Back to my John Walker era

27 |🏳️‍🌈| S-pain | He/Him | Mutant and proud | Content a bit 🔞 | Here for the Tumblr Renaissance | Marvel Rivals, Dragon Age, X-Men, Star Wars, Tomb Raider and more. 🤹🏽‍♂️

[theblindshot]

dex adding this to his mental notes: pat the cheeks to express delight

[theblindshot]

[thespaceloft]

take all of me

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summary: peter is exposed to something he doesn't know and his spidey senses lead him to some things (part two to breath one two three) warning: 18+ male masturbation , gender neutral reader , s3x pollen , a very pervy peter, reader pleasure, rough, very wet lol pairing: peter parker x gender neutral reader

“Let me explain,” Peter said, his knees betraying him when he tried to stand. You ran to help him up, his skin was awfully hot against yours, his face still flushed, his body felt heavy and weak. “I’m so sorry.”

“You need to lie down first,” you helped him take his hoodie off and lay on his bed. His chest rising and falling quickly through each breathless groan. 

“It hurts,” he cried out, eyes closed tightly shut. There was an obvious bulge in his pants, a wet spot forming on his worn out sweatpants. You panicked, not knowing what next step to take. Would a sponge bath work? But how do you relieve a painfully hard dick with a sponge bath? What is even going on with him? 

You tried to ask him but he kept his mouth shut, shaking his head after every question. Okay, you're a scientist you could figure something out, right? 

Let’s assess the subjective: Peter, your awkward, nerdy, pretty-cute roommate is in distress right now on his bed. Then what’s the objective? Flushed skin, body temp that could probably break a thermometer, body covered in cuts and bruises old and new, his cock is—well, that. Assessment? Fuck, I don’t know? Drugs?

You ran to the laundry room to check if he had taken anything to cause the reaction. You checked the pockets of his hoodie, the top of the washing machine, then inside. A wet Spider-man suit. Feeling the fabric, the plastic plating of the lenses, the mechanisms in place, this wasn’t some cosplay suit. 

The secrecy, always being out at late hours, being so awkward doing his laundry late at night, insane appetite, the stolen lab chemicals in his room, the bruises. Peter is—?

You heard him yell out your name down the hallway. “Pete, you have to tell me something, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know how to help you!”

“Pumpkin…Bomb…Smoke…” he said, still writhing. 

“Pumpkin bomb? Like the goblin-freak?” You’ve seen clips online of Spider-man fighting a green guy with pumpkins and a flying thing.  

“So an aphrodisiac?” he nodded. 

“Mouth…burns…” he buried his head in a pillow. 

Your heart was pounding at this point. Every solution in your head would result in something that could absolutely ruin your relationship with Peter, not that there was anything deep in the first place, but what if he hates you forever because of it? Or what if he dies right now! 

Peter’s face has never been this close to yours. His breath was hot on your lips, slowly but surely, you pressed in, kissing his feverish lips. He held your face for a deeper kiss, a messy, wet, and desperate kiss. His body seemed to relax a bit, breathing less heavy. 

“I…need…you,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. 

“Anything—” you said, caressing the hard muscles of his chest down to the bulge in his pants. He whimpered from your touch, bucking his hips. “Does it feel good?”

“Ye—yes,” he took your hand inside of his pants, his cock already hard and sticky. “You make me…like this…all the time,” his voice breaking in small whimpers. 

“What I saw earlier…you were thinking of me?” He pulled down his pants so you could easily stroke his cock. He nodded eagerly. You kissed him once more, stroking the tip of his cock, making him whimper against your lips. His hips moved up and down as if trying to fuck your hand. 

“Your lips…mouth…” his mouth agape. You didn’t even think anymore, your mouth was on his dick. He yelled out, hands through your hair. You bobbed up and down till your nose met the base of his cock. Your cheeks blushed because of all the sounds Peter made. He was cursing, whimpering, and calling your name all at the same time. He was desperate for this. 

His body shivered when you smoothed your hands up his muscular thighs, going back to stroke what’s left of his length you weren’t sucking on. 

“Stop—please stop,” Peter said, pulling you off. 

“Did I hurt you?” you said worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…need to fuck you,” he pulled you in for a heated kiss, the going down to kiss your neck then your collarbone. While you let his kiss lull you to your back, he hovered on top of you caressing every bit he wasn’t able to touch before. He toyed with your chest, your nipples, earning him sweet sounds that made him want you more. 

“Peter—” his fingers found your sex, meeting the same wetness from your arousal. He pulled your pants down, almost ripping it off. With your thighs on each side of his shoulders, his warm mouth kissed your sex. His tongue found the sweet spot in an instance, sucking and licking hungrily while digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs. 

“Tastes so good,” he looked at you while eagerly sucking on your sex. He sucked on his fingers till they were wet with your arousal, slowly toying with the rim before interesting. 

“Fuck, Peter that feels so—” you couldn’t form sentences anymore, you were breathless. His bicep flexed while holding onto your thigh while the other moved with his fingers. “Pete–I might cum.”

He didn’t care, he was having the best time of his life. Peter was no more, not even Spider-man. He was an animal driven by pure instinct. You cried out as the pleasure washed over you, his mouth still relentless, while his fingers eased up. He was very strong, his body was locked on you and there wasn’t anything you could do. 

He finally let you go with one last final lick. He looked up at you with his hungry brown eyes, lips swollen red while a string of saliva ran down to your sex. “Can I fuck you now?”

Your body was sore, but you badly needed more. You pulled him to you again. The kiss was sloppier and more erratic. He pulled your thighs against his hips before pushing his length in. It fit so perfectly, like a void finally being filled. 

“So…tight…” he grunted, burying his head on the corner of your neck. He smelled like sex and sweat, his calloused hands holding tightly on your legs for support while he bottomed out. The bed creaked with each thrust, something the neighbours would definitely hear. His whole body weight was on you, a large expanse of hard muscle weighing down on you with each rush from his cock. “So good…for me.”

“Pete, I’m so close,” you could only pant out. 

“I know…baby…almost there,” Peter pulled out so he could fuck you from behind, in this way he could pleasure you even more. He asked you to be steady on all fours, a task you didn’t know if you could do. Your legs were shaking, your arms so weak. He hugged your back so his chest was close to you, a hand playing with your nipples while the other your sex. He was kissing the back of your neck while muttering. “I need…pull out…”

Pleasure was erupting in so many places in your body, your eyes rolled back, joints already shaking. “Inside…come inside…” you gasped, matching his speech pattern. 

The two of you fell forward as your elbows gave out, your climax washing over and through each nerve in your body. Peter let out one last exasperated groan as he emptied himself inside you. 

You faced him while catching your breath, his body slowly getting cooler. His arms were still around you, your legs over each other, skin damp. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” he said, kissing you again.

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[thespaceloft]

breathe one two three

more here | wanna join the taglist?

summary: peter is exposed to something he doesn't know and his spidey senses lead him to some things. warning: 18+ male masturbation , gender neutral reader , s3x pollen , a very pervy peter pairing: peter parker x gender neutral reader

edit: part two, take all of me

Peter fiddled with the window latch until it broke off. That’ll cost him more money to fix, money he currently doesn’t have. The swing back to his apartment was dreadful. He was tired, his body sore, he’s sure he broke a rib. The lock dropped and rolled on the floor breaking the silence. He cursed under his breath, scared that he might have woken you. 

For the past six months, Peter felt like he’s been walking eggshells around his shared apartment. He needed to conceal his secret and make sure he wasn’t being a nuisance. He would apologize for some nights his old sewing machine would drown the flat with its clanging. 

He slowly closed the window, his grip on the old frames leaving cracks. He felt hot and nauseous. He wanted to rip the suit plastered on his skin and get in a cold shower. The heat crawled from his toes right up to his cheeks like a deep fever he can’t sweat out. 

