You return from a space expedition gone wrong after nine years, presumed dead, and granted newfound powers that you cannot control. Demoted from each and every achievement you’d been granted, you’re hopelessly and utterly alone. When you’re pointed towards exile in Alaska, you find that you may not be as alone as you thought.
erik magnus lehnsherr/magneto x reader, ambiguous afab character. no particular time frame in terms of comics or cinematic storyline (a.k.a. i'm too lazy to figure it out).
divider from: @chrisssiren
Loneliness was palpable, you had decided. A tangible feeling that ripped your body apart from the inside. As you watched the moving trucks back out of your driveway, rumbling and creaking against the divots in the unpaved roads, you couldn’t help but feel an emptiness, a fleeting feeling that had suddenly rested itself on your shoulders, unmoving and impossibly heavy.
You were alone. It was just you, your apartment, and the moving boxes that crowded the entryway. The emptiness of your apartment and the creak of the well-loved hardwood floors beneath you were the only thing you allowed to crowd your mind.
You weren’t in the mood to think about anything but moving in, no matter how desperately your mind clung to the heaviness of your independence and the anxiety that lingered.
You worked through the boxes slowly, haphazardly throwing your clothes into a growing pile as you unloaded your things- books, files, sheets and random decor.
You got to know the apartment slowly; the off-whites and creams that interchanged each room’s walls, the tacky blue and white tile in the kitchenette, the severely outdated appliances, likely dating back to the seventies.
You let yourself familiarize it all as you arrange your furniture and put everything in its right place- a good distraction, keeping your mind abuzz with concentration.
Soon enough, the sun tiptoed below Alaska’s mountains, pale pink and blue skies scattered with thin clouds in your window as you made your bed, boxes folded and smushed into a vacant area in your closet. You would take them out when you pleased. No one could stop you, anyway.
You’d made your new place of stay about as comfortable as it could be, mimicking what you’d come home to some nine years ago.
The same ceramic picture frames, the same stacks of physics textbooks and astronomy manuals, the same sheets that smelled like home.
Or what home was before you’d left. Before the expedition. Before everything went wrong.
You had come home unconscious- bits and pieces of your past lingered as your health was monitored. The smell of isopropyl and fluorescent white lights had felt as close to hell’s purgatory as you could get.
You were waiting to be judged- your mind in as much limbo as your body. You were a mystery that was immediately deemed classified by every faction of your team.
You’d been gone nine years, and hadn’t aged a day since you left, and gravity’s pull wafted from your fingertips. You were presumed dead by everyone beyond the walls of your base.
To anyone else in the outside world, you and your crewmates had slipped into the event horizon of the black hole your team had been researching, and were gone.
An ambitious group of scientists that had played Icarus, and were steadfast to the story’s ending.
To make matters worse, the once well-kept secret of your mutant lineage, and more importantly, the sudden mutation of your previously subtle powers, was now a topic of discussion among the researchers above you, the chief astronauts, the techs, everyone knew.
You’d made it worse for yourself when you tried to fight it- the moment you became angry, the moment tears broke your voice, your powers would burst.
You’d cracked windows, crumpled heavy medical equipment, and broken the arm of your poor nurse practitioner, all with the flick of your hand and clench of your fist.
You were too volatile, too dangerous to be considered a researcher. Or to be considered anything at all- other than a monster.
This new influx of power was nothing like you’d ever felt before. When you were in high school, college, and working on research, your mutations were reduced to nothing but a means of convenience- floating your exam study guides in the air and flipping through the pages of your textbooks with the point of your finger, but it was all sworn to secrecy in public.
Your parents had taught you how to keep it under wraps with practiced ease, and you did so. Effortlessly. Now, you were beyond saving- your mutations were part of you, and you are no longer the woman everyone thought you were. You were a traitor.
So, you were exiled. Given five days to pack up and told to go as far away as you could. Hide your face, stay as holed away as possible, lest anyone finds you. You were dead, figuratively, of course, but the only thing that kept you from being so was that you were still breathing, and paying bills.
Higher-ups considered it a mercy; the other option was spending the rest of your life as someone’s science project or dead by the hands of people who knew.
