#charlie mayhew x y/n

[fear-is-truth]

† 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — charlie mayhew x f!reader. | mdni

tags: mature content・mentions of religion・angst・flashbacks of smut・fem!reader・self-inflicted flagellation・blood・not proofread / wc: 1158

⟡ a/n: sorry if there are any grammatical errors or mistakes. english is not my first language

father charlie mayhew sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the white walls of his private chamber closing in around him. the small space was sparse, almost ascetic, with only a few religious artifacts cluttering the windowsill. the emptiness mirrored the discipline he tried to embody—from the polished metal sink in the corner to the stiff, neatly made bed beneath him. everything in his life was governed by order, by control—everything except you.

he glanced toward the tiny window where rain trickled down the glass, his chest tightening with a dull throb. leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing into his temples as if he could will you away like a migraine.

but you were always there.

your fingers clawed at the buttons on his collar, desperate and needy—tugging him closer as he struggled to cling to any vestige of control he possessed. plushy lips brushed the edge of his neck, and he could hear the slight tremor in your breathing. “charlie,” you pleaded. not “father” this time. you had stripped him of that sacred title, and reduced him to a man in your arms—a sinner. your body pressed against him, warmth seeped through the fabric of his robes into his bones, hands traveling down the line of his chest, and it was at that point when he realised… he didn’t give a damn about sin or salvation.

rising to his feet, he stripped off his cassock, letting it slip past his shoulders before pooling on the floor. cool air bit against his skin, the bruises and scars on his back crisscrossed the pale skin in a web of guilt. charlie didn’t dare look in the mirror, couldn’t stand to see the evidence of his weakness. instead he knelt down and stared at the cat o’ nine tails resting on the bed before him, its nine strands splayed like serpents awaiting to strike. the handle was a rough wooden club, and as he gripped it tightly, his fingers brushed the frayed ends of the ropes, already darkened with blood and sweat from last night’s penance. he rearranged the nine strands carefully, spreading them out methodically before each lash.

he began to ease himself inside you, the tightness and warmth making him groan into the crook of your neck. he paused briefly, allowing you to place your hands on his shoulders, before fully sheathing himself, dragging out a broken moan from your lips. then he curled an arm around your waist, slowly withdrawing his hips, before thrusting inside you again.

he slammed the whip across his back, the sharp crack echoing through the small room. the nine strands bit into his skin like the nails that had once driven into his saviour’s flesh. pain was instantaneous, cutting through the haze of memory. he sucked in a breath as the second strike followed, then a third.

the heat of your skin burned under his fingertips, the sheets had tangled around your legs in a twisted mess of linen and heat, as you arched beneath him, crying out his name—charlie—over and over, like a prayer. his hand tightened on your waist, guiding your hips against his, guilt warring with the heady pleasure that coursed through him with every deep thrust. he pressed you into the mattress, lips tracing the column of your throat as your thighs clenched around his waist.

charlie’s grip faltered, his body hunching forward as he gasped for air. he could feel blood dripping down his back, onto the floor, but he didn’t care. he deserved this. he needed this.

the punishment was supposed to cleanse him. it was supposed to scourge away the sin. (it never worked, not really.)

he laid the whip down, trembling as he reached out to rearrange the strands, spreading them evenly across the bed before lifting it again. his hands shook as he braced himself for the next blow, muscles tensing as if to ward off the pain he knew was coming.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice cracking as his body moved against yours, the sudden clench of your walls leaving him dizzy. the sheets were a tangled mess, your hands clutching at them. but it hadn’t been the sheets you clung to in the end—it had been him.

with a swift motion, he brought the whip down again. the impact sent a shockwave of agony through his body, his knees buckling slightly under the force. a guttural sob tore through his chest. fresh welts overlapped the scars from the previous nights, the pain melding together into one throbbing, pulsing reminder of his weakness.

(charlie mayhew was a weak, pathetic man.)

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmured as your nails scraped along his back, leaving faint red marks in their wake. his hips rutted into yours with a rhythm that had made him forget who he was. hand slid beneath the sheets, fingers digging into your flesh before he buried himself deep inside you. you let out a strangled moan, biting down on your lip as your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and it took everything in him not to cry out in response, to keep his own sinful need locked behind his clenched teeth.

the pain was nearly unbearable now, his skin raw and bleeding from the repeated lashes. but still, he struck again, his eyes squeezing shut against the images of you.

(the memory of you writhing beneath him, the sheets twisted around your bodies as his hips rolled into yours, was burned into his soul.)

agony built to a crescendo, the sharp sting of the rope tearing at his flesh, but it still wasn’t enough. it was never enough. chest heaving, he let the whip fall from his hands and clutched the edge of the bed for support. his back was a mess of blood, bruises and torn skin, but the pain in his back was a dull throb compared to the ache in his chest.

you had told him, in the quiet of your shared sin, that you loved him. he hadn’t responded. he couldn’t. because if he had said it back, it would have made everything worse. he couldn’t love you—not the way you wanted him to. not the way he already did.

charlie ran a hand through his hair, slick with sweat, staring blankly at the white walls that had seen too many nights like this one.

he didn’t know how many more nights like this he could endure. how many more times he could sit on the edge of his bed, flogging himself for the pleasure he found in your arms. how many more lashes it would take to absolve him of the sin of loving you.

you were worth every drop of blood, every sting of the rope. you were his temptation, his punishment, and his salvation all at once. he would willingly suffer for you, again and again.