The suit was covered in cuts, dirt, blood, and a wet spot in between his crotch. He kept cursing, pulling off the suit caused more friction to his hardness making him feel weak in the knees. It could be so many things, the smoke bombs, the poison, a spell? He wasn’t sure rational thinking was in question anymore. 

He hid in the laundry room to get cleaned up. The suit cycled while he changed into a hoodie, leaving his lower half with boxers still leaking from the tip. He slammed the side of his fist on the machine. “Fuck!” 

He saw your hamper next to his, and in a strange act of perversion his senses narrowed to the pair of underwear. Fuck—it smells like, he thought. The mix of your fabric detergent and your arousal. He didn’t peg you for a pervert like him. You always seemed to be engrossed with school and work. I really do miss a lot when I’m gone huh. 

Lewd images flashed in Peter’s mind. You on your bed, legs spread, moaning while you pleasured yourself. Maybe it's a fighter's rush, this euphoric trance that’s egging him to jerk off to his roommate’s underwear. 

He took the garment in his left, his right palming the hardness in between his legs. It smelled good, like a stroke of pleasure soothing the heat in his body. Biting his lip, he slowly pulled his boxers down. The tip of his cock a flushed pink from the arousal, leaking so much precome. He didn’t even need lotion or lube, the wetness was enough for him to stroke. 

Peter felt so dirty, how can he call himself a good roommate or even a friend if he’s preoccupied with stroking his big cock while inhaling your scent. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” He thought of all the times he would be at the same parties as you. Your arms wrapped around another man, their lips and tongue all over yours teasing you. He wanted to be that so badly. 

Not that it mattered now, but he knew he could be better than all those guys. With his eyes closed, his tongue darted the fabric, inching for a taste. He would have used the same tongue to lick your neck, down to your nipples, to the softness of your abdomen, and to your aching sex. 

His mind was a fog, his moans were stifled by the garment, his legs quivered from how strong the pleasure was, his wet palms stroking his cock from base to the tip. He’d swirl his hand around the tip eliciting more curses. “I need you right now,” he muttered.

His cock leaked more and more, the wetness was leaking down his thighs, his hand slapping against the base of skin in wet slops. He changed positions so he was facing the washing machine, hunched over with his hand for support. He took your wet garment and covered his cock with it, using it to stroke. 

He could smell both of your arousals in the air, a high he has never reached with the cheap weed he had tried. He fucked his hand with so much vigor his biceps started to ache. The washing machine bent in the shape of his grip. His hoodie was drenched in sweat now, but it didn’t bother him a bit. He thought of all the times he has seen your body. The multiple times you’d come out of the shower in just a towel. Or that one time he caught you and his lab partner in organic chemistry fucking on the sofa.

Your ass, he fucking wanted to own your ass. Wanted to feel your tight heatness on his cock, hold onto your waist and use you for pleasure. His thoughts went directly there but if given the chance he would worship you, kiss your soft lips and cover you in marks, treat your body like a holy shrine. 

 He tried to hold it in, the strokes were so good he wanted to make every bit of this last. His whole body was burning up. His knees softened, his mouth was agape and a string of saliva was leaking at the corner of his mouth. He knew that if you caught him right now you’d think he was some pathetic dog.

Your underwear was soaked, it was slightly rough under the head of his cock—a pleasurable sting. Peter’s eyes rolled back, a gasp leaving his mouth as he shot his load through your underwear and all over the side of the washing machine. He dropped to his knees, his wrist painful and the fever still present. 

“Pete?” you said in a low hum, a state of half wakefulness. He dropped to the side, unconscious, his face flushed and his hair drenched in sweat. You hurried to his side, he was painfully hot, his hand still grasping onto your underwear. The wash cycle stopped, the spider man mask looking at you. "What the fu—"

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THERES A PART TWO FOLKS PLS READ HIHI

[thespaceloft]

just realized some of my fics reached 1k likes!! thank u sm lovelies keep the requests cumin’ !!!!!!

[grimquil]

Silent Overload

The package arrived in a plain brown box with no return address, just a shipping label from some sketchy overseas site Peter had clearly ordered from late at night. He’d handed it to you with that crooked, boyish grin he gets when he thinks he’s being hilarious, cheeks a little pink under his messy brown curls.

“Open it,” he’d said, bouncing on the balls of his feet in the middle of your tiny off-campus apartment. “It’s a joke. Sort of. For when I’m out doing the whole friendly neighborhood thing and you’re stuck here studying.”

Inside was a fleshlight—sleek black silicone, heavier than you expected, with a realistic entrance and a tight internal texture. You’d stared at it for a long second, heat crawling up your neck, then shoved it back in the box and muttered something about him being an idiot. Peter had laughed it off, ruffled your hair, and promised it was just to tease you because you were always so shy about this stuff. He never once thought you’d actually touch it.

A week passed. Midterms were brutal. You had a twenty-page essay due on molecular biology, a group project presentation that kept falling apart because half your teammates ghosted the shared doc, and two more exams looming. The stress sat heavy in your chest like wet concrete. Sleep became a rumor. Meals turned into whatever energy bar was closest.

Then the fever hit.

It started with chills that turned into full-body heat, your skin burning while sweat soaked through your shirt. The room spun every time you stood up too fast. You nearly collapsed trying to grab your backpack that morning, vision blurring at the edges. Peter caught you by the elbow, his spider-sense probably tingling before you even wobbled.

“Hey, no. Absolutely not,” he said, voice firm but gentle, the way he gets when he’s worried but trying not to hover too obviously. His brown eyes searched your face, brow furrowed under those perpetually messy curls. “You’re burning up. Back to bed. Now.”

You tried to argue—you had to make it to the lecture hall, the professor was strict about attendance, and the group project meeting was right after—but Peter wasn’t having it. He steered you back to the bedroom with careful hands, the kind that could bench-press a car but touched you like you might break. He tucked you in, pressed a cool cloth to your forehead, left water and medicine on the nightstand, and kissed your temple.

“I’ll take notes for you,” he promised, slinging his own bag over his shoulder. “Text me if it gets worse. I mean it.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind him.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Your skin felt too tight, sheets damp with sweat. Every breath came ragged. Sleep refused to come; the dizziness kept the room tilting even with your eyes closed. Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. Your mind kept drifting back to that stupid box under the bed.

You told yourself it was just to distract from the fever. Something mindless. Harmless.

You slid the box out, hands trembling a little from the heat coursing through you. The fleshlight felt cool against your fever-warm palm. You stripped down to nothing, the air of the room raising goosebumps on your overheated skin. Your cock was soft at first, but you wrapped a hand around yourself anyway, stroking slowly while you grabbed the bottle of lotion from the nightstand. The wet sounds of your hand filled the quiet room—slick, rhythmic, accompanied by your rough, uneven breathing.

It didn’t take long for blood to rush south. You were leaking already, the tip glistening as you twisted your wrist just right. The fever made everything feel heightened, too sensitive. You slicked up the toy generously, positioned it, and pushed in.

The stretch was immediate and intense. Tight, yielding silicone gripped you inch by inch until you were fully seated, hips twitching at the sudden fullness. A low groan slipped out before you could stop it. You stayed still for a moment, adjusting, then started to move—slow rolls at first that quickly turned desperate.

Meanwhile, across campus in the crowded lecture hall, Peter sat near the middle row, laptop open, notebook beside it. The professor droned on about quantum mechanics applications, voice a monotonous buzz that blended with the scratch of pens and occasional coughs from other students. Peter’s pen moved steadily across the page, copying diagrams, trying to focus despite the low hum of boredom settling in his bones. The seat was uncomfortable, the room stuffy. He shifted once, twice.

Then it hit.

A sharp, sudden pressure bloomed deep inside him—his hole stretching open around something thick and solid that wasn’t there. His body jolted hard enough that his knee knocked the desk. A strangled sound escaped his throat, half gasp, half choked exhale.

