the-massive-simp

[the-massive-simp]

Me, selecting filters on Ao3

[the-massive-simp]

me

[the-massive-simp]

I am so proud of the Hungarian ppl right now.

It was the 30th Pride.

It was banned.

200.000 people were there.

Thank you for this boost today. Thank you for showing up and standing up for our right!

Photo cr.: Telex.hu

[the-massive-simp]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[the-massive-simp]

you know a joke that never EVER gets old is when a character says smth like “I will NOT go to [place] and that is FINAL” and then it cuts to them in that place I eat that shit up every single time

[the-massive-simp]

i feel like scott summers would be very needy when it comes to making out.

he tends to be pretty touchy normally, a hand lingering on your waist or thumb idly petting the back of your knuckles. so when the two of you are alone, he really doesn’t hold back.

he holds you close as can be, flush against his body. his hand cups the back of your neck as he leans in to connect your lips. the tip of his nose bumps against yours, and his breaths come out in harsh puffs.

the passion in each movement escalates fast. little pecks morph into open mouth kisses. he nips and sucks at your bottom lip, brushes his tongue against you.

it’s an effort to keep up, but it’s worth it to hear the little noises he’ll make. he groans when you slide his hands up his chest. whimpers if you push your warm body closer to his. straight up moans if your palm lands on his developing bulge to give it some caresses.

“fuck, baby…” he pants when the two of you finally pull away. a pretty shade of pink tints his cheeks. saliva coats his swollen lips. his chest puffs with quick breaths.

depending on what the two of you are supposed to be doing at the time, he’ll either dive back in for more or resist that urge. but if you have a craving to keep going, it’s pretty easy to reel him back in.

all it takes is running a hand through his hair, giving him the look, and pouting “scott…”

it works every time. without a doubt, he’ll glance around and mutter “i guess we have some time” before going back in just as he did before, taking care not to knock his shades loose in his fervor. the difference this time is that he’s fully hard in his pants, grinding up against your thigh as his body melds to yours.

[the-massive-simp]

while you were sleeping...scott summers

"I trace it all back, 3:30 am, that night something turned in my heart." - Laufey

scott summers x reader, wc: 865 words, unedited

contains: friends who are mutually crushing on each other, late 90s timeline, reader and scot are both implied to be 18-19 in this, innocent crushes with pining that I didn't go into cause I like keeping it vague

a/n: for my lovely @sunnysheaven, I wanted to make something of one of her faves since she did the same for me

Scott Summers is asleep in your bed. Or rather on your bed. He’s curled up on his side, your pillow pet clutched in his lanky arms with his face pressed against the satin sheet of your pillow. 

A bowl of popcorn sits on your nightstand along with two soda cans and a box of chocolate candies. Scott’s worn leather wallet 

Grabbing the tv remote, the movie volume is calmed, and the silence is filled by Scott’s soft snores. You nudge his sneakers away from the bed, tucking them in the space under your desk. Movie VHS tapes sit on the desk’s surface, all movies you two picked up earlier that night. 

Tonight was supposed to be a movie night, with the lull between classes and training giving a moment to just be regular teens. Three movies were watched before you decided to change clothes and coming back to Scott asleep in your bed. 

He grumbles, brows pinching and fingers tightening around the plushie. Carefully, you pull up the white comforter from the edge of your bed. Scott’s brows relax when the comforter is placed over his lanky figure and a pleased sigh falls from his lips. 

You draw away from the bed slowly, cautious to not wake him.

“Don’t.” Scott’s voice is raspy, muffled by the pillow as his hand grasps your wrist. His calloused thumb brushes along soft skin on the inside of your wrist and your heart skips in your chest. “Don’ leave.” He begs quietly. The low lamp lighting reflects off his visor and while you can’t see his eyes, you can feel his sleepy gaze staring up at you.

“I’m not leaving the room,” you murmur. “I just need to clean up a bit.”

A giggle is stifled in your chest as Scott’s lips purse into a pout.

“Promise?” He asks. His hand still holds your wrist, slipping down to interlace your fingers together. Another pause. 

Settling a knee onto the bed, you press a soft kiss to Scott’s eyebrow. Lips still pressed to his eyebrow, you give a hushed, “promise.” And that seems to be enough since Scott lets go of your hand. 

Your lips tingle as you pull away, the fuzzy feeling sinking down your throat and into your ribs, sitting neatly in your beating heart.

Gracefully, you climb off your bed, plucking empty soda cans to toss into the trash along with the candy boxes. The tv is turned off and the Indiana Jones VHS is ejected and placed back in its plastic case. 

Finally, you turn off the desk lamp, leaving only the small one on your nightstand on. You climb back onto the bed, this time pulling back the covers for both you and Scott. He makes a muted noise of complaint before calming when the blankets are pulled back over him. You’re barely under the covers before he tugs you close, exchanging the pillow pet in favor of you. His body’s warm, the beginnings of hard muscle felt through the fabric of his cotton tee. 

Despite that, he cradles you close, as if you’re something precious. The thought warms your cheeks, and you cuddle closer, resting your head on his chest. His heartbeat greets you, a steady sound that soothes something in your overworked mind. You keep your head close to his chest to hear the sound, eyes slipping shut as sleep finally covers you. 

Scott wakes up with a stiff breath. His eyes open blearily as he looks around the room carefully. He pauses when he registers the weight on his chest, along with the soft breathing. 

Shifting carefully, Scott glances down to find you, asleep and cuddled close to him. One of your arms is draped over him, the other nestled under the pillow. Even through a red filter, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Soft cheeks, long lashes and parted lips. It’s a sight of you so only he gets the privilege of seeing. And that thought makes his heart flutter with pride. 

His calloused hands trace over your back, dragging along the seams of the shirt carefully. Scott’s fingers pause when his fingers find a hole at the bottom hem of the shirt. 

You’re wearing his shirt.

He can’t help the breathless chuckle that leaves his lips, the sound quick but audible. Scott freezes when you shift, only moving when you melt into him. 

Scott stretches a hand for the nightstand, fingers wrapping around the lamp cord and giving it a gentle tug. The light flicks off quietly and bathes the room in darkness. 

He grasps your hips carefully, rolling over on the bed to have you between the pillows and him. You gravitate towards him again, this time notching your head in the space between his head and shoulder, your breath fanning out over his neck. 

Instinctually, Scott presses a kiss to your cheek, delicate and unhurried. His pale cheeks heat up as he pulls away, blind to the subconscious smile that tugs at your cheeks. Scott finally lets his eyes fall shut again, joining you in sleep. 

The darkness of your bedroom holds you both, the only light coming from your electric clock that reads, 3:30 am.

[the-massive-simp]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 2: holding out for a hero

link to chapter 1: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn with (slight) plot, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk, kissing, risky sex, teasing, play fighting

word count: 5568

a/n: took me months to get this one done, but it's finally here !! hope it was worth the wait. i'm so freakin' nervous about it, i think i'll explode. thanks for bein' so patient !!💗again, if any russian dialogue needs correcting, lemme know please !! thank you !!

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Peter didn’t want his best pal thinking he’s a total horndog or anything. Contrary to popular belief, he was capable of restraint. Sometimes. But this raging hard-on couldn’t wait. 

And he promised he’d keep you warm, didn’t he? Like you said over the phone…it was cold out today. For all Peter knew, you were freezing your nips off. Alone in bed without a buddy. What kinda selfless superhero would he be - if he didn’t come to your aid when you obviously needed him most?

On the other end of the phone line, emptiness droned for seconds too long. You didn’t get a moment to marvel in the afterglow of orgasmic delight. Instead, anxiety boiled fiercely in the pit of your belly. Between your quivering legs, your own heat left you aching for something more. You sat up quickly in bed. Under the familiar weight of Peter’s jacket, your body burned like hellfire.