Yet, being on the far edge of the country felt lonelier- at least the scientists that took your blood every day would talk to you.
The hardest part was not knowing anything. Being oblivious to the culture that had developed in your absence. You felt lost in the world you’d grown up in.
After being in the hospital and witnessing just how dangerous you’d become, it felt easier to numb it out. You’d picked up cigarettes again, an old habit from when you were drowning in graduate school research- as shameful as it felt, it was a vice you were willing to come to terms with.
You’d spent the first night crying. The kind of tears that stung your eyes and left them dry, drained of nothing but a lump in your throat. Each time you felt the wave pass, you saw the worn photo of your crew on your desk, or the card your mentor had written you, or your graduation regalia hanging in the closet, and you were falling back down again, wracked with the reality that everything you had loved and cherished was gone.
You could feel the objects around you shake and quiver, even as you tried to relax your hands, unclench your fists. You were reminded of how you lashed out at your nurse, and how she’d crumpled down in pain the minute you’d waved a hand to shoo her away.
At somewhere past midnight you decided to get up, abandoning the impossibly cold sheets of your bed to soak yourself in a bath, and wash away the last of your lingering grief for the nine years that you were gone.
As much as you would’ve preferred to reminisce and shed tears, you knew that your crewmates would’ve scolded you. That kept you going forward.
You crawled into bed warm, and fell asleep thinking of gravity- of the lectures in college about the localization of its pull, how there was a fine line of balance when something was caught in it, and the crunch of metal and bones alike under your hands.
You slept well enough, dreamless and fitful.
You woke up early, pulled on clothes that warmed you against the early morning chill, and decided to watch the sun rise. Your window had a straight shot view of the mountains on the horizon, and the roof was flat enough from outside the sill that you could push up the glass and crawl out, cigarette slotted between your fingers, and wait for the sun to rise.
The cold was nice, though it bit at your bare feet, to which you cursed yourself for not wearing socks. Your beat-up lighter flicked to life, and you pulled slowly, letting the smoke fall out of your lungs.
The sun rose slowly, the star lit sky fading into a dark purple, methodically fading into a pretty pink, the slowly moving clouds tinted with a glowing yellow.
By the time you’d finished your cigarette, the sun was peeking up behind you, birdsongs chirping to life.
You had a new ritual. Unhealthy as it may have been, you liked it. The world felt a little less quiet when nature was right there in front of you, greeting you with a soft ‘good morning’.
You tried to think of what else could be done around the house, and you decided on coffee, flicking the burnt remnants of your cigarette off the roof as you turned to climb back inside.
The sudden breach in your comfortable silence made you jump, and you whipped around to look up at the source of whoever had suddenly appeared- or had been standing there far too long.
On the higher slope of the roof, a young man stood, cocking his head at you with a curious smile. Despite the sun barely being up, he wore a pair of metallic red sunglasses, brown hair neatly cut and fluffed by the soft winds passing by.
His hands were casually stuffed in the pockets of his jean jacket- he looked a little too calm to be standing on top of your roof. His face gave off not even a hint of trepidation, or at least, everything but his eyes did.
Your shocked silence seemed to amuse him, and he put up his hands, feigning an arrest, or simply proving that he was harmless.
“I’m not here to hurt you, promise. I’m just here to talk.” His words were careful, but nonchalant. It was hard for you to even consider letting your guard down when this man appeared, seemingly out of thin air, on your roof, claiming that he ‘just wanted to talk’.
A small sigh left his lips, not out of exasperation, but something closer to exhaustion. He hopped down to where you were standing, meeting you with a careful distance as he spoke again.
“I get it. You’ve lost a lot.” His voice was fond, empathetic, “It’s been a shitshow for you, right?” His words put a pit in your stomach- he knew who you were.
His words were vague, but it was precise enough to make you scared, despite the tone he carried the words with. You weren’t supposed to be known. Or empathized.
You took a tiny step towards your still open window, “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want-” You began, watching his face falter ever so slightly as you back over towards your window. “but I don’t want whatever you’re offering.”
You didn’t know how well you had conveyed the fact that you wanted him to get the hell away from you, and hopefully forget that you had ever existed, but he stood still as you retreated.