The girl next to him—a quiet brunette from his study group—glanced over, eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

Peter forced a quick nod, cheeks already flushing. “Yeah. Just… leg cramp. Sorry.”

He ducked his head, forearms dropping to rest on the desk as he tried to steady his breathing. The sensation didn’t stop. It kept going—slow at first, then deeper, fuller, dragging against that spot inside him that made sparks shoot up his spine. His cock twitched in his jeans, filling rapidly despite the public setting. He kept his head down, forehead nearly touching his folded arms, shoulders tense. Every few seconds another involuntary sound threatened to slip out—a tiny hitch in his breath, a soft exhale that sounded far too wrecked for a boring morning class.

Sweat beaded at his hairline, unrelated to the room’s temperature. His hole clenched around the invisible intrusion, body reacting on instinct even as his mind scrambled to stay quiet. The girl beside him shifted again, but he didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Not when the pressure kept building, relentless and deep.

The thrusts in his body picked up pace. Each one dragged perfectly, making his thighs press together under the desk. His cock strained against his zipper, leaking into his underwear. Peter’s notes turned into illegible scribbles. He rocked subtly in his seat, trying to ease the pressure, but it only made everything sharper. His breathing came in short, controlled bursts through his nose.

When the lecture finally ended, the shuffle of bags and chairs scraping filled the hall. Peter stayed exactly where he was, head still pillowed on his forearms, body locked tight. One final, deep thrust hit perfectly and he came hard—silent except for a muffled grunt into his sleeve. Warmth flooded his boxers, sticky and undeniable. He could feel the phantom sensation of thick, hot liquid spilling deep inside him, even though nothing physical was there.

The sensation lingered as the classroom emptied out around him. Peter remained slumped against the desk, body buzzing, legs shaky, mind blissed-out and hazy. His hole fluttered around the aftershocks, oversensitive. He was a mess—pants ruined, thoroughly spent.

Back in the apartment, you lay sprawled on the bed, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the fever anymore. The fleshlight sat beside you on the sheets, thoroughly wrecked—leaking thick stripes of your cum down its sides and onto the towel you’d half-heartedly thrown under yourself. Your cock twitched with the last weak spurts, spent and sensitive. The dizziness from earlier had been replaced by a heavy, sated exhaustion that pulled at your limbs.

You stared at the ceiling, breath still ragged, a faint flush of embarrassment mixing with the afterglow.

Peter, still folded over the desk in the now-empty lecture hall, let out a slow, shaky exhale. His spider-sense finally quieted. He was a mess—pants ruined, body buzzing, brain fuzzy in the best and worst way.

[kaomojiloser]

grace after every time eva asks him to do something:

[dqrkhold]

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : After Doctor Strange’s spell erased Peter Parker from the world’s memory, the one person he loved most forgot him too. Trying to move forward, you begin a new life at ESU, carrying an unshakable feeling that something is missing. When a chance encounter at a college party introduces you to a shy student named Peter Parker, the connection between you is immediate—even if neither of you can explain why. 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.3k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Post-Spider-Man: No Way Home, Memory Loss, Second Chance Romance, Friends to Lovers (Again), Relearning Each Other, Slow Burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Kiss (Again), Lots of Yearning, Soft Peter Parker, Domestic Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

Peter had spent weeks telling himself he could live with this.

He’d done it once already—watched the world forget him, watched MJ look through him without recognition, watched Ned smile politely like they were strangers. He’d survived that.

Then there was you.

The first time he’d spotted you crossing ESU’s campus, the world had seemed to stop around him.

You were weaving through the crowd with your backpack hanging off one shoulder, your head tilted back as you laughed at something another student had said. The sound carried across the courtyard, familiar enough to make his chest tighten.

He stopped walking so abruptly someone collided with his shoulder.

Peter barely registered the annoyed voice. “Sorry,” he muttered automatically, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the sea of students.

You were okay, You were alive. You just… didn’t remember him.

For days, Peter settled for watching from a distance.

He’d catch glimpses of you between classes, sitting outside the student union with a coffee, laughing with classmates he’d never met. Every time he thought about walking over, his feet locked in place.

What if seeing him only confused you?

What if…

The questions chased each other in circles until he convinced himself the safest thing—for both of you—was to stay away.

Then someone invited him to a party.

Peter almost didn’t go.

__

Music rattled the walls of the off-campus house, bass vibrating through the floorboards as students squeezed shoulder to shoulder through every room.

Peter lingered near the doorway with a red plastic cup in his hand, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

His eyes wandered around the room.

Then they found you.

You were standing exactly where he’d expected.

Just leaning against the wall with a drink resting loosely in your hand, quietly watching everyone else enjoy themselves. Every so often you’d smile to yourself at something happening across the room before your gaze drifted somewhere else.

Peter couldn’t help smiling.

Some things never change.

He remembered another party—months ago, before the spell—where he’d found you hiding in almost the exact same way. Back then he’d teased you for people-watching instead of dancing.

The memory made his chest ache.

He should leave, He’d already seen enough. 

He turned toward the front door. His feet refused to move.

“…Seriously,” Peter muttered under his breath, shaking his head at himself. A quiet laugh escaped him as he looked back in your direction. “You’re gonna make me do this?”

As if answering for him, his legs carried him across the room before his brain had a chance to object.

By the time he realized what he was doing, he was standing beside you.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Peter lifted his cup, taking a quick sip more to give himself something to do with his hands than because he was thirsty.

“Nice party?” The words came out a little too quickly. He coughed softly, lowering the cup as an awkward smile crept onto his face.

You glanced over at him before looking back toward the crowd. A small laugh escaped you.

“Yeah.” You nodded toward a group attempting to dance on the coffee table. “Depends on your definition of ‘nice,’ I guess.”

Peter followed your gaze, smiling despite himself.

“…That’s fair.”

Another quiet silence settled between you.

You studied him from the corner of your eye, your brow knitting together slightly.

“…Do I know you?” The question left your mouth carefully, almost apologetically, as though you were worried it might come across the wrong way. You shifted your cup between your hands and offered a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I just… you look really familiar.”

Peter had been taking another sip.

He immediately choked.

“What?” He coughed into his fist, eyes widening as he looked at you. A few drops splashed onto the floor, and he quickly wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh my God.” You winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No—” Peter laughed between coughs, waving his free hand dismissively as he caught his breath. “No, you’re okay.”

“I just…” You looked at him again, this time a little longer. There was something oddly comforting about his face, something you couldn’t quite place. “I really feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Peter’s heart squeezed painfully inside his chest.

You have.

More times than either of you could ever count.

“We have a class together,” he said after a moment, forcing a smile that he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the ache growing behind his ribs. “Biochemistry.”

Your eyes lit up with recognition.

“…Do we?”

Peter couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I usually sit in the back.”

“Huh.” You laughed quietly to yourself before taking another sip of your drink. “Guess I need to pay more attention.”

The two of you stood there for another moment before Peter shifted his cup into his other hand and extended the now-free one toward you.

“I’m Peter.” His fingers twitched with nervous energy as he waited, hoping you couldn’t see how much the moment meant to him.

You looked down at his hand before taking it without hesitation.

You introduced yourself with an easy smile, your grip warm against his.

The second your hand settled into his, Peter felt his breath catch.

It was only a handshake to you.

To Peter…

It was something else entirely

__

A week later, class ended nearly fifteen minutes early.

The professor dismissed everyone with a reminder about next week’s quiz before the lecture hall erupted into movement. Chairs scraped across the floor, conversations overlapped, and backpacks were slung over shoulders as students poured into the hallway.

You had barely zipped your bag shut before Peter appeared beside you.

“Hey.” Peter fell into step next to you, adjusting the strap of his backpack as though he’d timed his exit perfectly. A small smile tugged at his lips when you looked over.

“Hey.” You returned the smile, nudging the lecture hall door open with your shoulder before stepping into the crowded hallway. “You heading to your next class?”

