he is in big trouble.
In public, Erik prefers turtlenecks. Comfortable, stylish, available in many colours, and - most importantly - handy for hiding the numerous love bites that Charles likes to leave bright and angry on Erik’s neck. But in his snatched private moments, Erik enjoys slipping into an overly large wool sweater, a deep cobalt colour with buttons trailing one shoulder. It was the first piece of clothing Erik had bought with a murdered nazi’s money, and had become frayed and worn over the years of travelling from place to place. He adores the old thing, even if it isn’t really his colour and is starting to patch at the elbows.
But on Charles; on Charles it looks… breathtaking.
The neckline stretches obscenely over his broader shoulders, a fine scattering of red-brown freckles vanishing beneath the fabric. The colour brings out the darker blue shades of Charles’ eyes, and highlights the paleness of his skin until it near shines in the weak hotel light. Suitably smug lips clash most beautifully, and are tipped up in a smile.
“You do realise you’re going to have to give that back?” Erik asks, letting his eyes flick the length of Charles’ torso.
“Fine.” Charles shrugs a shoulder - the buttoned one, for the love of - and glances pointedly at his carefully crossed legs. Beige canvas pants. a pair Charles usually favours, but this time Erik can see a thin strip of what looks like maroon silk peeking out above his waistline.
His mouth goes dryer than the Sahara.
“But if you want these back, you’re going to have to come and get them.”
asjdhsgdjn I can HEAR Charles saying that last line ksdyghahsk
So Steve’s been trying to convince Tony -slowly, as much as he can without pushing too hard- to adopt kids.
Tony always exits stage left as fast as is humanly possible. Once, he even blows something up to distract Steve long enough to punch the repulsors and fly off.
Then, when they’re at a crappy gala which they all hate-
Natasha’s off to the side with Bruce, teaching him how not to go on a vicious homicidal spree when one of the people here tries to talk to you (it’s harder than it looks, seriously), and Tony has finished his quota of schmoozing for the night. He’s looking around, casting world-suffering looks at the other Avengers when he finally catches Steve, and he stops, frozen, hand outstretched to tap him on the shoulder. Because Steve is bouncing a baby carefully in his arms, with this small, intimate smile on his face, looking down at it like he’s holding the world bunched in baby booties and a diaper.
Tony hears him tell the mother that he’s beautiful, and the mother gushes before scooping the baby back up in her arms and spinning him, gliding back into the crowd.
Tony just stands there, shock-still, until Steve notices him.
Steve turns to him, bashful, like he’s been caught doing something wrong, and Tony knows that if he presses up against his chest, his arms, it’ll be achingly warm where the baby was.
Tony looks down at his feet. He swallows; says, “So, they seem less horrible than I originally thought.”
And Steve’s answering smile makes him dread the dirty diapers, the crushing responsibility, and his own monumental daddy issues a bit less than he did a minute ago.
(drabble by the lovely theappleppielifestyle)
(Source: durinian, via velvetcadence)
The Marriage Bargain 6.2/?
Back after a break. Don’t quite know what’s going on yet. :) Also, thank you all for all the feedback! I feel like I have co-conspirators treading through this land of mischief and shenanigans. :D
Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3.1 here. Part 3.2 here. Part 4. Part 5.1.
Part 5.2. Part 6.1.Chapter 6.2
in which
the author is surprised into sitting at the sidelines smoking nervously as the events unfold
the Erik/Charles traditional hurt/comfort fic made rebloggable for Maddie :)
(and turtletotem, if she ever sees this :D original post found here)
This is gorgeous!!! Everything I could have wanted. :)
motleypatches replied to your post: Is there anyone around who wants to send me a…
PILLOWS AND KITTENShahaha your wish is my command! lol
ficlet: let him down easy
Post-movie, sort-of Emma/Erik (Charles/Erik, Emma/Shaw), ~400 words. Emma sets some things straight.
The Marriage Bargain 6.1/?
So, I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow, and I really wanted to finish this chapter, but I had to work to the very last moment, and this is as far as I got. I know it’s frustrating. :(
Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3.1 here. Part 3.2 here. Part 4. Part 5.1.
Part 5.2.Chapter 6.1
In which Charles is moping, and Erik is getting better acquainted with the wonderful world of delusions.
I love this story so much! Erik, you are such a softie.
The Marriage Bargain 5.2/?
Thanks to this little piece of inspiration, I managed to put together another little bit. Have fun. ;)
Fair warning: haven’t reread it once.
Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3.1 here. Part 3.2 here. Part 4. Part 5.1.
Chapter 5.2
in which Charles risks his life, and Erik is very unhappy
/flails with love for this story
ninemoons42 said: Charles and Erik and a gun.