Carding your fingers through your bedhead, catching soft hairs under your nails; you spoke into the receiver.

“Peter?” Your voice wavered. More seconds passed in buzzing silence. You waited a moment longer. But only empty static answered your pleas, “Listen, dude, I’m really sorry if I made things awkwa-”

Dammit all. Peter meant to show up a lot sooner.

But he needed to dress himself first, of course. Since he couldn’t exactly go for a quick run across the sea in his boxers. Peter then found the Sokovian pop-up shop that sold your favorite Turkish delights - unfortunately - moved somewhere else. Bummer. Just his luck. Searching for the shop added an extra half-second to Peter’s spontaneous trip.

Which wouldn’t be all that bad. If not for the embarrassing fact that he tripped on his way back.

Into the ocean.

Yeah. By some impossible feat - a record breaking level of stupidity, Peter wiped out. He fell below water and made friends with a colossal tuna fish in the process. Somehow, he spared the Turkish delights any damage. And bidding his newfound, fishy pal farewell, Peter rushed home. Reeking of the ocean, he showered and threw on some fresh clothes.

After a century and a half, he arrived at your window. Realistically, the trip took only twenty seconds tops. And sure - maybe speeding around the globe in only twenty ticks might seem fast to…well…literally anyone else. But to Peter? Quicksilver himself?

C'mon…that's slow on a slow day.

A strong whoosh of wind swept your window, followed by a loud rattle. As if a ginormous bird flew head first into the glass. You parted your lips to scream. But if this were a race - your shriek vs Quicksilver speed - Peter had you beat by a thousand microseconds.

Time moved at a crawl all around him. Slipping in through the window, he stopped at the foot of your bed with a small box tucked under his arm. Whistling along to the tune in his earphones, he tilted his head to the side. Peter's lethargic gaze took a venturous journey across the length of your body. Up and down. Shamelessly. Several times over.

Okay, maybe about thirty four times. But who's counting?

Whoa, baby. Talk about a sight to behold. Curvaceous. So smooth. Nestled in your birthday suit post orgasm. Never before seen by the likes of a certain, silver comrade.

Peter's whistling veered off into stunned silence.

You. Buck naked. In his jacket. After a naughty jam session over the phone. He might need to go a few rounds in the madhouse.

Your pretty legs were stretched out, as you laid all cozy-like in bed. His heavy jacket draped your frame. Swallowing you in its heat, the silver garment kept your tits hidden from view. Even now, those beauties remained a mystery. The suspense made his crotch feel hot. Dragging his eyes down your tummy, Peter stopped at the dip between your legs.

Au naturel.

Sometime during his ocean getaway; he lost the boner that led him to you in the first place. But now, naturally, his dick twitched to hardness. Peter's coffee bean eyes widened. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Jeez…c'mon, guy! Just cool your jets. Take it easy.

He drew in a slow breath. Peter climbed over top of you as time finally caught up with him. With a knee resting between your legs, he loomed from above and clamped a hand over your mouth. Your scream ate his dust in a race against time, muffled under his palm.

His sudden appearance brought along a cool breeze. Chilly air welcomed its bite into your room. With only his jacket to keep you warm, you shivered. Aha! Just as he thought. You were freezing your nips off. Good thing Peter had the foresight to come by and help you out. Lest you freeze to death.

And wouldn't that put a damper on this unexpectedly great day? Your safety was of uber importance. Most definitely the primo reason for his visit. Even if the stiff tent in his jeans told a different story.

Peter's familiar eyes glistened, pupils blown with lustful anticipation. Silver strands of his hair fell over his brows. He kept his hand sealed over your mouth. Bringing his other hand up, he made a frantic shushing gesture. You furrowed your brows, yelping a muffled - Peebur??

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Shhhhh! It's cool, babe! It's…look, it's just me.” He whispered.

Pulling his hand from your mouth, Peter sat upright over your legs. His denim-clad knee nudged the drapery of your sex. Its heat was impossible to miss. But he forced himself to focus on your cute face instead.

“S'up. Uh, how's it goin’? Wow. Phew. Some wicked hot phone call that was, amiright?” Peter sheepishly chuckled.

“You little-” You playfully swatted him, smacking Peter on the arm.

Feelin’ feisty today, are we? The shock of his BNE must've unlocked some hidden strength inside you. After a few weak blows, one of your hits landed with accidental force. Peter winced, rubbing his arm as he hissed through his teeth.

“Ow!? Jeez! Touchy touchy!” He complained, holding his whisper, “Расслабься (relax)! Take it easy, babe!”

“Sorry! I'm sorry! But you scared the shit out of me! I almost peed myself!”

You leered your pretty eyes up at him. He cheesed a grin, leaning over you on all fours. Peter teased your pussy with his knee, barely inching forward. Your lingering arousal stained the denim there. A husky laugh bubbled low in his throat.

“Ohhhhh…is that why you're so wet?”

You squealed and smacked him on the arm again. Okay. He deserved that one, for sure. Peter almost felt bad for making you shit bricks. Still, he couldn't help but laugh. The scrunchy look of frustration on your face made him snort. He covered his mouth to conceal it, but his dimples ultimately gave him away.

“Don't laugh at me! I thought some creep broke in or something!” You huffed.

“I'm sorry! I just can't take you seriously when you're lookin’ pissed off like that. It's…it's cute, okay?"

“You're such a jackass.”

Peter hummed, lips pursed and contemplative.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He shrugged, pulling a pink box from behind his back. A silver string decorated the box, tied in a sloppy bow. Grinning, Peter let his eyes fall half lidded. He slowly blinked. Even with his libido cranked up to eleven, he appeared unfazed as ever. Characteristically aloof.

“But this jackass brought you Turkish delights…so…”

For a fraction of a second, an electrifying flash sparkled in your gaze.

You rolled your eyes promptly after, “You’re sweet. But my family’s home.” You warned. Peter frowned, tipping his head back with an indignant groan, “Peter, I’m serious! We really can’t-”

He tore open the box, pushing a powdery candy past your lips. The sweet treat melted over your tongue and coated your taste buds in its fragrance. A joyous smile reclaimed your lips. Totally worth Peter’s accidental, oceanic wipe out. He chuckled again, popping a candy into his mouth before tossing the box away somewhere.

“Fiiiinnnnnne. I guess you found my only weakness. That’s heavenly.” Your voice stayed hushed as you spoke. Peter’s eyes flicked down to your lips, drawn to the pinch of powdered sugar left there, “But I’m not kidding, dude. If anyone catches you like this-”

Burdened with speedster impatience, Peter cut you off again. This time, not with a heavenly treat - but with an unexpected kiss. It happened on impulse, so careless and without a lick of hesitation. You squeaked into his lips, your eyes widening and quickly fluttering shut. Peter’s lips curved against yours in a victory smirk, the moment he realized you gave in.

The natural chemistry between you both flickered, igniting like a hot spark. That is, if the spark were an awkward display of experimental nuzzling. Magnetized to your soft lips, he almost fought the urge to part. His nose brushed your skin as he went for your neck. Peter covered your flesh in mouthy smooches. And when he got a little too greedy, he nibbled instead.

“Mmmmm…d’ywanna…y’know…” Peter rolled his hips into yours, nudging you with his bulge. Raising his head from your neck with a sloppy sound, his silver brows darted up and down - up and down. Playfully allusive. The tips of his fingers drew light lines down your belly, “‘Cuz I was really into the way you were talkin’ back there. All that freaky stuff you said about my fingers. And my speed. And my, uh…”

What a supreme understatement. Apparently, you were capable of spouting some outrageously juicy stuff. Even Peter didn't have the nutsack to repeat those words out loud.

“Peter…”

“Please? C'mon, I can be sooo quick about it, babe. You know me! Speed's the name of the game.”