“You heading to literature?” Peter asked instead, glancing over as students squeezed around the two of you. He shifted closer to avoid getting separated in the crowd.

“Yeah.” You nodded, weaving around a group of freshmen gathered in the middle of the hallway. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Peter said it so naturally it almost sounded like he wasn’t asking at all. He tucked both hands into the pocket of his hoodie as he matched your pace.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye before letting out a quiet laugh.

“You usually do.” A grin spread across your face as you stepped outside, the cool autumn air replacing the stuffiness of the lecture hall.

Peter’s smile widened.

“…I do.” He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before letting his hand fall again. “Guess I’ve gotten predictable.”

The conversation settled into a comfortable rhythm as the two of you crossed campus together. Fallen leaves drifted across the sidewalks while students scattered in every direction, some hurrying toward class while others lingered on the grass enjoying the afternoon.

Peter stole another glance at you.

You were talking about your literature professor, complaining about an essay due at the end of the week.

He wasn’t listening.

Instead, he found himself watching the way your hands moved when you spoke, the little smile that appeared whenever you joked.

Just ask.

His heart immediately disagreed.

What if he say’s no?

He won’t.

Halfway across the quad, Peter slowed to a stop.

“…Actually.”

The single word came out quieter than he’d intended.

You noticed immediately.

Turning around, you stopped a few steps ahead of him.

“What?” You adjusted your backpack higher onto your shoulder before taking a step back toward him. “Everything okay?”

Peter stood there for a second with both hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie. His thumbs rubbed anxiously against the fabric inside as he searched for the words he’d rehearsed a dozen different ways.

“Can we…” He exhaled through his nose before trying again. “…Uh…”

You tilted your head, waiting patiently.

“Pete?” A small smile crept onto your face as you watched him struggle.

“If this is about studying…” You let out a laugh, folding your arms loosely across your chest. “…I think we’ve studied enough for the semester.”

Peter couldn’t help laughing too.

The nervous sound escaped him before he could stop it, his shoulders relaxing just enough to make him shake his head.

“No.” He looked down at the sidewalk with an embarrassed smile, nudging a loose leaf with the toe of his sneaker. 

“No?” You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“No.” Peter looked back up, meeting your eyes for only a second before glancing away again. “I wanted to know…” He swallowed. “…if you had anything planned later.”

“Later?” You shifted your weight onto one leg, your curiosity replacing the teasing look on your face.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded quickly. “Like… tonight.”

You thought about it for a second.

“I’m actually free.” You shrugged lightly. “Why?”

Peter visibly relaxed. “Oh.” His shoulders dropped, and the breath he’d apparently been holding left him in one quiet exhale.

“‘Oh?’” You smiled, taking a small step closer. “What was that for?”

“I just…” Peter rubbed the back of his neck again, laughing awkwardly at himself. “…I thought you might already have plans.”

“What’d you want to do?” You asked, watching his face with growing amusement. 

He looked at you. For just a moment, the sounds of campus seemed to fade into the background.

“Did you…” His voice caught, forcing him to clear his throat before trying again. “…Did you want to get something to eat later?”

The question hung between you.

“Sure.”

Peter stared. “…Really?”

“Really.” You laughed at how genuinely surprised he sounded. “Were you expecting me to say no?”

“I…” Peter blinked again before letting out a breathless laugh. “…Honestly? I hadn’t thought that far.”

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then your smile turned just a little more playful.

“So…” You rocked back on your heels, watching Peter carefully. “…Is this like… a date, or…?”

Peter’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“I mean—it can be—if you want—I wasn’t trying to—I mean I was—but if you don’t think—I just thought maybe we could—and—”

His hands came flying out of his hoodie pocket as he talked, gesturing helplessly while every sentence collided with the next.

You laughed, the sound bright enough to make Peter smile without even realizing it.

“I’ll see you later, Pete.” You gave him a small wave before turning toward the humanities building. 

Peter remained exactly where he was, watching the door swing shut behind you.

A slow smile spread across his face.

He stood there for another few seconds before quietly pumping his fist in celebration.

“Yes.”

An older professor walking past gave him a strange look.

Peter immediately cleared his throat, straightened his backpack, and started walking in the opposite direction as if absolutely nothing had happened.

__

The diner Peter picked wasn’t anything special.

A little place tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore just off campus, its neon OPEN sign flickering against the evening sky. Through the windows you could see a handful of students crowded into booths, the smell of fresh fries and coffee drifting out every time someone opened the door.

Peter held it open for you. “After you.” He stepped aside with a small smile, gesturing toward the entrance. You walked in, looking around the cozy diner before glancing back at him.

“I thought we were going somewhere fancy.” You teased him as the hostess grabbed two menus from behind the counter.

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I considered it.” He followed the hostess toward a booth near the window. “Then I remembered I’m a broke college student.”

You let out a laugh as you slid into the booth across from him.

The waitress appeared a moment later, taking your drink orders before disappearing toward the kitchen.

For a second, neither of you reached for the menus.

“So…” Peter leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms with an exaggerated look of confidence. “…You’re popular.”

“I’m friendly,” you leaned back as well, matching Peter. “There’s a difference.”

By the time your food arrived, the conversation had wandered from professors to childhood pets, terrible roommates, favorite movies, and the questionable quality of dorm coffee.

Peter found himself smiling more than speaking.

Not because he had nothing to say.

Because he kept catching little pieces of the person he’d fallen in love with.

The way you absentmindedly stole one of his fries without asking.

“…Hey.”

You looked up innocently, a fry halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

Peter stared at you for a moment before laughing.

“You always do that.”

You paused.

“…Always?”

His smile faltered for the briefest second.

“I mean…” Peter cleared his throat, reaching for his soda. “…People do that.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“I’m usually better at this.”

Peter groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“I don’t know…” You stole another fry from his plate with a grin. “…Seems pretty on brand.”

Peter looked down at the missing fry before shaking his head.

The rest of dinner slipped by almost unnoticed. The waitress refilled your drinks twice.

Neither of you realized how much time had passed until she walked over holding the check.

“You guys know we’ve been closed for…” She glanced toward the clock hanging above the register before smiling. “…Almost twenty minutes?”

Both of you looked around. The diner was empty. The chairs had been stacked on every table except yours.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“I’m so sorry.” You immediately reached for your wallet. “We didn’t even notice.”

The waitress laughed, waving the apology away. “Happens more often than you’d think.” She set the check on the table. “You two looked like you were having a good time. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

Peter and you exchanged an awkward glance before both smiling.

“…Yeah,” Peter admitted quietly.

__

Outside, the evening air had turned cooler.

The campus glowed beneath rows of streetlights as the two of you started the walk back toward the dorms.

Neither of you hurried.

Every few minutes one of you would think of something else to talk about, stretching the walk a little longer.

Peter realized something halfway back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much.

Not since…

Before Stephens spell.

Before losing the people he loved.

He looked over at you as you animatedly complained about the professor who somehow managed to turn every lecture into a three-hour story.

You caught him staring. “What?”

Peter smiled to himself. “…Nothing.” He shook his head.

Because now, he was earning it all over again.

“I’m just…” He looked ahead again, the smile never leaving his face. “…I’m really glad you said yes.”

You smiled back without even thinking.

__

The rest of the walk passed comfortably, filled with easy conversation and the occasional joke that left both of you smiling.

Before long, your dorm building came into view. Neither of you said anything about it.

Instead, your pace unconsciously slowed until you found yourselves standing beneath the glow of the entrance lights.

“…So.” Peter shifted his weight onto one foot, slipping both hands into the pocket of his hoodie as though he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.

“So.” You mirrored his smile, rocking back slightly on your heels instead of reaching for the door behind you.

Another silence settled between you.

It wasn’t awkward.

If anything, it felt like both of you were silently hoping the other would think of one more reason to stay.

“I had a really good time.” Peter looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. The corners of his mouth lifted into an earnest smile that reached his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

“I had a good time too.” You smiled back without hesitation. “Better than I expected.”