—
Charles’ mouth pulls tight in concentration, his shoulders rising and falling on a brisk, determined breath. Erik crosses his eyes to get a better look at the dark muzzle of the gun pointed squarely between his eyes, so close he can almost feel the cold brush of steel against his skin. He grins, wide and feral, adrenaline a thick rush in his blood.
He can do this; he can stop this bullet long before it ever leaves the gun’s barrel. He’s tested this, practised, sent countless bullets ricocheting into walls with the barest touch of his power. Charles may be helping him develop his gift, but this is something old and comfortable, a trick Erik has honed and polished over the last decade. Charles will be impressed; Erik squares his shoulders and spreads his legs wider, waiting.
Charles squeezes his eyes closed, concern etched deep in the lines of his forehead. His finger hovers over the trigger, and Erik would comment on his remarkable trigger discipline if he would just hurry up and shoot the damn thing already—
“No. No, I can’t.” Charles lowers the gun, shaking his head stiffly. “I’m sorry. I can’t shoot anybody point blank, let alone my friend.”
Erik sighs irritably, eyes turning toward the sky. “Oh, come on. You know I can deflect it.” He grabs for Charles’ hand, long fingers enveloping Charles’ own, and raises the gun back to his forehead. Its metal sings to him, the high, unique pitch of steel. “You’re always telling me I should push myself.”
“If you know you can deflect it then you’re not challenging yourself.” Charles stubbornly tugs away, his eyes bright and clear in the warm afternoon sunlight. The children are around somewhere, their own training forgotten as a water fight takes off; Erik can hear Raven laughing, Alex shouting over the hiss of a water hose. It all seems so far away, another world entirely.
Charles licks his lips once, a quick swipe of pink over red, then nods resolutely – and turns the gun on himself.
Erik’s breath catches in lungs frosted with ice, his mouth dropping open. He staggers, the sudden urge to snatch that damned gun from Charles’ hand and turn it into a mangled mess of scrap almost overpowering. “What are you doing?”
Somehow, Charles is still perfectly calm, his smile encouraging. The gun fits snugly under his chin, his head tipped just enough to expose the pale line of his throat. So vulnerable, the skin so thin, blue veins stark and serpentine. “How about this? Is this more challenging?”
“Charles-” Erik steps forward, his heart the rapid skip of a bird’s wing. “No. I – don’t do this.”
Charles’ smile widens. His finger moves to the trigger. “I trust you.”
That isn’t the point and Charles knows it, surely he knows it. Erik shivers, a shadow passing over his face. The gun wrenches from Charles’ hand, flipping soundly over the wall to thump harmlessly to the grass below.
An electric silence falls between them. Warm wind rustles through the trees, and somewhere off to his right, Sean screams with laughter.
Charles’ eyes fixed remain on Erik’s own, his hand lowering slowly to his side. He blinks, licks those ridiculous lips again. “Erik. I had absolute faith in you, and in your gift. Do you really think I would have done that if—”
“Don’t, Charles,” Erik snaps, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He turns on his heel, gravel crunching under his sneakers as he walks away. “Just don’t.”
p2/? of Random Greencard!Au
Erik regretted this decision already.
He’d gotten bullied into wearing a suit by Azazel (“you are getting married today Erik how often does that happen”), bought the cheapest set of rings available from the nearest jewelry store, and gotten hauled to a courthouse, outside which he was now pacing while Azazel texted his girlfriend.
“My mother isn’t going to be pleased.” Erik predicted.
Over, Sideways and Under: Aladdin!AU.
So. What if Erik was a street rat who stumbled on a lamp that produced the very blue genie Mystique, and he parades around as really cocky and annoying Prince Magnus of Genosha because he thinks it will woo Charles.
I wrote this at 4AM last night. It’s what you’d expect of a 4AM drabble.
I’m so sorry.
***
“I think,” Charles said firmly, “you should leave. I might be making some allowances for the fact that you’re clearly deranged, but the guards won’t be so kind.”
Prince Magnus, to his credit, could put on a very convincing expression of disappointment. Though the slight pout might have been overdoing it.
“If you insist,” he sighed, climbing onto the balcony railing.
He turned, raising an eyebrow.
Charles had just enough time to open his mouth before the prince leaped off the balcony into a seven-story fall.
Blind panic was the first thing to flood his senses. Charles found himself crying out, stumbling towards the railing, reaching out futilely for Magnus’ hand when he knew it would be too late - the prince had seemed arrogant, that was for certain, and his fashion sense was showy to a fault, but surely he wouldn’t extend his dramatics to a death-defying leap? (Death-inducing, more like.)
