firstclass!charles xavier x fem!reader ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ warnings: reader has "super hearing" (no other additions), blood, mutual pinning, heavy angst, yn not used, sexual dialogue, pet names, ignore mistakes!
You were sitting on his couch as he worked at his desk. Your nightgown brushed against the top of your knees, making you shift a little. The soft rain muffled from the thick walls, tapping on the windows softly. The sound of pages flipping, the smell of fresh ink and the light music coming from the vinyl down the hall.
Charles glanced at you from his desk, seeing you squeeze your eyes shut due to the thunder. While it was quiet to him, a low rumble in the sky. It affected you terribly.
He put down his pen, slowly and as quiet as he possibly could. You still heard the small click against the desk, making your head turn towards him.
Charles sighs at himself before standing up, "if it's too much for you, I can always...give you a sedative to help you sleep." He walks over, slow and steady, making sure he doesn't accidentally make any noise you don't like. He sat against the leather of his couch next to you.
You tilt your head, "I think I can hold up for a little longer. I'm still getting used to it." This mutation wasn't something you were born with (do what you wish with that information) You're still sensitive to most sounds. Whispering is your strong suit.
"Everyone has weaknesses." Charles hesitates to reach out and take your hand. He squeezes his fist to hold himself back. He accidentally heard your thoughts, hearing the pain inside your head.
"I can shut up if you'd like. It won't hurt my feelings." He chucked softly.
You smile, "you're reading my mind..."
Charles groaned playfully, "it's not really mind reading, is it? I just hear your thoughts whenever I'm upset."
"But you can read everyone else's." You lean in, putting your hands out in front of you to rest on the leather cushion.
He nods, "well, you have something blocking you. Something I can't get past."
The question lingered, you even asked yourself. What was the reason he couldn't read you as well as the others? Why could he only read you when he was vulnerable?
You bring your knees to your chest, trying to comfort yourself as another roll of thunder passes through. Loud enough for Charles to be startled. You quickly cover your ears, letting out a small yell. Pain whisled in your head, pounding against your temples.
Charles gently places his hand against the back of your neck, "hey, hey. It's okay, it's-"
He froze for a moment as you lowered your hands. He saw your weary state and the little bit of blood trickling from your ears down your jaw.
"Stay put, don't panic yeah?" Charles darted out of the living room and rushed to grab something to clean you up, in hopes that you didn't even notice. You flutter your eyes and attempt to keep yours awake by taking deep breaths. Despite the ringing in your ears and your eyes nearly giving up on you, you managed to keep yourself grounded until he came back.
He rushed to you...he was so worried. Charles' brow pinched with concern, his eyes were soft and his movements were quick but very gentle. "Deep breaths," he whispers, "in and out, with me." You do as he asks, feeling the soft damp cloth against your ear before he moves to clean the other ear.
Breathing deeply—feeling relaxed. Charles gently tilted your head with his hand holding your cheeks. He examined you closely to see if the bleeding continued or not. And luckily it didn't.
"Good grief, I thought you'd pass out." He huffed.
You shook your head, "nearly did. But you came just in time."
Your attention to detail betrays you when you see the way he squeezes the bloodied cloth. The way his eyes glance at your features. There was something he wasn't telling you, and it's not bad. Not at all. He was calm but on edge.
Charles put the cloth on the table behind him, turning to make sure it didn't touch the books there. He was careful with the noises he makes, making sure he didn't hurt you.
He turned to face you again slowly, seeing the way your eyes weigh down. A small smile creeps in the corner of his mouth, clearly flustered and swooning as he studies your face.
"I think it's time for bed, don't you think?" Charles stood and gently lifted you into his arms, carrying you across the dimly lit room to the hall where he navigated to the bedroom.
He wasn't being generous, he wasn't doing it just because you were there. He did it because he cares, this feeling isn't mutual. He can hear it inside of your head. Hell, he can practically hear your heartbeat, beating out of control whenever he's near.
Charles places you on the bed gently, "just rest. If you need me I'll be in my study."
You turn over on the bed, clearly signifying that you heard him but was too tired to respond. Charles smirks and exhales sharply as he watches you.
He stands there for a minute to admire you. The way your eyes flutter gently when you mumble away in your sleep, the way your hands clench onto his velvet blankets, and most of all, the way your cheek presses against his pillow. You can smell his soft musk against it, making it more cozy. It made you feel safe.
Charles runs a hand through his hair, almost frustrated with himself. God he loves you. A sigh, he rolled his eyes and kneeled by the bed, placing his fingers against his temple to access your mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and struggles. Only for a moment before he could vividly hear the echo of your gentle breathing inside his head.
Charles builds you a quiet place inside his mind when the world becomes too loud—a soft, steady refuge where your powers stop hurting and his voice is the only thing you can hear.
What started as necessity turned into a ritual of shared silences, lingering proximity, the kind of closeness that doesn’t ask permission before becoming dangerous. This all lingered in his head, almost making it impossible to focus on you. The memories of you and him; crawling to keep away from each other, crying in the middle of the night when you made a mistake he wasn't aware of, and the tension you both feel when you're alone together.
The problem is that the quiet only exists when Charles gives you all of his attention, and you're starting to realize you don't just crave the stillness and safety of hiding it all away.
You let out a soft breath before turning over in bed, facing him but not opening your eyes. Your body responds to him lingering inside your head, seeping all those loud sounds away from your reach.