Peter laughed. “wow.”

You smiled at each other again. Then your expression grew more thoughtful.“…Can I ask you something?”

Peter’s smile faded a little bit. “Of course.” He gave a small nod, watching you carefully.

You hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“Have we… met before college?” Your brow furrowed slightly as you searched his face. “Not here. Somewhere else.”

Peter’s heart lurched. His fingers curled tighter inside the pocket of his hoodie.

“What makes you ask?” His voice remained steady, though he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

“I don’t know.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, glancing toward the ground. “This is going to sound weird.”

“It won’t.”

You looked back up. “Sometimes…” You paused, trying to explain something you barely understood yourself. “Sometimes you’ll say something, and before you even finish, I already know what you’re going to say.”

Peter didn’t move.

“And when you smile at me…” Your voice softened almost to a whisper. “It feels… familiar.”

The word hung between you.

“I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does.” Peter answered quietly, the response leaving his mouth before he could stop it. His eyes never left yours, filled with a sadness you couldn’t quite place.

Your head tilted slightly. “It does?”

He swallowed. “I think…” He smiled, though there was something bittersweet behind it. “Sometimes you meet someone who just feels like they’ve always been part of your life.”

You searched his face for a long moment.

“…Yeah.”

Neither of you looked away. The distance between you suddenly felt much smaller.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe Peter leaned in, maybe you did. Maybe it happened so naturally there wasn’t a first move at all.

Your foreheads brushed together for the briefest moment before your lips met.

The kiss was slow and careful. Neither of you rushed it, as if both of you were quietly asking permission with every passing second.

The world seemed to fall away. The traffic beyond campus, the distant laughter, the wind.

Everything disappeared.

The moment your lips touched, something inside you stirred.

A strange sense of coming home.

When you finally pulled away, you stayed close enough that your noses almost brushed.

Peter’s eyes remained closed for another heartbeat, a small smile spreading across his face before he realized he was smiling at all.

“…Just like the first time.” The words escaped in a whisper, so quiet he almost didn’t hear himself say them.

You blinked.

Your brows pulled together. “The first time?” You blinked at him, confusion replacing the smile on your face as you searched his expression.

Peter’s eyes flew open. Panic flashed across his features.

Peter’s eyes widened. “I—” He let out a nervous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I mean… first dates. That’s how they always end in movies, right?” The excuse sounded weak even to his own ears, and the embarrassed grin spreading across his face only made it more obvious.

You narrowed your eyes, clearly unconvinced.

Peter groaned, dropping his head. A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Peter joined in a second later, the tension easing between you.

“I’ll let it slide.” You smiled, taking a slow step backward toward the dorm entrance. “This time.”

“I appreciate that.” Peter smiled warmly, watching you reach for the door.

“Goodnight, Pete.” You slipped inside, offering one last smile before the door closed behind you.

Peter remained where he was, staring at the entrance long after you disappeared.

His fingers drifted unconsciously to his lips. The kiss had been different. New, yet somehow exactly the same.

For the first time in months, the ache in his chest felt a little lighter. Peter allowed himself one impossible hope. Somewhere beneath the spell… Your heart was finding its way back to him.

© 𝐃𝐪𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

[reveryfics]

Marvelous

Charles Xavier x Male Reader

Summary: Charles and Eric's need for new mutants brings them to a mutant owned Burlesque club, introducing them to a particular shape-shifter.

A/N: I'm back earlier then expected, but hopefully this and the Valentines Day fic make up for when I was gone. Requests open.

The velvet curtains parted with a sigh, releasing Charles and Eric into the smoky embrace of the Burlesque club. The air hung thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and anticipation. A sharply dressed maître d' immediately recognized them, his eyes widening slightly before a professional smile smoothed over his features. "Gentlemen," he murmured, ushering them through the crowded room. "Your table awaits."

They were led to a plush, dimly lit booth nestled near the grand stage, a prime vantage point for the evening's entertainment. The murmur of the crowd, the clinking of glasses, the low thrum of the music – all of it faded into the background as the house lights began to dim, casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. A hush fell over the audience, a collective intake of breath before the show began.

Then, you appeared.

A single spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the stage and revealing your striking presence. The shimmering blue of your skin seemed to absorb and reflect the light, an otherworldly hue that immediately captivated the eye. A cascade of luxurious blonde curls framed your face, contrasting beautifully with your unusual blue skin tone. A delicate pearl necklace rested against your chest, the creamy orbs glowing softly against your skin. The undeniably scandalous outfit you wore, a masterpiece of shimmering fabrics and strategically placed embellishments, clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and line. You moved with a mesmerizing grace, each step, each gesture, imbued with a confidence that radiated outwards, filling the entire room. It was as if the stage were your own private domain, a world where you reigned supreme. You danced with a passion that transcended mere performance, lost in the rhythm with the other Burlesque dancers, each movement a story told in the language of the body.

Your eyes swept across the audience, a slow, deliberate survey that took in every face, every expression. Then, your gaze locked with theirs. A slow, knowing smile spread across your lips, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. You danced closer to their booth, your hips swaying rhythmically, your eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings as you dipped low, your eyes locking with Charles's. You knew exactly who they were, and precisely why they had come. And you were damned if you wouldn't offer Charles a private showing of your… talents.

The crowd erupted in cheers, a wave of voices chanting your name, a testament to your popularity. As the music reached a crescendo, your body began to shift and change before their very eyes. The transformation was seamless, fluid, almost magical. Feminine features melted into masculine contours, delicate lines hardened into powerful angles. It was a breathtaking display of control and artistry, a testament to your mastery over your own form. The audience gasped, captivated by the spectacle unfolding before them.

Charles visibly licked his lips, his eyes glued to the stage. For a moment, he seemed to forget Eric's presence beside him, lost in the mesmerizing performance. "He's quite… marvelous, isn't he, Charles?" Eric murmured, his eyes fixed on you.

Charles could only nod, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze remained locked on the stage as you shed the last remnants of your costume, revealing a skin-tight ensemble that accentuated every curve and line of your newly formed body. The performance was hypnotic, a captivating blend of power and grace.

When your show concluded, a stagehand approached Charles, discreetly gesturing for him to follow. Eric gave him a knowing look, a hint of amusement in his eyes, as Charles was led through the club, the pulsating music and excited chatter fading slightly as he neared your dressing room.

The room was small but luxurious, decorated with plush velvet drapes and ornate mirrors. You were seated on a silken chaise lounge, a robe loosely draped around your form, a picture of relaxed power. A half-empty bottle of champagne sat on a nearby table, along with two crystal glasses. "Charles Xavier," you purred, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I knew you'd come."

Before Charles could even speak, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand before closing around his wrist, tugging him closer. Your eyes, intense and knowing, looked up at him through your lashes. "Crawling back to a shapeshifter, after Raven left you," you whispered, your voice laced with a playful challenge, a hint of vulnerability beneath the bravado. "So scandalous, yet I have a feeling you enjoy it."

Charles felt his cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and intrigue swirling within him. He couldn't deny the similarities between you and Mystique, but there was something different about you, an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull that drew him in. "Perhaps," he admitted, his voice a low murmur, his eyes searching yours. "But something tells me you aren't like Mystique. Although we could use someone of your… talents."

A throaty laugh escaped your lips, the sound both seductive and playful. Your body began to shift and change once more, the transformation as seamless and captivating as it had been on stage. It was a display of power, a demonstration of your complete control over your own form. "How could I say no to someone so… persuasive?" you purred, your voice a silken caress.

You released Charles' wrist, rising to your feet and backing him against the vanity. One hand cupped his cheek, your touch surprisingly gentle, while the other rested on the cool surface behind him, trapping him in your gaze. "We're going to get along nicely," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. Then, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tantalizing kiss, a promise of more to come.

