That is a modern AU dad!Erik if I ever saw one.
…I can’t help but want someone to write me this thing where the first time Charles ever sees Erik is because Erik is dangling Wanda and Pietro off his arms, like he’s lifting weights with the twins as the aforementioned weights, and the kids are about hiccuping with laughter and baby Jean, in Charles’s arms, unconsciously reaches out for so much happiness.
I JUST DID THAT TO MYSELF OH MY GOD WHEN WILL I EVER LEARN [someone write it plz]
(And, DAYS later…)
Charles should’ve brought a parasol.
He should’ve brought a— a portable tent with UV protection and an automatic, continuous sunscreen mister, because he and Jean were both abominably fair-skinned and the moment he stepped outside, the overcast day suddenly shed its clouds and became mercilessly sunny, and Jean kept shoving her blanket off— Charles couldn’t blame her, it was quite hot today, but normally she wouldn’t let it go for anything even on the hottest days, why today, why him— oh, there, finally some bloody vegetation. Charles parked himself against the slender tree trunk and relaxed in the pool of shade.
He’d been so sure he didn’t need to bring the stroller. After all, the neighborhood park was only a block away, he’d held Jean for ages at a stretch at home, walking with her and rocking her; he could certainly hold her to and from the park.
Only she hadn’t been squirming the entire time when he held her for hours on end before, and right now it would be so nice to let her rest in a stroller so they could both cool off and Charles could reapply her sunscreen and his. As it was, it took a great deal of fumbling to get a bit of fresh sunscreen on her nose and arms and she practically slap-fought him for every square inch.
"PAPA PAPA PAPA!" rang out so loudly in two overlapping voices that Charles made to cover Jean’s ears—she seemed to take offense and wriggled with such vigor that she kicked him in the throat.
Charles looked up to see a pair of kindergarten-age children clinging to a tall, spare man, hooking their hands at his elbows and hanging on as he lifted his arms out to his sides, biceps bulging rather impressively.
"PAPA PAPA you have to PLAY WITH US," cried child one, male, short silver hair sticking up askew.
"PLEEEEAASE PAPA just a while?" begged child two, female, auburn curls in cute pigtails.
In Charles’s arms, Jean gave out her first real giggle of the day, straining, her little hands flailing toward the family in the sandbox, ready to kick free of Charles’s arms to reach them.
Charles sympathized. Despite their vocal whining, the two children were tremendously happy, the father fiercely loving. Any telepath would notice that much pure emotion, and a fledgling psionic like Jean could scarcely shut it out. Charles drew a bit of a veil between her and the family’s thoughts and feelings, til she stopped fussing and only watched.
"I’m not getting down in the sand," said the father. “I’ll sit on the edge, you can show me what you make from there." In a grey heather t-shirt and a sage Yankees cap, with enough wiry ginger scruff to qualify as a full-fledged beard, he looked like the sort of man who’d clean up well. He looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t need to clean up well.