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[greengoblinswifey]

Super Eater—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— nicholas loves eating your pussy, anywhere and anytime. based on this request.

warnings— oral(f receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, pussy worshiping.

a/n—the title is actually sending me LMFAOAOA. working on the requests slowly but surely <3

Nicholas had a devotion to your pleasure that was almost relentless. Every so often, he’d give you this look—a mix of awe and pure need, and you’d know exactly what he wanted, to eat you out. It didn’t matter where you were; he was completely undeterred by anything. He did not care. All he cared about was his tongue in your pussy.

One night, the two of you were driving back from a date, winding down a quiet road surrounded by trees. Without warning, Nicholas pulled over, his face determined and eyes gleaming. “Nick, what are you doing?” you asked, your laughter mingling with excitement.

He gave a sheepish grin before his voice dropped to a murmur, filled with that familiar intensity. “You know I can’t wait, I need to taste you now.” The night proceeded with your legs in the air in the backseat of his car, and him not caring about the slight uncomfortable position he was in as his tongue sucked on your clit.

Then there was that afternoon while out shopping. The two of you had barely stepped into a dressing room when Nicholas gave you a look that you recognized all too well. “We’re in public,” you whispered, but he only shook his head with a playful smile.

“No one will hear,” he reassured, already leaning in. “I just need to show you how much I love eating your pussy.”

At a family gathering, Nicholas found a chance to slip away with you upstairs, where he gently pulled you into an empty bathroom. You let out an incredulous laugh, whispering, “This is not the place.” But he just gazed at you, completely unbothered, his cheeks flushed with his usual sweetness yet edged with that fierce determination.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, his voice reverent. “I need to feel you cum on my tongue.”

As usual, you gave in to his need and ended up with your own panties in your mouth as Nicholas lapped at your juices. Your taste was better than anything his family had cooked that evening.

Another time, the two of you were at Cooper Koch’s rooftop party. The music thumped in the background, people mingling just outside the stairwell where you both slipped away. He had that look again, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled you close. “Here? Seriously?”

With a soft, unbothered grin, he whispered, “I just need a few minutes to eat you out baby, you drive me insane.”

After each of these spontaneous moments, you couldn’t help but ask him. “Nick, I don’t get it. You love doing this more than anything. Why?”

He chuckled, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks, before looking at you with complete sincerity. “I don’t know if I can put it all into words. It’s fucking everything about you,” he said, voice reverent, “the way you smell, the way you taste, I love watching you lose yourself, how you get all squirmish.” His voice softened even more, gaze affectionate yet intense. “I just want to make love to you like this. Make love to your pussy, show you how much I fucking love it. It’s about you and making you feel good, that’s all I fucking need.

His words though so dirty, left you feeling adored, with no doubt of just how deeply he cared about your pleasure. He absolutely worshiped you, especially your pussy. He always believed women when they would talk about the power of the pussy due to how much power yours had over him. It was like it was tethered to him, like it called out to him. Like it craved his skillful tongue the way he craved to taste and savor it too.

One night, a particular premiere you attended was packed, the energy high, and the atmosphere electric. You and Nicholas had just snuck into the bathroom for a quick breather when he turned to you, eyes filled with a familiar look of lust.

“Nicholas, no,” you whispered, laughing softly as he stepped closer, his hands wrapping around your waist. “We can’t, not here.”

“I need to,” he murmured, almost pleading, voice husky and low as he licked his lips. “Please, I can’t wait. I know you’re aching to have my mouth on that clit.” His lips ghosted along your jaw, and before you could say no again, you felt yourself giving in.

The way he touched you was always more than gentle—it was worshipful, his mouth leaving you breathless and gripping onto him for support as he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world. His skillful movements had a way of knowing exactly what you needed, drawing out every little sound until you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally left the bathroom, both of you were trying not to laugh, cheeks flushed and pulses racing. You caught a knowing smile from Cooper waiting outside who must have heard, and Nicholas just pulled you close, grinning as you both walked away, hands intertwined.

“That was risky,” you said, breathless and still tingling.

He just smiled, leaning close to whisper, “Worth it. That pretty fucking pussy is worth every second of it.”

He loved when you were in the comfort of your own home, how he could bend you over anywhere, and anytime—not that he couldn’t and didn’t do the same thing when you were out. It’s just that being at home made him able to savor you even more. There was no one to interrupt, no reason to look over his shoulder, no reason to make it quick though still savoring your taste but faster as to not raise suspicion.