You crave him. Boundaries blur and unspoken feelings press against the fragile things you've both created.
Charles opens his eyes, the slow rhythm of his hand becoming unsteady and shaky against his temple, so he removes it. Quickly breaking the cycle of stillness he gave you.
You sit up with a gasp, placing a hand against your chest. Not with fear but shock. As if waking from something so deep you couldn't even comprehend it. You must decide whether the safest place you know is also the one most likely to break you.
Charles quickly stood from the floor and grabbed your shoulder, "hey, it's okay. It's just me."
You pant a little, trying to catch your breath. Those last moments were the most divine. The most you've slept. Your head was finally quiet and you couldn't figure out why.
"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I was in such a deep sleep."
Charles voice deepened to something more sensual and soft, "I know. I put you there."
You knit your brow and part your lips in an attempt to speak, but nothing comes out. Charles looked down at you with his hand still lingering against the back of your neck, his pinky slowly rubbing your skin unknowingly.
"You were inside my head." You barely articulate. You felt a little overwhelmed at this, the hollow feeling in your chest creeps back once you realize Charles wasn't there anymore.
He lets the breath leave them slowly, "I was." Charles sits on the bed in front of you and cradles your face in his hands, looking deep into your eyes.
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't." Your lip quivered with the remaining strength you had left, the soft break of your voice ripped a hole in Charles' chest.
He nodded once, his jaw tight and clipped. He understood, and he feels deeply for betraying that promise.
"You needed it, darling," He said with a pause, as if he needed to make room for how much it hurt you, "So much."
A sob escaped your lips as your body jerked forward. Charles took you in his arms, pulling off the blanket from your lap and bringing you closer, so close, he felt as if he couldn't breathe.
"I just want to be normal." You choked on your cries as you tried to speak. But you fail miserably.
He hushes you with a gentle rub on your lower back, "please don't say that. You're of no less value because of what's happening. You know that."
You found your way into the crook of his neck, pressing your lips against his skin. His eyes dulled under the weight of the sensation.
"You..." Charles muttered, "you're exhausted."
He tried to play this off, pushing you away from his neck, but not enough for him to see you properly. You let out a soft hum before going at his neck again, making him grip you harder. Not painfully, but more so he can ground himself.
He bucked his lips upward distinctively, "uhh, darling. You shouldn't-" He was stopped by the small tug of his hair behind his head. You silenced him, but at what cost?
He groans and grips your thighs, moving his hands up to your hips. He felt your soft, warm skin. He smelled your sweet aroma and let out a little shutter of pleasure.
"What are you doing?" He manages to speak through the intense feeling of your body against his.
You put your hands against his chest and occasionally squeeze his shoulders to keep him here. His mind was slipping elsewhere, so relaxed, he couldn't read you.
"We need to stop being so clueless, Charles." You whisper against his neck and rub your lips against his reddish skin, not fully kissing it just yet.
Charles gulps, "me? Clueless?" His voice was hoarse and ragged. The pleasure was squeezing him in places he couldn't handle, but he kept himself still.
You didn't respond. Your hands run down and around to his lower back where your hands find their way underneath his shirt. This sends a rush through his body.
You brush your lips against his, once, twice, holding back just enough. His hands grip you in places he wasn't sure of, he was so hesitant to even touch you where you were silently begging for it.
You arch your back in an attempt to slip his hand down farther, past your lower back. Charles slowly, very hesitantly groped your ass with a gentle approach.
You nod and rub your nose against his until he finally has enough. Charles presses his lips against yours, pushing his hand up and under your nightgown where he was able to feel your panties which were already soaked.
He hummed softly against your lips, a low, hungry sound that shook through you. Every groan, every press of his mouth, spoke of the need he couldn’t hide—a craving for you that ran deeper than just desire. But there was patience in him, a restraint that made it ache even more. He didn’t pull you in recklessly, didn’t devour you all at once. Instead, he lingered.
"Oh, Charles," you let out a breathless moan.
His hands settled on your waist, tracing your delicate frame. The urge to protect you gnawed at him, yet the desire to let you be, to follow your own will, lingered just as strongly.
"Baby," He tilted his head back, chest rising shakily as the deep sound escaped him.
You moved your hips against his, feeling his body tense and relax with the smooth rhythm. His moans fill the room with the soft sound of your whines.
Charles wasn't inside you, but he could feel every part of you. He could feel the soft sweat against your palms pressing on his shoulders, and the wet sound of your tongue lapping over your lip when your teeth sink into the flesh.
"You need to rest," he pants. The feeling of you against him was so overwhelming, but it felt just right.
You shake your head, "this is all I need." You pressed against him, weight sinking into the warmth of his chest, eyelashes heavy with exhaustion. Your fingers traced nervously over the edge of his unbuttoned shirt, hesitant, wanting, betraying yourself. Charles’ hands hovered near you, trembling just enough that you felt it without him touching.
His breath was shallow like he was keeping himself in check. He squeezes his eyes, “I won’t cross the line tonight,” he murmured, “but it aches to imagine if I could.” His eyes, dark and impossibly patient, searched yours, begging you to understand that this restraint wasn’t disinterest—it was desire, so fragile and urgent. But he couldn't take advantage of you, not tonight. Not when you need him most in ways this can't give.
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