Whatever happened to that frisky courage you had before? You weren't getting cold feet on him already, were you?

Your tiny hands rested on his broad shoulders, fingers curling into his grey flannel. Shifting your gaze bashfully, you chewed your lip. In reality, you didn't expect Peter to show up like this unprompted. Especially not with your family at home. There was a strong chance they'd catch you two in the act any moment. And the prospect of that freaked you out way more than banging your bestie.

Best case scenario; he would've been patient enough to wait for you. You'd drive to his place and meet him in his (mom's) basement. Where he'd quickly fuck your brains out to the tune of whatever song he left playing. You'd play some Mario Kart afterwards. And thanks to his ravenous libido, he'd drill you dumb again. And later, maybe even a third time.

Of course, the fact that you expected Peter Maximoff to be patient at all was entirely your fault. Right after you got him horny on the promise of pussy? Nah. Hindsight's twenty/twenty when your best friend's a hot-blooded speedster.

Since you took too long to give him an answer, Peter’s attention fixed elsewhere. He let his eyes dance all across your body again. Scanning every inch of smooth, visible skin and following silver creases in the jacket you wore. Until something lying by your side caught his eye. A small, bundled up wad of baby pink cloth.

Oh, helllllooooooooo. What’s this?

You were struck with a beat of realization, but had no time to react. Peter plucked your panties into his grasp. And judging by the mortified look on your face, followed by a petrified peep - yeah, he totally scored. Big time. What a steal! Your damp panties dangled from his fingers, and Peter’s brows rose under his bangs.

“Dude, wait! I can explain-”

“Ah. Black lace, huh?” He smirked.

Ты маленькая грязная лгунья (You dirty little liar)! Your panties looked nothing like you described over the phone. Baby pink. Lined with girly frills. Peppered in a pattern of cutesy, rubber duckies. Kind of adorable, in truth. But majorly humiliating for you. Peter’s grin turned even more impish, highlighting his dimples yet again. He snickered, waving the evidence of your naughty deception in front of you. Teasingly, he nudged his knee closer into your sex, making your breath hitch.

“L-Listen, in my defense, I didn’t think you’d find rubber duckies all that sexy.” You clarified, like a total lame-O.

Without thinking, he brought your panties to his nose. Peter’s hooded eyes fluttered and rolled back. He hummed something like a low growl. All devilish and, as per usual, carrying zero shame.

The apples of your cheeks burned exceptionally hotter, “Seriously?” You mumbled through a barely audible exhale of breath.

Nope. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

“And to think, I was totally honest with you about my Star Wars socks.” Peter clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “Were you pullin’ my leg when you said they were hot? You deceiver. You’re really breakin’ my heart, y’know?”

Adorable, the way you crossed your arms and puffed your cheeks. You blinked, and your panties vanished out of thin air. Almost like a magic trick. And if you thought Peter tossed them away, you were naive for assuming so. But, hey…would you mind at all? If you knew he stuffed them into his back pocket for safe keeping?

No? Cool. Finders keepers.

“Noooo! I wasn’t lying. They were totally hot. Actually…I couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you’d look in them.” You teased, obviously full of shit. Peter rolled his eyes. But as you giggled and tilted your head down; you flitted your lashes and gave him a babydoll look. With the addition of a tempting lip bite, no less, “Wanna take those pants off and show me? You said you’d be quick, right?”

There it was. Your freaky confidence made a brief, cameo appearance. Peter's blood took a downward jump at light speed. His dick pulsed eagerly in his boxers. Flirty passes coming from you seemed to rewire his brain chemistry in a big way. He knitted his lips to the side, scratching the back of his neck.

“Can’t.”

“Awww…why not, huh? Are you embarrassed? You know you don't have to be. Not around me.” You cooed, and the sweet, caring nature of your voice made him blush.

“Nah. I know. It’s not that. It's just…they kinda got soaked?”

“They got…what? How does that even happen?”

Cradling his face in your palm, you urged him to meet your eyes. To tell you the ridiculous story he hadn't planned on telling you until, well…after you both boned. The sweet scent of your pussy on your fingers kept him distracted. An instinctive shudder raced through his body. Peter pressed a kiss to your palm once, twice, thrice. Just for good measure. 

His cheeks pinkened further, “Eh, I might've wiped out on the way here. Took a quick swim in the Atlantic. I met a super sized tuna fish and everything. Called him Quint. You've seen Jaws, right?”

What the hell was he on about now?? Peter caught himself before he got any further off track.

“Uh, anyways, whatevs. No biggie. At least it wasn't a jumbo sized shark ‘er anything. Pffbbttt.” 

“So, you're telling me…you were so eager to get laid; you tripped on water? You big doofus.”

You snickered so hard, you snorted. Cute. Peter sighed. Grinning crookedly, he brought his hand to yours over his cheek. He guided your hand lower and took you on a short journey. The destination? Boner city. You felt his thick bulge in your tiny palm. Trailing a few teasing nibbles up your neck, Peter's heated chuckles turned your skin to gooseflesh.

“Har. Har. Har. Laugh it up, why don't you? Lil miss rubber duckies.”

Peter rolled his hips down into your hand, once more alluding to his pent-up frustration. You’d taken so long to give him the green light; Peter could’ve raced overseas again, nearly drowned, and returned - ten times over. Again, you parted your lips to (probably) protest. And again, Peter cut you off with another feverish kiss. His sizable hands pulled your legs further apart. You mewled softly against his lips, as his knee kept teasing your cunt.

“Доверься мне (Trust me). D’you trust me?” He mumbled.

You answered with even sloppier tongue action, catching him off guard. Peter never thought he’d kiss your velvet lips like this. Relishing every second. Your nails scraped the back of his neck, triggering something primal inside him. With your other hand, you felt his dick twitch in his jeans. He trembled, whining into your mouth and pushing himself closer. His kisses delved deeper, his tongue catching the flavor of that Turkish delight.

“Ты такой сладкий (You’re so sweet)...”

“Ohmygod.” You whined. Whispers of breathy moans laced through your kisses like threads, “I’m sorry, but that’s so hot. Keep talking like that? Please?”

As you giggled, looking a little shy; Peter laughed. While your kisses were more of a soft and delicate variety; his were firm, but quick. Anticipating the next several, before they even happened.

“Is it? You really think so? Mmm…dunno if I believe you. Обманщик (Deceiver). You lyin’ again? ‘Cuz if you are...I have ways of findin' out…”

His big hands wandered, moving in a rush. As much as he wanted to spend the next eternity blowing your mind with righteous foreplay; Peter needed to speed things along. He kissed your neck, teeth nipping your skin - because for some reason, with you, he was just so...bitey. Further down, he parted the jacket you wore, revealing your tits in full. Perfect and supple. Outrageously bitchin’. Even prettier than whatever he imagined over the phone.

“Наконец (Finally)...” He mumbled, mostly to himself.

Peter squeezed the fullness of your breasts in his hands, thumbs rolling your nipples. His swollen lips enveloped one of your tits like a hungry man starved. Carelessly swirling his tongue, he sucked your stiff nub hard. A boob-induced haze clouded his prior sense of urgency. You ran a hand through his hair and tugged him back with a gentle jerk. Peter’s voice broke in a low whine. His tongue chased your poor, sore nipple again.

“Подожди (Wait)! Waiiit…’m not done…” He buried his face lazily between your breasts and took a moment to inhale. Before motorboating your rockin’ titties. Peter groaned like he’d never get enough. As he pulled back, he giggled like a dork, “Hohhh…I seriously think I might be in love with these things.”

Exchanging hot breaths and hushed chuckles, you both explored each other's bodies with your hands. Peter’s sneakers scraped the sheets of your bed, knocking your blankets to the floor. While you took initiative with his zipper, his fingers trailed under your navel. The tips of his digits teased your pretty slit. At last. Peter felt for himself, how much of a soaked mess you were over his two-tongued dirty talk.