You pulled away, licking your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes. With a graceful turn, you walked out of the dressing room, offering a playful wave to Eric, who was waiting just outside, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Charles touched his lips, a small, involuntary smile playing on his mouth. He knew he was a sucker for people like you, for the thrill of the unexpected, the allure of the unknown. He was drawn to your confidence, your power, your undeniable charisma.

"I'm so screwed," he muttered, a mixture of amusement, apprehension, and a touch of excitement swirling within him. He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but he couldn't resist the temptation to follow where you led.

[arcroft]

Slavko Vincic 🫦

[daydaydayrk420]

I'll take care of you

Charles Xavier X male reader

⚠️ Nothing much, bottom Charles, top reader, mirror sex (?)⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

______________________________________________________________

Charles and y/n have been together for a long time. Way before he met Moira. They've been together through hell and back. Y/n may not be a mutant but he knows how passionate Charles is about it.

They both suffered and almost fell apart when Charles lost his ability to walk. But they pushed through it and learned to find other ways to enjoy things together to replace what they couldn't do together anymore.

Y/n tried to get intimate with his lover, but Charles always made an excuse when he felt Y/n's hand under his shirt or on his thighs.

Y/n's starting to get sexually frustrated but he doesn't want to push Charles into something he doesn't want to do. So he waits. He wants to talk to Charles about it, but even then, Charles avoids his questions.

He has to catch Charles when he's unable to run away. Metaphorically or not.

Charles and y/n are laying in bed. It's late but Charles is reading a book and y/n is watching him quietly.

"What's wrong love?" Charles asks without taking his eyes off the book. "We need to talk." Y/n said. In a situation like this he wishes he was the one with mind reading. But Charles doesn't read his mind so he wouldn't dare to read Charles's either.

The mutant mentally cursed at himself. He knew this was coming. "What about?" He's playing dumb. Of course, he is. Why wouldn't he? It's not that easy to tell your boyfriend of 15 years about how you don't want to have sex because your legs don't work.

"Us being intimate."

"Y/n-" "Why don't you like to do it anymore? Is there a reason I should know about it? I don't want to push you into anything but you don't understand how sexually frustrated you made me." Y/n interrupted Charles without thinking. He had to get that out of his chest. He couldn't hold it anymore.

Charles sighs and sets his book down. He looks at y/n. "I'm sorry I just... Not comfortable with it..."

"Why?" Y/n whispers and takes Charles's hand. Charles takes the hand into his lap and plays with the fingers. "... My legs... I don't... I just..." The mutant struggles to find his words. But y/n understands. He pulls Charles to lay down. He shifts his legs so Charles can be comfortable and lays behind him.

Y/n pulls him closer and wraps his arms around him. "Charles, I don't care that your legs don't work, you know that. I don't want that to stop me from making love to you." He mumbles into the mutant's shoulder.

Charles sighs and closes his eyes. "Alright... We can... We can try..." He murmurs. He wants to turn around but y/n stops him. "No no. Stay like this." He murmured and kissed his neck. The mutant shivers.

Y/n stands up and grabs the body mirror that's just leaning against the wall because he's too lazy to put it up. He takes it to the side Charles is facing and leans it against the wall. He makes sure Charles is fully visible and goes back to bed.

He lies behind Charles again and looks at him through the mirror. "Look at you." Y/n murmurs and runs a hand up and under Charles's shirt. The mutant gasps and grabs y/n's hand. The human stops and looks at Charles through the mirror.

"We can stop if you don't want to." Y/n hums. Charles shakes his head. "I want to. Just give me a moment..." He whispers.

His eyes are on him in the mirror. He watches the way y/n kisses his neck. How y/n's thumb rubs soothing circles on his belly. How his cheeks flush from the touch. He slowly lets go of y/n's wrist and removes his shirt.

The moment Charles lays back down y/n immediately latches onto the bare skin. The mutant moans and arches back against him. Y/n's right hand wanders about. His other hand reaches for Charles's pants.

He waits for Charles to stop him before he slowly moves them down. Charles just watches through the mirror contemplating if he should stop y/n or not.

His pants are off and now that all is left there are his boxers. Y/n takes his time caressing and kissing Charles's body. He wants to show the mutant how much he means to him.

Y/n reaches for his lube in his drawer and lubes up his fingers. He gently reaches towards Charles's hole. He kisses his back for comfort and gently preps him. The mutant squirms. It's been a while since he's been through this.

Once the mutant is ready, y/n lubes up and lines up. He makes sure Charles is in the green before he slowly and gently pushes in. Charles's face scrunches. He doesn't know how he's feeling about this.

Y/n kisses and whispers sweet nothings against his skin. "You're doing so well Charles. So so well." Y/n kept praising. He runs a hand down to Charlie's thigh. Charles's body jerks away. Y/n stops immediately and looks at the mutant with concern.

His eyes are shut. He's fighting the urge to pull away from y/n. Y/n removes his hand from the mutant's thigh. But Charles grips his wrist. He doesn't want him to pull away. He doesn't know what he wants.

He takes a deep breath and puts y/n's hand back on his thigh. Charles opens his eyes again and looks at the mirror. Y/n's Already looking at him. They hold eye contact for a bit before Charles nods.

"you can move."

Y/n doesn't hesitate. He starts slow. He makes sure to pour all his love into his moves, touches, and words. "You're so perfect Charles. So fucking perfect." Y/n buries his face into his shoulder wanting to be as close as possible.

Charles's eyes are glued to the mirror but not on himself. On y/n. The way he's holding Charles. The way he's caressing and kissing his body. It's making Charles realize that the man behind him does love him. That his dysfunctional legs don't make y/n disgusted.

He starts to push back against y/n as much as he can. Y/n's eyes snap open and he looks at Charles through the mirror. They hold eye contact as y/n's thrusts become more urgent. Charles moans.

The mutant reaches back and holds onto y/n as best as he can. "Y/n I'm close." He cries. Y/n pulls him closer. As much as he can. He chases both of their climaxes.

Eventually, Charles cries out and spills over the sheets. Y/n isn't far behind. He wraps his arms tightly around Charles and buries his face between his shoulder blades. Y/n spills into Charles and holds him through it.

Once y/n's arms loosen they both catch their breaths. "I love you, Charles." The man whispered tiredly. The mutant smiles and rests his arms atop y/n's. "I love you too."

They stay like that, holding each other in silence for a while. Y/n's eyes start to droop. "Marry me, Charles..." He whispered before falling asleep. Charles is left stunned. He looks at the mirror and sees Y/n already asleep. What is he supposed to do now? He can't sleep. Not now. Not when y/n just proposed.

The mutant facepalms and chuckles. "What will I do with you y/n."

[reveryfics]

hii i just watched x-men first class and i cannot stop thinking about charles xavier, im so sad that there’s not a lot of young charles x male reader :(

so would you be able to write a fluff fic please? just a bunch of happy and sweet stuff with him, i don’t have any specific ideas so it’s all up to you! thank you!!

Telepathic

Charles Xavier x Male Reader

Summary: Charles had spent the day in bed, unfortunately for you it meant his voice ringing in your head during classes.

A/N: So many great characters, so little fanfiction for them. I loved James as young Charles and X-men first class was decent, so hopefully this fulfilled your needs.

CW: Fluff - Mutant reader

Words: 3.2k

The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the master bedroom, casting long, golden bars across the mahogany floor. Charles had decided to stay in bed again. It was a choice he made with increasing frequency lately, though he never offered an explanation. He didn't have to. You knew he’d rather stay tucked under the heavy quilts than face the students' pitying glances at his chair, or the agonizing "ghost" of a twitch in legs that no longer moved.

​You never pushed him. You simply adjusted.

​You moved quietly, preparing for the telepathy ethics course Charles usually taught. It was a role you had stepped into seamlessly—a secondary duty to your work with the X-Men. As you stood before the mirror, Charles watched you from the pillows, the sheets bunched around his bare hips. His gaze was heavy, filled with a mix of adoration and a quiet, simmering frustration that he wasn't the one standing at the wardrobe.

