“The Buddhists say if you meet somebody and your heart pounds, your hands shake, your knees go weak, that’s not the one. When you meet your ‘soul mate’ you’ll feel calm. No anxiety, no agitation” — (via soulniverse)
Here’s some fluffy old married Cherik - I hope you like it :D
“I’m fine, stop fussing.”
“You’re not fine, Charles. I can feel the damn thing throbbing in the back of my head.”
Erik floats the helmet gently off of Charles’ head, careful not to jostle him and aggravate his discomfort. It’s going to a particularly bad one, he notes, if Charles is too tired to bother shielding him from the dull ache, a mere echo of the intense pain he’s no doubt experiencing from overdoing it with Cerebro. Again.
I’ll be fine, Darling, Charles says, his voice infused with warm affection that’s only slightly strained. It’s been fifty years, I’ve learned to deal with the headaches.
Erik’s answer is a disgruntled ‘hmph’, a glower forming on his face so severe that it sends more than one student flying in the opposite direction as they slowly wind their way through the mansion to their bedroom. That Charles just leans back in the chair and lets him float it along beside him without comment is another testament to his exhaustion.
He’s going to have to have another talk with McCoy about these side effects; with all the man’s genius and all the advances in technology, he can’t believe the stupid thing still gives Charles migraines. Apparently he can upgrade its reach to cover the entire planet but can’t be bothered to—
Erik, Charles interrupts, reaching to squeeze his hand lightly before gripping the armrest again. Stop thinking so loudly about Hank. You’re making it worse.
Fine, he concedes, opening the door to their room and guiding Charles inside, setting him next to the bed as he makes his way into the adjoining bathroom. He runs a clean face cloth under cool water, squeezing the excess before returning to find Charles lying on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. I’ll let it go for now, Erik continues, placing the cloth on Charles forehead with practiced ease. But this conversation isn’t over. And I’ll handle the next discussion about Cerebro upgrades with Hank.
Whatever you say, Darling, Charles sends, reaching to pull Erik down beside him. Thank you for doing this.
He doesn’t say ‘taking care of me’ though that’s what he means - because Erik doesn’t like to admit how much he needs this and Charles won’t admit how much he craves it.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“No, I think I just need sleep.” Stay with me?
Sleep, Erik says, sliding his arm under Charles and pulling him close, letting Charles bury his head in his chest. Sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.
I know, Charles answers, and Erik feels the feather like kiss on his brow, intimate and familiar. I know.
for the prompt “stuck in the airport because the flight was SO VERY delayed and it’s like two am AU” from this post.
It’s 1:30 AM and Erik is exhausted. He shifts around listlessly in his seat attempting to find a more comfortable position and failing. Considering the amount of time people spend trapped in airports, the horrible seats installed for waiting seem unnecessarily cruel. The lumpy monstrosity is not only dirty but also hell on his back.
He glances up to the gate’s desk, but nothing has changed. The screen still flashes “Delayed - Departure now 5:45.” At least his gate and the surrounding ones are fairly empty. The only thing worse than being stuck here would be being stuck with tons of people around. Loud, annoying, stupid people.
“Excuse me.” The voice startles Erik enough that he nearly jumps. He puts on his grumpiest face — good enough to silence even his fussy Jewish mother — and faces the person who has disturbed his irritated but blissfully isolated silence.
little things that actually make a difference to general life happiness: •drinking lots of water •eating fresh fruit •thinking positively about yourself and others •washing your face twice a day •changing your sheets once a week •hot baths with Epsom salts •face masks using from things in your house •sleeping more than 7 hours per night •reorganizing your clothes, makeup, possessions etc •keeping your living space clean
They drove down the highway in stony silence, nursing their wounds separately and trying to look anywhere but at each other. Erik had it easier: he could stare at the road, the steering wheel clenched tightly between his still-bleeding knuckles. But Charles sat in the passenger seat with nothing much to occupy him except for a god-awful headache and the dull, throbbing ache of bruises on his back and legs, and every once in a while, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance over to his husband.
His husband the assassin. His husband the rival assassin, who had tried to kill him less than half an hour ago, whom Charles had been determined to kill himself.
Christ. They were fucked up and Charles had no idea how they were going to fix this, or if it could ever be fixed. ‘It’ being their sham of a marriage, their relationship, their…whatever this had become.