“Fuuuck, you weren't messin’ with me, were you, принцесса (princess)?”

Parting your slick lips, he sank two digits into your quivering heat. Your plush pussy welcomed his fingers with sweltering tears of gratitude. Wet as fuuuuuuck. His fat thumb teased your clit. Expertly fondling your helpless, little bud. You froze just as you pulled his jeans apart. A dangerous squeal threatened to echo through your room. But you swallowed it, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Черт возьми (Damn it)...sucks I gotta rush this…” Peter huffed, plunging his digits deeper, “Really wanna take my time for once…”

You blindly felt for his bulge with clumsy hands. After giving his hard-on a loving squeeze, you tugged the front of his boxers down. As soon as his leaky cock bobbed in the open, you grabbed and held on tight. A quick glance downward, and you admired the shape and size of him. Girthy in your palm. Smooth, veiny, and pulsing as you tugged him. 

And while you may have told a few little, white lies over the phone. Peter most definitely didn't. His thick cock turned an almost lilac hue at the head, the more you teased him. Peter shivered, bunching his shoulders and arching his back. You stroked him for a beat more. Until he guided you elsewhere, lining his dick where you both urgently wanted him to be. Barely nudging his tip into your weepy slit, he flitted his hooded gaze up to meet yours.

“You good? ‘M not gonna hold back, if you-”

The carefree banter between the two of you never ceased. Despite any nervousness, you gave him a coy smile. Lips pouty and eyes lookin' lusty. You ghosted his lips with a teasing whisper.

"Peter, babe, Please. You are soooooo slow. Just go for it, yeah? You need me to beg?"

His eyes widened, and he cheesed another goofy grin, "Actually, yeah, that'd be awesome."

Giggling sweetly, you swallowed your nerves, finding that courage buried deep within.

"Come on, Quickie. Fuck me, please?"

Peter felt his dick spasm, leaking from the tip, spilling over your pearly clit.

“Shhhhh. Relaaax. I got this, babe. I got it. Just…”

His eyes dropped to your cunt, watching as he sheathed his needy cock in your fluttery slit. Peter's mouth fell open, brows curling inward. He bottomed out with a generous swing of his hips, and your snug, sticky heat made way for his visit. But not without the tiniest hint of resistance.

Breathlessly, he mumbled, “...just…oh…oh, you're tighter than I…thought…fuck. That's...”

Steamy gasps filtered your room, replacing erotic moans that didn’t dare slip. Sharing endless kisses, the two of you bumped noses and whirled your tongues. Making the most fun you could out of so little time. And as teasing playfulness intensified, consuming you both in awesome exhilaration; neither one of you could resist getting handsy. Touching all over. Squeezing. Feeling everything that was way out of bounds just a few hours prior. Peter rocked in and out of you fast enough to make your bed knock against the wall.

“Not too fast! Not too-” You mewled, your hands rubbing his shoulders, nails clawing down his chest over his shirt, "Fuck, the bed. Don't-"

“Shhh. Shhhh. Okay, baby. I gotcha. I-” Peter snickered, his troublemaker giggles quickly obscured by winded moans, “Ебать (Fuck)…” He whined, slowing the motion of his thrusts. Soaking in the fuzzy sensation of your spongy, wet heat cuddling his cock, “Ощущается так хорошо (Feels so good).”

Burying his reddened face in your titties, he squeezed one of those beauties in his hand. Watching in a trance, as they bounced in time with every push and drag of his cock. A lil too enthralled, Peter got ahead of even himself. He recklessly rolled you over. Hoping to see your tits go jiggle jiggle jiggle from another perspective. Until…

Peter brought you down to the floor with him by accident. Oof, he was all kinds of clumsy today, huh? Landing flat on his back with a thunderous thud, he sat up on his elbows. He gaped up at you with a dazed look, ogling the way your tits bunched and squished over his chest. Nipples so perky and brushing his shirt fabric. Oh, yeah. He was hella smitten with those puppies.

“Shit!” You cursed under your breath.

Peter blinked himself out of his second booby haze of the evening. On quivering knees, you tried to find your balance. After you both took a rough tumble to the floor, his cock unsheathed itself from your cozy heat. Throbbing and slick, Peter’s dick bounced. Eager to fuck you senseless again.

“Простите (sorry)! Sorry! You okay, babe?” Peter whispered, settling his warm palms over your ass.

An ass which he hadn’t taken the time to really feel yet. And no surprise, your plump cheeks were just as bodacious as the rest of you. He palmed and squeezed them, getting his fill while he still had the chance.

“I’m okay! Are you?” You chewed your lip again, tilting your head to the side. Giving Peter that same kittenish, doe-like look, ‘M gonna get in sooooo much trouble because of you, Pietro.”

Well…when you said it like that; slurred and giggly, drunk on the filthy thrill of everything so him. Peter chose to ignore whatever risks seemed to weigh on the back of your mind. Rolling the two of you over once more, he held his dick by the shaft and slipped inside your cunt. That familiar, comfy warmth welcomed him in again. He whispered your name, embellished with his natural accent.

And just as Peter set course to give you a good drilling; at your door, the knob jiggled. Pulling you out of euphoric stasis instantaneously. The two of you stilled, eyes wide, glancing between each other and to the door. Back and forth. Back and forth. Upon finding your door locked, mystery whoever on the other side knocked instead.

“Hey, are you alright? What was that noise I heard? Did you fall?” Mystery voice called from the void.

And what a golden - or silver, rather - opportunity they presented. Peter blinked, leering intensely down at your stunned face. His eyes gleamed mischievous lust. Within the embrace of your luscious walls, his cock twitched with interest. The length pulsed upward into pillowy heat.

A subtle nod to a fun, little scheme he quickly cooked up.

But he needed something to drown out the soon-to-be sound of speedy hanky panky. With a careful movement, Peter brought a hand to the Walkman clipped loosely on his jeans. Having memorized the buttons, he knew how to work it by muscle memory.

Loosening the earphone jack, his thick fingers clicked - a button here, a button there. And voilà. Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out for a Hero began to play. Ah, yeah. The good ol' Footloose soundtrack. He'd now dub it the soundtrack to your first, shared romp together. Which was kinda fitting. Before he showed up, you were technically holdin' out for a hero. Your eyes flicked to the source of the music, then back up to him. You gave him a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ kinda look.

Peter bit his lip, the corners of his grin curling into a diabolical smirk. As your brows knitted in suspicion; he rolled his hips sloooooowly back. You shook your head silently. Retracting his cock halfway, he took less than a millisecond to launch his hardness into your cervix. The motion knocked the wind from your chest. Covering your mouth, head thrown back; you scratched your nails into the carpet.

He arched a brow. One of his hands darted to your wrist, tugging in an attempt to unseal your mouth. Even with his dick buried deep in your insides, weakening your defenses; you fought back. You jerked away, which only encouraged him more. Peter bit his tongue to hold back a snicker. A few feisty slaps on your end, and you both fell into a play fighting frenzy. Your overstimulated cunt rippled around his dick, as he pinned your wrists to the floor.

Mystery voice called your name again. Their tone reflected growing concern for you. But you couldn't make out what they said over Bonnie Tyler amped up to high volume. Peter’s gaze stayed hard locked on yours. Picking up speed, pounding into you raw and rolling his cock so deep; he knitted his brows and nodded towards the door. As if to say - go on, say something already.

“I-I’m fine! I just…yeah, I, uh…I fell out of bed!” You yelled over the music. Your voice hitched, squeaking at the tailend. A scorching surge of ecstasy burst through your core. Continuously building, as Quicksilver focused entirely on rearranging your insides. It seemed impossible, but you managed to choke out,  “I’m oh-...okay now!”