​“Must you go?” Charles’s voice was a rough whisper, still thick with sleep. “Can't Hank take the lecture? Or Logan?”

​You caught his eye in the reflection, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips. Your fingers fumbled slightly with the top buttons of your crisp white shirt. “Hank is currently neck-deep in a serum calibration, and Logan is... well, Logan isn't exactly 'teaching material,' is he?” You turned to face him, leaning against the dresser. “Besides, I’m more than capable of handling your curriculum, Charles.”

​He sighed, the sound catching in his throat. He knew you were capable; you were one of the most brilliant minds he’d ever recruited, not to mention a shapeshifter whose beauty was as fluid as your form.

​“Stay in bed with me,” he pleaded softly, reaching a hand out across the empty space of the mattress.

​The pull was magnetic. You crossed the room and took his hand, his skin warm against yours. You sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking under your weight, and pressed a lingering kiss to his knuckles.

​“I can't,” you whispered against his skin. “The world doesn't stop turning because we want it to. But I’ll be back the moment the bell rings.”

Charles’s fingers tightened around yours, his thumb tracing the pulse point at your wrist. For a moment, his blue eyes clouded, and you felt the faint, familiar brush of his mind against yours—not an intrusion, but a weary lean, like a man resting his head against a door.

​"The world," Charles murmured, his voice regaining a hint of its usual professorial cadence despite his position, "is far too demanding of your time."

​"It's demanding of yours, too," you countered gently. "That’s why I’m going. So you can have a moment of peace."

​You felt a surge of his frustration then—the phantom itch in a limb that wasn't responding. To distract him, you let your power hum beneath your skin. It was a subtle shift; your features didn't change entirely, but you let your skin take on a warmer glow, your eyes deepening in color to a shade you knew he found particularly grounding. It was a silent reminder: I am whatever you need me to be.

​Charles noticed. A small, genuine breath of a laugh escaped him. "You’re showing off, darling."

​"Is it working?"

​"Incessantly," he sighed, finally letting his hand drop back to the bed. He watched as you stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from your slacks. "Bring me back some of those lemon biscuits from the kitchen when you return? Before the students devour them all?"

​"I'll hide a whole plate of them," you promised.

​You walked toward the door, but stopped at the threshold. In the corner of the room sat the wheelchair—polished chrome and leather, looking cold in the morning light. You looked back at Charles. He had pulled the duvet higher, retreating back into the safety of the fabric, looking smaller than the man who had faced down Magneto on a beach in Cuba.

​"Charles?"

​"Hmm?" He didn't look up from the patterns on the ceiling.

​"They don't see the chair," you said softly, addressing the fear he wouldn't voice. "They see the man who gave them a home. I'll see you soon."

​You stepped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind you. The quiet of the bedroom was instantly replaced by the distant, chaotic sounds of the mansion waking up: the thud of running footsteps in the corridor above, the muffled sound of an explosion from Hank’s lab, and the telepathic "static" of twenty young mutants finding their footing in a world that feared them.

​Taking a deep breath, you straightened your collar, shifted your height by a mere inch to carry yourself with more authority, and headed toward the classroom.

The morning air in the basement classroom was cool, smelling of chalk dust and the ozone lingering from Alex’s latest attempt at controlled bursts. You stood at the head of the long wooden table, gesturing toward a diagram on the chalkboard, but your mind wasn't entirely in the room.

​Beneath the chatter of the students, there was a velvet-smooth rhythm echoing in the back of your mind.

​“The sun was not yet high, and the mist still hung in the hollows of the hills...” It was Charles. He was reading The Lord of the Rings, his mental voice clear and resonant, carrying the cadence of a storyteller who knew exactly how to soothe an aching heart. It wasn't an intrusion; it was a tether. While you explained the nuances of genetic mutation to a wide-eyed Sean Cassidy and a skeptical-looking Darwin, Charles’s voice acted as a heartbeat, a constant reminder that while he was physically absent, he was tucked safely in the corner of your consciousness.

​You didn't mind the "background noise." In fact, as Alex and Sean began a whispered argument over the logistics of sonic screams, Charles’s steady narration kept you grounded. You leaned against the desk, a small smile playing on your lips that the students couldn't quite decipher.

​By the second period, however, the "background noise" began to shift.

​The book had been set aside. As you moved through a lesson on the ethics of anonymity—ironic, considering your own nature—Charles’s mental presence became more active. He wasn't just reading anymore; he was watching through your eyes.

​“You’re doing that thing with your hands again,” his voice drifted into your mind, honey-sweet and distractingly intimate. “The way you adjust your cuffs when you’re trying to look stern. It’s adorable, really.”

​You paused mid-sentence, your chalk hovering over the board. "Charles, I’m trying to teach," you projected back, a sharp but affectionate mental nudge.

​“I know. And you’re doing a marvelous job. But the bed is so very cold, and your thoughts are so very warm,” he replied. You could almost feel the phantom sensation of his fingers brushing against your temple. “I find myself wondering why you’re still wearing that face. The 'handsome professor' mask.”

​You felt a flush creep up your neck. You turned back to the class, seeing Havok tilting his head at your sudden silence. “Uh, Professor? You okay?”

​“Fine, Alex. Just... lost my train of thought,” you murmured, clearing your throat.

​“You shouldn’t hide it from me,” Charles continued, his voice dropping an octave in your mind, becoming a private hum that made your knees feel inexplicably weak. “I love the blue of your skin—that deep, cerulean hue. I miss the way the patterns on your shoulders feel under my fingertips, like Braille for my soul. You are irresistible like this, truly, but I crave the man beneath the shift.”

​It was becoming impossible to concentrate. Charles’s longing was a physical weight, a magnetic pull trying to drag you back down the hallway to his room. You could feel his appreciation for your current form—the sharp jawline and tailored suit—but it was underscored by a deep, telepathic hunger for your truest self.

​“Come back to me soon,” he whispered, the thought wrapping around you like a physical embrace. “I want to see the real you. No masks. No students. Just us.”

​You gripped the edge of the podium, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to dismiss the class then and there. You were a shapeshifter, but in that moment, under the weight of Charles Xavier’s undivided attention, you felt utterly seen.

The bell rang, signaling a fifteen-minute reprieve that felt more like a lifeline. As the students gathered their bags and shuffled out—Alex making a crack about lunch and Sean whistling tunelessly—you didn't move from your desk. You dropped into the leather chair, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. The "static" of the hallway faded, and you let the mental barriers you’d been holding up all morning fall away.

​Instantly, Charles was there.

​He had returned to his book, but only for a few lines. "'I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil,’” he quoted, his mental voice soft and resonant, like a cello being played in a quiet room. Then, you felt the "shift" in his focus. The book was closed; you could almost hear the soft thud of the cover hitting the mattress.

​“You’re exhausted, my love,” he murmured. The words felt like a cool hand being pressed to your forehead. “I can feel the tension in your shoulders from all the way down the hall. It’s a heavy burden, isn't it? Pretending to be so... stationary for them?”

​You let out a long, shaky breath, your fingers drumming against the mahogany desk. "It’s not the teaching that’s exhausting, Charles. It’s you."

​A low, melodic chuckle vibrated through your mind. “Is it? I thought I was being quite helpful. Providing a soundtrack for your morning.” You felt a playful, flirtatious spark—a flash of an image in your mind’s eye of Charles propped up on one elbow, the blankets discarded, his eyes dark with a very specific kind of mischief. “Perhaps if I were there, I could help you ‘decompress.’ I remember quite vividly how you react when I touch that spot just behind your ear... the one that stays blue even when you’re trying your hardest to be human.”

​Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Charles, please. I have another class in ten minutes."