The man’s lips pursed into a thin line, brows furrowed, but not stopping you as you made you continue to back away. Disappointment. He didn’t answer, a tense silence filling the air as you scrambled back into your apartment, shutting the sill with a frantic slam.
So much for a morning ritual- now you had a person on your fucking roof, that knew who you were.
As you hopped back down onto the hardwood floor, your stomach flipped with a dull wave of adrenaline as you paced over to your kitchen.
You could feel anxiety welling in your chest, burning at your neck as you settled for taking a seat on your sofa, hugging your knees to your chest, your palms clammy against the material of your sweatpants. You felt impossibly cold despite the heat that radiated through the house.
You sat in your thoughts, contemplating running further away from your exile, now that you’d been found out.
How did he know you? Why did he know you?
His empathy didn’t feel misplaced, and his appearance made him look like he was straight out of your high school’s football team, but something about him irked you. Something you couldn’t quite place.
You couldn’t put that situation behind you. That much was as clear as day. You knew you needed to continue on as normal- forget the fact that this had even happened, and hope that the mystery man on your roof would find another place to perch on.
You peeked out your window as your coffee maker hummed to life, watching the sun splay over the grey shingles on the rooftop.
The rest of the day you spent busying yourself with menial tasks you’d neglected yesterday- mopping the floor, running laundry, organizing your closet, checking on your car- in the effort to push your mind out of its panic and back into the present.
Back to the fact that he’d since left, and that he was probably harmless. Probably.
You coaxed yourself outside, through the door rather than the window this time, to grab cooking ingredients, considering the only thing you brought was coffee grounds.
The last remnants of the afternoon were fading when you walked outside, casting golden rays on the bottom of the few clouds left in the sky.
You settled for a nearby mom and pop grocery store you’d spotted on the drive over, and walked out with a successful grocery haul, surprised at how fast the sun had set as you drove back home.
You had successfully driven your mind out of a spiral, and come home with a homemade cobbler that the owner had shoved into your hands, insisting that it was a ‘house-warming gift’ when you’d mentioned you were new to Alaska.
Evening’s arrival had brought a biting chill into the air, stinging your bare hands as you carried the paper bags under your arm, locking your car and making your way towards the door, eager to get inside and away from the cold.
You were excited to cook, too, though you weren’t sure what to make just yet- time, and hunger, would give your thoughts some clarity.
As you approached the door, you noticed a figure waiting in front of it, the lamp overhead displaying a man as you drew closer.
You stopped, opting to walk forward at a slower pace.
He looked to be somewhere in his forties or fifties, grey hair falling just short of his ears, framing his face. He had a sharp-looking face- set jaw and sharp brows, a small frown pressed into his lips.
He was dressed for the cold, too- a black tweed coat and red scarf wrapped firm around his neck. He looked like he was waiting for someone, eyes fixed on a metal sphere he was toying with, his attention snapping over to you as your footsteps reached his ears.
Maybe he was a neighbor, you told yourself, but then again, the houses around you were quiet, almost permanently vacant, and he didn’t dress like someone who was living in Alaska- more like a rich New Yorker.
You kept walking, reaching the doorway, and you stopped. He was tall, tall enough to get in your way if he was leaning against the door, which he was. You opened your mouth to quietly excuse yourself past him, but he spoke before you could do so.
“It seems you aren’t dead after all.”
You almost dropped your groceries, but instead held them closer to you, the paper crinkling in the silence that followed. The fear you had fought so hard to brush away this morning had come back quickly, and you opted to take a step backward, back towards your car.
The man looked back at you, raising a brow. “I’m not here to hurt you, you know.” His words brushed past you, the husk of his voice and straight face behind them not doing the best job of justifying his promise of harmlessness.
“I thought Scott had made that more clear this morning. I suppose his methods weren’t persuasive enough.”
These two men wanted something from you, and you were getting a little tired of being chased down without an answer as to why. Then again, what else was there to do but run away?
If someone knew who you were, you were liable. Liable to losing more than what you had already lost, and losing yourself in the process, too.