“You fell? Are you sure you’re alright?” Ебена мать (Holy shit). Mystery voice refused to step down. They raised their tone to a high enough octave, you finally heard. The doorknob jiggled again, “I thought you said you were going somewhere tonight?”

“I-I am! I was!” You swallowed your whimpers, steadily losing your composure.

Growing hazier with every bold, speedy thrust; you raised your legs and locked them in a vice grip around him. Now, Peter had free reign to pound your tight channel at whatever speed struck his fancy. He knew after this - no man you slept with would ever dream of matching his god-given talent.

Hot white pulses of mind-altering pleasure rattled through your bones. Blocking out the sensation of rug burn itching your lower back. Your wrists tingled like pins and needles under Peter’s hold. At the corners of your glossy eyes, excessive pleasure made your tears drip in clots. Peter leaned in, muttering soft praises in your ear, broken only by his own whimpers.

“Хорошая девочка. Это моя хорошая девочка (Good girl. That’s my good girl). Это слишком быстро? Слишком быстро для тебя? Хочешь, чтобы я замедлился (Is this too fast? Too fast for you? Do you want me to slow down)?”

You responded with a tightly wound, whispery little “Fuuuuuuuck!”

And mystery voice. Bless their innocent soul. They still hadn't left you to your business. It took all the willpower left simmering inside you, to finally muster the brain cell to respond.

“I have to-” A high-pitched hiccup in your breath cut you off. Another, more kittenish squeal threatened to tumble from your lips unprompted, “Hold on! I have to get dressed! I’ll be out in a sec!”

By now, you couldn’t fathom where your pleasure was even coming from. Peter made quite the first impression in the bedroom, drilling your poor pussy to numbness. A powerful wave of blissful vibrations erupted from…somewhere. It ripped through your insides like the speediest of shockwaves. Freeing your tired wrists, Peter lifted your hips. His desperate, horny instincts then took over.

The last wave of your orgasm compressed your walls, locking his dick in a slippery death grip. As you shuddered around him, making a beautiful, sticky mess of his spent hardness; he pulled out.

Caught up in the heat of the moment, his dumb sex brain told him: Dude, cum on those titties. Which he did. Acting fast, he grabbed the thick base of his cock and stroked 'til he burst.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh sh-" He moaned.

With a look of lazy, fucked out awe on your face; you watched your bestie's ruddy dick pulsate. Generously decorating your soft tits in heated, white jets - along with the jacket you wore.

His jacket. And not just any old jacket. But one of his favorite jackets.

“Ебать! Ебать (Fuck! Fuck)!” He panted, swiping fresh cum - Eugh...yuck - from the jacket. His face scrunched in a grimace, “Awwww, man! Goddammit. Figures.”

Sometime later (only three minutes), you laid lazily on your back next to your bestest pal in the whole world; staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars decorating your ceiling. Outside, the evening already drove the sun into darkness. With only a sliver of orange light left in the distance, beyond your open window.

Peter already did the work, taking care of himself and speedily cleaning you up. An overall, blissful numbness pooled in your veins. You sleepily blinked, watching the stars on the ceiling quickly morph into...Peter's face? The confused expression overtaking your features seemed to put things into perspective for him. Like...shit...he really did a number on you, huh?

"You're still comin' over tonight, right?" He asked, prodding your cheek with his pointer finger, "Riiiight? I got a Gameboy waitin' for us and everything, dude."

Your lips slowly parted. But before you could mutter a single, breathless word; Peter delicately patted your cheek. In a blink, he stood to his feet and straightened himself out. Bringing his goggles down over his eyes, shimmying them into place; he threw you a casual salute.

"Awesome possum. Meetcha there."

He vanished out the window, leaving you to lie there on the floor. Naked as the day you were born, albeit bundled up in his jacket. Another thirty seconds passed in post sex-with-a-speedster bliss. 

And then, a shrill ringing dragged you back down to reality. You winced, narrowing your eyes and steadily pushing yourself to your knees. Loose, noodly limbs fumbled for the handset to your phone. It took you a few tries, scrambling to get a hold of it. Clearing your throat, you pressed the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"You ready yet?" Peter asked.

He lazed on the sofa in his (mom's) basement, his Garfield phone resting in his lap like a kitten having a catnap. The vibrant, orange cord curled around his finger as he absentmindedly toyed with it. Dawning a cheeky, dimple grin, Peter popped a candy into his mouth. He bounced a leg in rapid beats.

"You're kidding, right?" You chuckled, mussing your hair, completely overspent.

"Uh, no? Hurry up, will you? Don't forget my jacket. I gotta toss it in the wash. And, oh!" Peter chewed just a touch louder, smacking his lips, "Took your Turkish delights, by the by. So, if you want 'em...eh? Ehhh?" He wiggled his brows.

As you listened to Peter ramble about...whatever the hell; you searched for your panties. Checking the bed, then the floor. They were nowhere to be found. As if they seemingly disappeared, never to be seen again. You sighed, cradling the base of your phone in an arm, the handset nestled between your cheek and shoulder. 

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah? What's up, cutie? You headin' out?"

"Dude, where the hell are my panties?"

No answer. Nothing but an off-hook tone, droned on and on.

[the-massive-simp]

opening genshin for the first time in like three weeks... and before that I hadn't actually played a lot for like a month... wish me luck chat

[the-massive-simp]

Tumblr is odd because you’ll see a mutual post something really profound like “the birds still sing for those who listen” and you see them 5 minutes later saying something like “need to be pegged.grilled cheese style”

[the-massive-simp]

charles xavier blurb

word count: 610

warnings: it's suggestive for sure, some swearing

message from the authors: huh...must have been the wind. it's been a year daddy 😔 back on the grind just needed some time to cook!!!

--

As you contemplate the events of the evening, one leg crossed under you and the other hanging over the edge of the bed, a pair of sharp knocks surprise you. You don't even think before you hop up and open the door until you are immediately met with a pair of familiar lips pressing hard and incessantly upon yours. His hands reach up to pull your face impossibly deeper into him, his thumbs resting on your temples. The only word on your mind is Charles.

Yes, comes his reply, permeating every crevice of your brain. It’s titillating, having his voice sound from so deeply within you. You gasp into his mouth, brow creasing with want. He kisses you back fervently, desperately, guiding you back deeper into the bedroom; this time it was on his terms. 

Charles is the first to break the kiss. Small, shallow pants fan out through his parted lips, barely audible over the rushing in your ears and the rapid drumming in your chest. His cheeks are rosy, closer now to the hue of his flushed lips that purse as he regards you intensely, studying. One hand lifts from where it was cradling the side of your face to ever-so-delicately brush a strand of hair back behind your ear, his gaze flitting across your features until you finally lock eyes. They sparkle even in the dimness of the firelit bedroom. 

He steps away from you suddenly, proceeding back towards the bedroom door that stood wide open. You watch as he swings it shut, taking care to allow neither the squeal of the hinges nor the slam of the door frame to invite any unwanted questions tomorrow at breakfast. Charles turns back to you, considering. He wrings his hands beneath his chin momentarily before slowly approaching you, the typical easiness about him dissipating. He comes to stand in front of you, his eyes looking to you for guidance. 

“Am I okay?” He asks softly, kindly. His fingers gently weave into your hair as his thumb brushes over your cheek. You nod jerkily, struggling to mask the way your body jitters. He raises his eyebrows as if to pose the question once again; he wants certainty, evidence. A man like Charles always does. 

“Yes-,” You suck in a breath, “Yes, of course you are,” you reply earnestly, searching his eyes in the hopes of conveying just how much you want this, want him, to continue. The corners of his lips quirk upwards into a lopsided smile, utterly boyish in nature. Cute. He comes right back into you, hooking a finger under your chin in order to pull you to his lips once more. You do not acquiesce however, tilting your face instead to brush the tip of your nose against his, smiling teasingly. 