​“Ten minutes is an eternity for a telepath,” he countered, his tone shifting from flirtatious to something more tender, more grounding. “Come back to me, darling. I’ve asked the kitchen to leave a kettle of Earl Grey by the door. I want you to sit here, right beside me. We don’t even have to speak. I’ll read to you, or you can read to me, and I can finally stop pretending this bed isn’t twice as large as it needs to be.”

​The image he projected was so vivid it felt like a hallucination: the steam rising from two porcelain cups, the scent of bergamot and old paper, and the heat radiating from his body. He was inviting you into his sanctuary, offering a world where neither of you had to be "The Professor" or "The X-Man."

​“I’m quite cold,” he added, a note of genuine, soft vulnerability creeping back into his voice. “And you always were my favorite way to stay warm. Do you remember that winter in Oxford? Before all of this? We didn’t need any fancy mansions then. Just a fireplace and you.”

​You felt a surge of love so strong it made your chest ache. He wasn't just being needy; he was reaching out through the fog of his own recovery, using you as his North Star.

​“Five more minutes,” he whispered, a final, lingering caress of a thought. “And then you can go back to your students. But know that I am counting every second until that final bell.”

​You opened your eyes. The classroom felt dull and grey compared to the world Charles had just painted inside your head. You reached for your tea—now cold—and took a sip, trying to find the resolve to stand up and face the third period.

The fourth period was a blur of frustration. You were trying to explain the ethics of mental privacy—a bitter irony, considering Charles was currently broadcasting a vivid memory of a rainy afternoon in Westchester directly into your cerebral cortex. His mental voice was a low, velvet purr, recounting the way your skin felt under a silk sheet, and it was driving you to the brink of madness.

​When the classroom door creaked open and Hank McCoy poked his head in, looking weary but finished with his lab work, you nearly fell over with relief.

​"I’ve got the rest of the lecture, if you need a break," Hank offered, his eyes darting between you and the restless students. He didn't need to be a telepath to see the sheer distraction written across your face.

​"Thank you, Hank. Truly," you managed to say, gathering your notes with trembling hands. You didn't wait for a second invitation. You practically bolted from the room, your footsteps echoing through the corridors of the mansion.

​By the time you reached the heavy oak door of your shared suite, your heart was hammering against your ribs. You pushed inside, the click of the lock behind you sounding like a starting pistol.

​The room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the afternoon sun. Charles was exactly where you’d left him, propped up against a mountain of pillows. A tray sat on the nightstand—Erik must have swung by to drop off the tea, as the metal pot was levitating just an inch off the tray in a way that suggested the Master of Magnetism’s lingering touch.

​Charles looked up, a triumphant, knowing smile spreading across his face. "You're early," he remarked, though his eyes betrayed his delight.

​You didn't answer with words. You stood in the center of the rug and let go.

​It started as a ripple at the base of your spine—a release of the constant, exhausting tension required to maintain a human facade. Your height dipped, your frame becoming leaner and more agile as you shrank by several inches. The peach-toned skin of your hands and face began to swirl, the color bleeding away into a deep, mesmerizing cerulean. The faint, indented patterns—the ridges that Charles loved so much—blossomed across your shoulders and down your spine like ancient, elegant script.

​You let out a long, shuddering breath, your chest expanding as your true lungs finally took in the air. You felt lighter, faster, and infinitely more yourself.

​Charles watched the transformation with a hunger that wasn't about lust, but about recognition. "There he is," he whispered, setting his tea down with a trembling hand. "There’s my beautiful boy."

​You began to strip away the restrictive professor’s attire. The stiff cotton shirt hit the floor, followed by the slacks, until you were standing in the sunlight, your blue skin shimmering. You reached into the wardrobe for a pair of soft, worn silk lounge pants—something that didn't chafe against your natural form.

​As you dressed, you could feel Charles’s gaze roaming over the patterns on your skin, tracing the lines telepathically before he could do so physically. The air in the room felt thick with a sudden, peaceful quiet. The "noise" of the school was gone; there was only the sound of his breathing and the soft rustle of your clothes.

​"I told you," Charles said, his voice dropping to that intimate register that had haunted you all morning. "Irresistible. Come here. I’ve kept the tea warm, and the bed warmer."

​You finished tying the drawstring of your pants and turned toward him, the last of the morning's stress evaporating. You weren't the substitute teacher anymore, and he wasn't the paralyzed leader of a revolution. You were just two souls, finally catching your breath in the middle of a storm.

The bed creaked softly as you finally climbed in beside him, the weight of your body creating a familiar dip in the mattress. The cool air of the room hit your bare chest for only a second before you slid beneath the heavy, sun-warmed duvet.

​Charles didn't hesitate. He shifted as much as his body would allow, opening his arms to welcome you into the space he’d been guarding for you all day. As you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, the scent of him—expensive soap, old paper, and a hint of the Earl Grey tea—washed over you, instantly silencing the last remnants of the day's frantic energy.

​"You're freezing," Charles whispered, though he didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame, his hands splaying across your back.

​His fingers found the ridges of the patterns on your shoulder blades, tracing them with a reverent slowness. To anyone else, those indentations might have seemed alien, but to Charles, they were a map he had long ago memorized. You felt a soft hum of approval vibrate through his chest and into yours—a telepathic purr of contentment.

​"It was cruel of me, I know," he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. "To pull at your mind while you were trying to manage those rowdy boys. But I find that when I’m stuck in this room, the walls start to feel... rather close. Your mind is the only place I can truly go for a walk."

​You tilted your head back to look at him, your deep gold eyes meeting his piercing blue ones. “You don't have to apologize for wanting me, Charles,” you hummed, your voice now clear and undistorted by the effort of your disguise. “But I think Alex Summers might actually believe in ghosts now, considering how many times I stared blankly into corners while you were talking to me.”

​Charles laughed, a genuine, chesty sound that made the phantom pains in his legs seem a thousand miles away. "A small price to pay for his education."

​He reached out, his hand cupping your jaw. His thumb brushed over your blue cheekbone, noting the way your skin felt—different from the human mask, more supple, slightly cooler, and infinitely more sensitive. "I hate that you feel you have to hide this," he said, his voice turning serious. "The world is so desperately drab, and here you are, a masterpiece of evolution, hiding under polyester and tweed."

​"I don't hide it for them," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I hide it so that when I come back here and let it go, it belongs only to you. It’s the only thing I have that isn't for the X-Men or the school."

​Charles’s expression softened, a look of profound, humbled love crossing his features. He pulled you closer, tugging the quilt up until it shielded both of you from the rest of the world. He picked up the book from the nightstand—the one he’d been reading to you earlier—but he didn't open it yet.

​Instead, he simply held you, his legs tangled uselessly but safely with yours, his mind intertwined with your thoughts so tightly that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

​"Read to me?" he asked softly, pressed the book into your blue hands. "My voice has had enough exercise for one morning."

​You took the book, opening it to the marked page, but before you began, you pressed a firm, lingering kiss to his lips—a promise that for the rest of the afternoon, you weren't going anywhere.

[alkcomics]

The Excalibur crew is absolutely bringing it to the Hellfire Gala

[kaomojiloser]

my little blue eyed freaks :)

[c4ndyc41n]

thinking about a previously foul-mouthed grace having to completely overwrite his vocab once he started teaching

[whimsicalfairytales]

The “nobody” scene in the odyssey is absolutely not just a clever pun—it’s a character defining moment for Odysseus because he refuses to be nobody. He devised an incredible plan that worked and he could have saved his men and returned home much sooner but he just had to yell to the cyclops that he isn’t nobody—he’s Odysseus, king of Ithaca so now Poseidon knows who to curse which severely fucks up the rest of the journey.

The “nobody” scene highlights both Odysseus’s cleverness but also his arrogance and those two traits define Odysseus throughout the entire story. It’s a foundational aspect of Odysseus’s character and cutting the scene displays a shocking level of ignorance and disregard for the themes in the source material.

[voidsetup1]

and out of the darkness - you you you you you

[jellyfishforest135]

Typical science teacher behavior