He watched you for a moment, as if trying to gauge what you were going to do next, before pushing himself off of the door, standing upright.
“I understand this is sudden. Unprecedented.” You didn’t move, simply watching him, listening to him speak. You weren’t of the right mindset, or stature, for that matter, to run away from him.
He paused briefly, looking down at your bag of groceries, “Would you rather we talk inside?”
You don’t really know what part of your mother’s ‘don’t talk to strangers they’ll murder you’ lecture had discussed letting well-dressed men into your home to ‘talk’, but you know that she wouldn’t be happy with your current situation.
You locked the door behind you as you both walked in, and he didn’t bother to shed his coat as you took off yours, his gaze wandering over your apartment, before landing back to you as you placed your groceries on the kitchen counter.
“Would it be better for me to introduce myself first?” He asked.
His eyes were a very sharp blue, you weren’t able to notice that when he’d first approached you, but now it made you struggle to maintain eye contact.
He was waiting for you to speak, but nothing about him displayed impatience.
“I would prefer you explain why you’re here, but that works.” You replied, the littlest bit of snark on your tone, but not enough to be abrasive.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “My name is Erik. I’m a member of the X-Men, as is the younger man that you saw this morning.”
The X-Men. The name immediately made your eyes narrow- it sounded like some made-up villain troupe from a show you would’ve watched as a kid. Yet, it sounded familiar.
Erik tilted his head, catching your expression falter. “Do you know who the X-Men are?” He asked, and you hesitated.
You remembered talks of a secluded and private academy in Upstate New York when you were in college, how it housed mutants and trained them.
Your classmates, anti-mutant through and through, had complained about the government not stepping up about it.
There, you had heard mentions of the X-Men.
“..Mutants?” You replied reluctantly, and he nodded. “That is correct, yes.” Erik carefully leaned back against the back of the sofa, keeping a careful but firm gaze on you. He reminded you a lot of professors you'd met and worked with in the past- professional and stoic.
"We're a group of mutants that works to protect a world that.." He hesitated, "..doesn't respect us in the same way they would respect their fellow man."
"We train and hone in on the things that make us different." Erik explains, "That boy you met this morning, Scott," You nod in recognition, though you'd barely consider him a 'boy', "He wears glasses to shield his optic beams of fire. He was just as ostracized you are now- before we took him in."
You were reminded of his words that morning, that he understood where you were. What you were feeling. You supposed you were right in the assumption that his words were true. You had a good idea of where this conversation was heading.
"..and you'd like to take me in as well, I'm guessing?" You replied, skeptical. His expression stiffened, a little taken aback by your sharpness. He nodded, taking a small step forward.
"You fell into the jaws of a black hole and came out unscathed. And more powerful than you once were." His words were spoken as if they were fact, yet you didn't feel powerful. You felt volatile, destructive.
Erik's expression softened, "You deserve a chance to become something more. That is why we chose to seek you out." You couldn't help a frown that fell over your face. This all felt like some trap, and you were reluctant to agree to any of it. Despite his genuity, you had no idea who Erik was beyond his name, or who the X-Men were behind his brief explanation.
You took a moment to mull over his words. "How do I know I can trust you and your.. X-Men?" You asked. Erik tilted his head, as if assessing the validity of your question.
"Would it be better if you saw it yourself?" He asked. You struggled to realize that he was being serious, giving him a confused look. He sighed softly, looking back at you with a furrowed brow, taking another step forward. "This is a chance at a new start in life."
Erik held out his hand, outstretched. "No exile. No loneliness. None of the things you came home to." He paused, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "You could be hailed as a hero- not for your academic achievements, but for who you truly are."
Despite your trepidation, the idea brought a faint thrum of excitement through your mind. To be free, free of the need to conceal your mutations, to use them for good. It all sounded like a far-off dream. Yet, this man stood before you with a chance to make it happen.
You took a deep breath, unsure of where your future was headed, but determined. Ready to start anew.
Your hand fell upon his. Erik's smile widened. "Welcome to the X-Men."
A/N: Wowww this chapter was a whole lot of yapping but a lore (and trauma) dump was needed for this. Thanks for readinggg <3