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you murmur onto his parted lips as you lose yourself in his eyes. Those same eyes now flit down towards your lips once, twice, before he lowly utters,

“Oh yes they fucking do.”

Your mouths crash together once more, small moans of relief escaping you both as you lick into each other, tongues laving. You swallow his breath before he can gasp for it, both of your lips warm, wet and wanting. You resume your shuffle deeper into the room, reaching for his collar as you go. Before you could start on undoing it, the backs of your knees hit the bed, prompting you to gently fall backwards. Charles then reaches an arm to rest at the side of your head as he climbs on top of you eagerly. You smile into the kiss.

The door remains closed all night.

[the-massive-simp]

professor xavier who treats you like a gentleman should. he holds doors for you, he walks with his hand politely at your lower back, but never quite touches you without permission. he tells you how lovely you look, gives you kind smiles in the halls and always makes sure to say “hello” in the mornings.

professor xavier who likes to drop off books at your door that he thinks you might enjoy, always leaving a little post it on them that says “from charles xx”. he loves to feed your imagination and your mind in general, endeared by the way your eyes light up when he watches you read a particularly interesting passage.

professor xavier who knows exactly how you like your tea or coffee, always kind enough to make a cup for you whenever he’s in the kitchen. he fills his own tea full of sugar, so much so that you’re certain you could stand a spoon up in it. you wonder if that’s what keeps him so sweet.

and then there’s charles.

charles who pins you to the door in his office, his hands holding yours on either side of your head. his palms are pressed to your own, fingers threaded through yours as he kisses you slow and deep. you can taste the sugar from his tea on his tongue, making your head swim.

charles who presses his firm thigh between your own, smirking against your mouth at the way you gasp into his kiss. he doesn’t need to tap into your mind to know that you want this; he can feel you grinding down on his leg, your hips rocking back and forth slightly.

charles who gets a little mouthy, a little patronizing as he watches you squirm. “pretty little thing,” he coos, lips pressing against your throat. “i think you’re getting close.” he knows, of course, that you are. you’ve been desperately grinding against his leg, your own thighs trembling now. when you fall over the edge and gasp out his name, he hums low in his chest. “so gorgeous, darling. look so gorgeous coming like this,” he murmurs.

professor charles xavier knows exactly how to treat you every time, it seems.

[the-massive-simp]

Kinktober Day Two: Scott Summers

Scott Summers x Fem! Reader | Sensory Deprivation |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Sub! Scott, Dom!Reader, Sensory deprivation, p in v, cowgirl Synopsis: Scott Summers, the normally composed and in-control leader of the X-Men, explores his vulnerable side with the reader. WC: 2.4K

| Day One | | Kinktober masterlist |  | Day Three |

The low hum of the bedroom’s ambient light fills the space with a faint glow, casting soft shadows over the sleek furniture. Scott Summers, leader of the X-Men, stands before you, his muscles taut, posture rigid as he shifts from foot to foot. His lips are slightly parted, his breath coming in shallow, almost hesitant exhales, betraying the nerves beneath his usually composed exterior.

Tonight, things are different. Scott isn’t leading a mission, strategizing in the Danger Room, or donning the confident facade of Cyclops. Tonight, he's laid bare — vulnerable, and eager to explore something new under your command.

You stand a few steps away, letting the silence between you stretch for a few more moments, savoring the tension building in the air. In your hand, you hold a black silk blindfold. Soft, smooth, yet imbued with an undeniable sense of control. Scott’s ruby-quartz glasses still sit on his face, the thin barrier separating him from the world — and from you.

“Take them off,” you murmur, voice firm, yet sensual.

His hands instinctively twitch toward his glasses, and for a split second, he hesitates. Trust is something Scott doesn’t give lightly, but in this room, with you, he feels safe enough to surrender. Slowly, he removes the glasses, his eyes closed tightly as though he's afraid of what might happen if they flicker open. He holds the glasses out to you, and you take them, placing them on the nightstand.

“Good boy,” you purr, stepping closer to him. You can feel his breath catch at the praise. You’ve learned over time that even someone as strong, as commanding, as Scott craves approval in moments like these.

You reach up, gently tracing your fingers along his jawline, his sharp features softened by the flickering light. The way his body reacts to your touch — the subtle tightening of his muscles, the sharp intake of breath — sends a shiver of anticipation through you. He’s on edge, and you haven’t even begun yet.

“Tonight, you belong to me,” you whisper, your lips grazing his ear. He visibly shudders, his mouth opening as though to say something, but he quickly presses his lips together, waiting for your instruction.

You bring the silk blindfold to his eyes, sliding the cool fabric over his closed lids. The knot tightens at the back of his head, securing him in darkness, depriving him of his most relied-upon sense. Scott lets out a shaky breath as the blindfold cuts him off from the visual world, leaving him in complete submission to you.

He’s vulnerable now, and you can feel his nervousness mixing with anticipation. He’s always been the one in control — calculating, leading, always aware of his surroundings. But tonight, he’s willingly giving that power to you, and the knowledge of it makes your heart race.

You trail your fingers down his neck, slowly, deliberately, letting your nails graze his skin. His breath hitches again, his body subtly leaning into your touch. You can sense how much he’s fighting to maintain his composure, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

“Relax,” you command softly, your hands sliding down his chest. He obeys, letting out a slow breath, his shoulders easing.

Guiding him backward, you push him gently onto the bed, his knees hitting the edge of the mattress before he sits down. You straddle his hips, pressing your body against his, feeling the tension thrumming through him like a coiled wire ready to snap. Scott’s hands hover by his sides, unsure of where to place them, but you grab his wrists and guide them above his head, securing them in place with the soft restraints you had prepared earlier.

His breathing quickens as he tests the bonds, finding himself completely at your mercy. You lean down, your lips hovering just above his. He tilts his head toward you, seeking the connection, but you pull back, teasing him, enjoying the way his body strains toward yours, desperate for contact.

“Please…” he whispers, his voice low, filled with need. It’s rare to hear Scott beg, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Not yet,” you whisper back, your lips brushing against his ear again, causing him to shudder. “You’ll get what you want when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Your fingers glide down his chest, taking your time, lingering over every ridge of muscle, every sensitive spot you’ve come to know so well. His body arches beneath you, seeking more, but you keep your touch light, tantalizing, never giving him what he truly craves. The blindfold heightens his sensitivity, every brush of your fingers sending jolts of pleasure through him.

You shift slightly, letting your nails drag down his torso, and his breath comes out in a sharp gasp. The control you have over him, the way he reacts to every touch, is intoxicating. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his need growing with every passing second, but you aren’t ready to let him have what he wants just yet.

You lean down, your lips ghosting over his neck before you kiss the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He tilts his head to the side, exposing more of himself to you, and you take full advantage, letting your teeth graze the skin there, a mixture of pleasure and pain that makes him moan softly.

“Do you like that, baby?” you ask, your voice low, sultry.

“Yes…” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hips shift beneath you, the restrained movement betraying his desperation.

“Good. Because I plan on doing much more,” you purr, your hand sliding further down his body, teasing the edge of his waistband. You can feel his body tense beneath your fingers, anticipation crackling in the air between you.

You lean down, your mouth near his ear once more, your voice a seductive whisper. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," he replies without hesitation, his voice shaky but sincere.

You smile wickedly, the power of his trust feeding into the delicious tension building between you. The air in the room feels charged, thick with anticipation as you draw back just slightly, allowing the absence of your touch to drive him wild for a moment longer.

“Good.” Your voice is low, husky, filled with the promise of what’s to come. Scott’s chest rises and falls more quickly now, the shallow rhythm of his breathing betraying how close he is to unraveling.