If so, he was even more foolish than Charles’ thought - an impressive show wasn’t very useful if one was too deceased to enjoy the results.
It was the lack of a distant ‘thud’ that made Charles pause. Or perhaps he had been expecting a ‘splat’. Charles was not well-versed in the sound bodies of stupid princes made when they hit the ground, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t a soft ‘clang’ several feet below the railing.
“Prince Magnus?” he called tentatively.
“Yes?” The man immediately responded, peeking up over the top of the railing.
“What - ” Charles’ voice immediately failed him, as the prince rose steadily above the balcony, a shining sheet of metal under his feet. It rippled sinuously as it hovered in mid-air - utterly impossible. Astounding. Beautiful.
The prince leaned over, reaching out his hand in one smooth motion.
“Would you like a ride on my magic carpet?”
And with the ship coasting steadily, borne forward by the last of the shock waves that managed to blow through the open wormhole before the door slipped shut, Charles brings himself down into a controlled crash-landing, tumbling straight into Erik’s waiting arms with a delighted laugh and a shared…
Darcy leaned her chin into her hand, studying the man before her. She’d liked to imagine he squirmed under her gaze, but she knew him too well to think that about him. “And what’s in it for me?” She asked when he only continued to stand, arms crossed.
“You go to Asgard,” he answered, as if the fact had escaped her notice when he’d first told her of his plan.
“No.” Darcy held up her hand and counted off on her fingers. “One, you are asking me to turn in vacation time, which news flash, I don’t get a lot of and was really hoping to save and stay the holidays through New Years. Two, that means I’d be giving up a really awesome party with friends-“
“I assure you no Midgardian festival would compare to-“
“THAT I HAVEN’T SEEN IN A COUPLE YEARS,” Darcy continued over his interruption. “Sentiment might not be your thing, but I happen to be looking forward to seeing them again. Three, I get sick on the tilt-a-whirl. Your space travel rainbow bridge? Not looking like a lot of fun. Four, I’d have to pretend to be dating you, and that’s taking on a whole lot of judgement from people I see everyday. And I’m assuming this whole deal would be a no take backs thing, so that’s something that I’ll have to deal with for a heck of a long time. Five, in this plan you’re expecting me to lie to Jane. Six, I’ve never said I wanted to go to Asgard in the first place. So, yeah, no. That isn’t going to cut it, mister. What’s in it for me?” This time Loki did look shaken. Or perhaps pissed off. Maybe it was pointing out the reputation ruining thing. Darcy turned back to her work with a huff. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”
“I would owe you,” He said at last. It sounded as if it pained him to say it. “I am a god, with powers you-“
“You are really arrogant,” Darcy said in response. He shut his mouth, though it looked as if he wanted to say a few things he was sure would change her mind. Still. She tapped her fingers against the desk. “But you can back up at least half of that.” She continued on quickly before he decided smiting would be more satisfying than her help “so tell you what. Six favors, for the the six reasons I just listed. ANY six favors. And if you fall back on any one of them, I tase you AND make sure everyone knows you bribed me into lying about it.” She held out a hand.
“Five.”
“Five and you get Fury to count this as work and not vacation.”
The grin that grew over Loki’s face almost had he reconsidering her offer, but her took her hand in his before she could say any more about it. Slowly he lifted her hand to his lips and gave it a not-quite kiss. “The deal is struck, my pet.”
“And you are not calling me that!”
Laughter echoed in the space he had just been. It was her only answer.
Possibly to be continued. This was a really great prompt.
Have I mentioned how much I love the way Kitty writes Loki and Darcy??
Red lights flash around him, klaxons ring down metal corridors. Sweat drips from every pore, but that’s not important right now. The sharp tang of blood is in his mouth, and he swallows to fight down nausea. This ship is filled with demons, and Charles needs to see them burn. If he can just get his axe—if he can just reach it with the tips of his fingers, then Charles can end this nightmare. Shaw—the androids—the experiments—
His legs. Shaw took—Shaw took his legs. His real legs are rotting—and the stubs of the robotic legs screech on the floor as he crawls, drawing sparks.
If he can get the axe, though, he can do anything.. Anything to fight his way out of this constant nightmare. He still doesn’t know where Erik is. Maybe he’s dead too. At the very least, he’s only a head. Ripped off to torture Charles—all of this to torture Charles. All because he has something Shaw will never, can never have. No matter how hard he tries to replicate it. No matter how many filthy test tubes he fills with Charles’ DNA—
And Charles will fight to his last breath, no matter how broken, battered, and bruised he gets, against the one man who ruined his life.
And maybe then, he’ll put this axe through his head, too.
I have no idea what’s going on but YES to Charles who will fight on and fight on.
That last line is giving me the chills.