You let your fingers glide down the center of his chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. The curve of your palm trails lower, tracing the line of his hip bone before dipping beneath the waistband of his pants. The rough sound of the fabric brushing against his skin as you tug them down makes his entire body tense. He’s completely exposed to you now, fully vulnerable, restrained, blindfolded — yet utterly consumed by the anticipation of your next move.

You bite your lip, letting your gaze roam over his body, admiring the way his muscles twitch with each slow stroke of your fingers along his thighs. The cool air in the room contrasts with the heat rolling off him in waves. His arousal is painfully obvious, his need evident in every strained gasp, every subtle arch of his hips.

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, your voice dark, as you graze your fingers lightly over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, so close to where he wants you most, but not quite giving in.

“Feels… god, feels so good,” he breathes out, voice hoarse with need. You can hear the strain, the desire cracking through his usual composure. His head tilts back, lips parting as he tries to control his breath, but it’s futile. He’s fully at your mercy.

You lean down, your lips brushing against the tender skin just above his waistband, teasing him, tasting the salt of his skin as you kiss a slow path up his abdomen. Every press of your lips, every flick of your tongue makes his body twitch beneath you, his hands pulling uselessly against the restraints as he tries to reach for you. But he can’t, and you know he loves that.

His breathing is ragged, his body trembling beneath you as you move higher, hovering over him with a dangerous smile. “You’re shaking, Scott,” you whisper against his chest, nipping gently at his skin. “Are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes,” he groans, the single word barely making it past his lips as his head falls back against the pillow. “I need you… Please.”

The sound of his begging sends a wave of heat straight through you, making you ache with the desire to finally give him what he’s craving. But not yet. Not until you’ve wrung every last ounce of control from him.

You sit up, just enough to position yourself over him, pressing your body against his. He inhales sharply, his muscles tensing again, a low groan escaping his throat as your heat aligns with his. Even through the thin fabric separating you from him, the contact is electric. His hips buck upward instinctively, seeking more, but you keep your hips firmly pressed down, denying him the satisfaction.

“Not so fast,” you purr, rolling your hips slightly, grinding against him in a slow, teasing rhythm. His breath comes in harsh gasps, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, to not push for more.

The blindfold has left him fully immersed in sensation, every touch of yours amplified, every moment of delay driving him further to the edge. He’s at your mercy, trapped between the pleasure you’re giving him and the agony of having to wait.

“Please…” The word comes out more desperate this time, his voice broken with need. His body arches beneath you, hips straining upward, seeking friction, release — anything.

You smile, finally satisfied with how far you’ve pushed him, and lean down again, pressing your lips to his in a fierce, hungry kiss. His mouth opens eagerly under yours, and for a brief moment, you let him feel the full intensity of your desire. The kiss is rough, heated, filled with all the pent-up tension between you, and his groan of relief sends a rush of heat through you.

With a quick movement, you shift, freeing yourself of the last remaining barriers between you and him. His body goes rigid beneath you as you position yourself over him, the tip of him pressing against your slick heat, and you pause for just a heartbeat, savoring the moment before you sink down onto him.

The feeling is overwhelming, the heat, the stretch, the way his body fills you perfectly. You let out a low moan, your nails digging into his chest as you take him fully inside you. Scott’s reaction is immediate — his body jerks beneath you, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat, his hips bucking upward to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, barely able to contain himself as you begin to move. The pace is slow at first, deliberately torturous, your hips rolling against his in a slow, sensuous rhythm that has him shaking beneath you.

You keep your hands planted firmly on his chest, feeling the way his muscles clench and flex under your touch, as you ride him with agonizing slowness. Every roll of your hips, every subtle shift of your body sends sparks of pleasure shooting through both of you, the tension in the air building with every second.

Scott is completely lost to you now, the sounds spilling from his lips raw and desperate. His hands flex above his head, still bound, unable to touch you, and you can see how much it’s driving him wild. He’s always been so in control, so composed — but here, under your command, he’s unraveling.

You pick up the pace, moving faster now, riding him harder as your own need begins to take over. The slick sound of your bodies moving together, the way he fills you so completely, the deep groans and gasps escaping from his lips — it’s almost too much. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil tightening, ready to snap.

Scott’s breathing is erratic now, his body trembling beneath you as he strains against the restraints, his hips driving upward to meet your every thrust. “I… I’m close,” he gasps, his voice thick with pleasure, barely able to get the words out as he teeters on the edge.

“Not yet,” you whisper, your voice tight with the effort to hold back your own release. “You’re going to wait.”

His groan of frustration sends a fresh wave of heat through you, but you don’t relent. You ride him harder, faster, pushing both of you to the brink, your nails digging into his skin as you lose yourself in the sensation of him inside you. The tension is unbearable now, the pleasure overwhelming, and you know you can’t hold out much longer.

“Now,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper as you finally give him permission. “Come for me, Scott.”

The moment the words leave your lips, his body explodes beneath you. He lets out a raw, guttural moan as his release overtakes him, his hips jerking upward uncontrollably as he pulses inside you.  The feeling of him coming undone beneath you, the raw power of his climax, sends you over the edge with him. You cry out, your body shuddering as your climax crashes over you in waves, as you ride him through the final moments of ecstasy.

For a few moments, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, both of you spent, trembling, and utterly satisfied. You collapse onto his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath you as you come down from the high.

Slowly, you reach up to untie his wrists, gently rubbing the red marks left by the restraints. Scott pulls the blindfold off,  his unshielded eyes remain closed as he cautiously adjusts to the shift in sensation.

“Here,” you whisper, carefully guiding the glasses back into his hands, watching as his fingers curl around the frames, holding them with the ease of routine.

Scott slips them on, and when his eyes finally open, the familiar barrier is back between him and the world — but not between him and you. His gaze, even shielded behind the lenses, is filled with gratitude and an intimacy that goes far deeper than words. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you again, holding you tightly as your bodies melt together in the warm, quiet aftermath.

“You know how to take care of me,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Always,” you reply, resting your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. In this moment, the trust between you feels unbreakable, the bond deeper than any physical connection could ever be.

Taglist: @lovemaildumpsterfire @nyxoneiros @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @pinkanonwriting

[the-massive-simp]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[the-massive-simp]

That one time you thought Charles wasn't interested

young!Charles Xavier (Wheelchair) x f!Reader

TW: very dirty smutty telepathy? [18+ MDNI]

You lie in bed, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, wishing desperately for sleep. It’s impossible. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the sheets tangled around you like an accusation. Why can’t you let this go? But you know why. It’s because you can’t stop replaying the evening over and over in your head, trying to decide if it was a date with Charles or not.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the kind of place with candlelit tables and red velvet booths. You remember how he looked across the table, his blue eyes catching the light and making your heart do somersaults. Everything about the evening felt like a date—the way he touched your hand on the table, the way he complimented your outfit, the way his smile made you feel like the only person in the room. And yet...

And yet, there was something maddeningly friendly about it all. You think of the way he talked, his voice warm and engaging, making you laugh with stories from his university days. How he managed to weave intellectual debates with flirtatious undertones. But he never crossed that line, never gave you any real indication that it was more than just a friendly dinner.

You think about the end of the evening, on your way back to your room in the mansion, his wheelchair gliding silently over the polished floors. He paused, smiled that devastating smile, and said goodnight. And that was it. No kiss, no hint of something more. Just goodnight. It left you baffled, standing there like an idiot in the hallway.

Maybe you misread everything. Maybe you wanted it to be a date so badly that you imagined the connection. You were so sure he liked you, the way he always seemed to find reasons to spend time together, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long. But now you’re not so sure. You might have built it all up in your head.

You roll over, punching the pillow in frustration. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. Why can’t he just be clear about what he wants? You felt so certain tonight, convinced that he’d make a move, that he’d finally show you that this was more than just friendship. But as the dinner stretched on, you started to realize that maybe he doesn’t see you that way at all. The thought gnaws at you.

And now here you are, alone in the dark, feeling foolish and sad. The mansion is quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets as you shift. You sigh, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling.

You’re wrong. The words echo in your mind, startling you so much that you bolt upright in bed. There’s no mistaking that voice, its familiar warmth and playful tone. 

Charles. You glance around the room, half expecting to see him there, but of course, he’s not. He’s speaking to you telepathically, and you feel a rush of emotions—surprise, hope, and then a sharp flare of anger. How long has he been listening?

Get out of my head, Charles. You practically shout in your head, accusing him of listening in. There’s a pause, and you can almost picture his amused expression before he responds, apologizing for the intrusion. 

Apologies, darling. I didn’t want to pry. You don’t buy it for a second, and he chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind.

You see in your mind how he leans back in his chair, folding his hands nervously in his lap. I haven't dated in years, he admits, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity. 

Not since before … the accident. He lets out a small, awkward chuckle. 

I'm out of practice. I wanted to do it right, you know? Without relying on my telepathy to read your mind. He sounds so vulnerable. 

But I never did that before, and I felt… insecure. You cross your arms.

You? insecure? you retort in your mind, skepticism lacing your words.

You felt him shifting nervously. 

When I was younger, he confesses, I used my telepathy to figure out the perfect moment to make a move. His voice was tinged with regret and he pauses waiting for your reaction but continues when you stay silent. I realize now that was wrong, and I didn't want to repeat that mistake with you. I wanted everything to be perfect, he continued, but it just made me so self-conscious that I froze and didn't make a move at all. His earnest tone hung in your head, but despite his sincerity, a prickle of irritation remained, tightening your chest.

His words are earnest, and you want to believe him.

"Why are you in my head now?" you demand out lout, your voice tinged with frustration. "If you know it’s wrong." 

There's a pause.

You’re about to repeat the question, thinking he’s ignoring you, when you sense something else, a shift in his demeanor. 

You feel it then, a ghostly sensation brushing against your arm. It’s soft at first, like the lightest touch of a hand, and it travels slowly up to your neck. You shiver and it makes your skin tingle and your heart race. You know it’s him, using his telepathy in a way you’ve never experienced before, trying to avoid to answer your question, and it’s working. 

The feeling is so real, so immediate, that you can’t help the goosebumps that rise along your skin. You lie back on the bed, letting the sensation wash over you, every nerve alive with excitement. Charles’s voice is in your mind again, amused and tender, You like that. You can barely think straight, but you manage to send back a breathless Yes.

He admits, I've been doing this for weeks now, listening to your dreams before I go to sleep. It's become my nightly ritual, I couldn’t stop myself.

The confession makes you blush furiously, and you respond, I don’t know if I like that. 

He chuckles softly, I know.

You gather the courage and ask, Did you listen even when I… you know? There's a moment of silence. Then his voice returns, warm and unashamed. 

I did, he admits, always wishing I could be there to touch you myself.

His honesty takes your breath away, and you’re caught between feeling exposed and incredibly turned on. You didn’t expect this, this boldness from him after the way he acted tonight. 

The telepathic touch grows more insistent, more daring, and you arch into it, craving more. You feel him trail down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in its wake. You can hardly stand it, the delicious tension building inside you, the intimacy of knowing it’s Charles, that he’s finally showing you how much he wants you.

Can you feel it? Charles's voice echoe in your mind, his telepathic presence growing stronger and more insistent. If I were there, if I weren't … like this, I'd show you exactly what I want. I'd start with your lips, he continues, tasting you until you couldn't think of anything else but me. The sensations accompany his words and your lips tingle, making you gasp. 

You feel the ghost of his kisses trailing down your neck, and you arch into the sensation. I've never felt anything like this, you whisper telepathically, losing yourself in him. I didn’t know you could do this.

Charles's telepathic touch shifts to your breasts, and you moan. 

Feel that? Those are bites on your beautiful breasts, he teases, his voice low and intimate. I'd suck and tease those pretty peaks, leave you breathless and begging for more. 

Beneath your nightshirt, you feel a surge of sensation as your nipples harden with an intensity that almost stings, straining against the fabric, demanding attention. You can’t help but touch them with your fingertips.

You pant. "Charles, please,” you murmur, but he wasn't finished.

Maybe I'll ask Hank for the serum again and when I have my body back I can fuck you like you want me to, he told you, his words bold and raw. 

Your face turns red as he throws your own fantasies back at you. "Charles," you breathed, overwhelmed but craving more.

The sensations grow more intense, more consuming, and you feel telepathically compelled to raise your arms above your head. You let him, let the invisible restraints hold you in place, trusting him completely. You feel pressure on your throat then, as if a hand is wrapped around it, and the thrill of it nearly sends you over the edge.

He’s dominating you with his mind, with his power, and he asks if you still think he doesn’t want you. 

Do you still think I don't want you? The question was playful, yet carried an edge of challenge. 

Phantom sensations grip your core, switching between relentless, tantalizing strokes on your clit and bold lashes that circled with purpose. You feel something tighting inside you, each touch igniting a fire of need and desire, leaving you breathless and craving more with every ghostly caress.

Well? He asks again.

But you can’t answer, can’t form words, only moan as the pleasure built and built, bringing you ever closer to that exquisite peak.

When you finally climax, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You see stars, bright and dazzling, and Charles’s smirking face in your mind, as if he’s right there with you. You’re breathless, floating.

As you calm down, your thoughts are a mixture of orgasmic bliss and irritation. It takes awhile but when you trust your voice again, you need to say it.

You know, you say gently, we could talk about how you feel about the wheelchair. I bet we could have fun without the serum, withouth mindblowing telepathic sex. Your voice is sincere, filled with genuine care. I just want you to know that I like you, just the way you are.

He pauses, and for a moment, you worry that your words have pushed him away. But then he speaks, his voice soft. I hope that one day I'll find the courage, he admits, but until then, let’s try to perfect this method, huh?

His promise makes you tingle again, and you can't help but smile.

[the-massive-simp]

professor xavier who treats you like a gentleman should. he holds doors for you, he walks with his hand politely at your lower back, but never quite touches you without permission. he tells you how lovely you look, gives you kind smiles in the halls and always makes sure to say “hello” in the mornings.

professor xavier who likes to drop off books at your door that he thinks you might enjoy, always leaving a little post it on them that says “from charles xx”. he loves to feed your imagination and your mind in general, endeared by the way your eyes light up when he watches you read a particularly interesting passage.

professor xavier who knows exactly how you like your tea or coffee, always kind enough to make a cup for you whenever he’s in the kitchen. he fills his own tea full of sugar, so much so that you’re certain you could stand a spoon up in it. you wonder if that’s what keeps him so sweet.

and then there’s charles.

charles who pins you to the door in his office, his hands holding yours on either side of your head. his palms are pressed to your own, fingers threaded through yours as he kisses you slow and deep. you can taste the sugar from his tea on his tongue, making your head swim.

charles who presses his firm thigh between your own, smirking against your mouth at the way you gasp into his kiss. he doesn’t need to tap into your mind to know that you want this; he can feel you grinding down on his leg, your hips rocking back and forth slightly.

charles who gets a little mouthy, a little patronizing as he watches you squirm. “pretty little thing,” he coos, lips pressing against your throat. “i think you’re getting close.” he knows, of course, that you are. you’ve been desperately grinding against his leg, your own thighs trembling now. when you fall over the edge and gasp out his name, he hums low in his chest. “so gorgeous, darling. look so gorgeous coming like this,” he murmurs.

professor charles xavier knows exactly how to treat you every time, it seems.

[the-massive-simp]

They back from Madagascar I guess