If you were in the kitchen making something in those tiny little booty shorts, your coils free and just one of his t shirts draped over you, he’d hike it up, pulling down your little shorts and burying his face in your plump ass, his tongue darting to lick your pussy from the back. You’d be standing up convulsing, your hand gripping the counter as he knelt down behind you, absolutely ravishing you like a man possessed.

He would not stop until your legs turned to jelly and you’d fall to your knees, but he was relentless.

On this particular night, something feral awakened inside him. He was always feral but there was something different. Maybe it had to do with you being out of the country with your girls for the week and not having any physical contact. Whatever it was, it had Nicholas worked up the moment you left and the moment you called him to pick you up from the airport.

He hugged you tightly, placing your bags in the trunk and you immediately noticed that familiar glint in his eye. You sighed internally, knowing this would probably lead to a session on the side of the road but you were shocked when he just drove straight home. Though, his hand remained on your thigh the entire drive, moving to your clothed pussy and rubbing periodically.

“Fucking hell you tortured me,” he began, “one whole fucking week without your pussy in my mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, staring out the window as you pulled into the driveway, not knowing just how serious and feral he was.

You barely finished your long, relaxing bath when Nicholas appeared, sweeping you into his arms before you could even catch your breath. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and needy, his hands trailing over your still damp skin as he pulled you close.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I missed your taste, your scent, the way you’d writhe under my touch, scream my name, fucking the everything. I need that pussy, now.”

His intensity left you breathless, and before you knew it, he was leading you toward the bed. “Sit on face,”he whispered, eyes dark with anticipation. “Let me show you just how much I worship this pussy.”

You felt a shiver run through you as you settled above him, and he looked up at you with a grin, his hands holding you close as he murmured, “Perfect.” His movements were filled with a fierce, passionate need, each touch and kiss a reminder of how much he’d missed you, his hands steadying you while he worshiped every inch.

The feeling was like ecstasy, you were high in the clouds from the way he lapped at your juices, his tongue flat against your pussy then curling and flicking exactly where you needed it.

His little moans of content had you shivering and holding on to the bed frame for support.

You gasped, overwhelmed by his intensity, and he looked up, grinning as he said, “Don’t hold back, I want it all.”

You couldn’t hold back if you wanted to, his tongue was practically penetrating your hole as he shoved it inside, sucking and licking everything that came out of you.

“I love this pussy, you’re amazing, everything about you,” he groaned.

Your cries grew louder and more desperate, each time you felt like you were on the edge, he’d slow down his movements.

“This pussy is heaven, I’d die if I couldn’t have my mouth on it.”

“God, mm- this fucking pussy has me in a chokehold.”

“So tight, you’re just clenching around my tongue.”

“You’re so perfect, this pussy is perfect in every single way.”

“I could have you on top of me for the rest of eternity.”

“Grind on my face, rub your pussy all over my face, give it to me baby.”

His words had you sobbing in pleasure, and he kept you on edge so you could get even more sloppy and needy for him. Your pussy practically soaked his mouth and was dripping down his chin.

“Please Nick, I really need to cum,” you pleaded.

“Just a bit more baby, I need to have you soak me a little bit more.”

Nicholas had you on the edge for what felt like forever, teasing and taking his time, his mouth moving over your pussy with a focus that made every nerve in your body come alive. He looked up at you now and then, that glint in his eye as he paused just when you were about to fall over the edge, whispering praises and reassurances.

“Fuck, I’d do anything for you, you have me under your spell,” he murmured, his voice warm and low, sending another shiver through you. “So perfect for me, every single part of you.”

Every time you felt yourself getting closer, his pace would change, drawing you back just enough to keep you in a state of dizzy anticipation. The way he looked at you, like you were all he ever wanted, made you melt as he made love to your pussy and worshiped you.

Finally, when he decided you’d had enough, he held you steady and whispered, “Let go for me baby, I want you to squirt all over my face, I’ve got you.”

At his words, the dam inside you finally broke, and the release was overwhelming. You trembled beneath his touch, feeling completely lost in the intensity of it as he held you, anchoring you through every moment. You soaked him, your orgasm spraying from you as his face and chest was drenched in your juices. His grin, proud and gentle, was the last thing you saw as he lifted you from on top of him lay you down and kissed you softly, murmuring, “Perfect. My perfect girl.”

[babygorewhore]

Am I making you feel sick?

Charlie Mayhew x fem reader one shot.

When Father Charlie Mayhew sees you, a magnetic young woman who isn’t the typical Catholic, his sinful nature only grows.

Thank you so much to @cxrrodedcoffin for helping me brain storm and to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me with the picture!

Warnings! Perv! Charlie. Panty stealing, male masturbation, self whipping, obsessive behavior, mild talks of violence, blasphemy, male receiving oral, choking, pussy slapping, degrading, spitting, female recieving oral, unprotected sex, face slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms!

The markings on Charlie’s back were a humbling reminder of his sin. He focused his efforts onto appearing normal. A regular service. A way to give the people encouragement, guidance and a spiritual feast. But keeping his composure while you played with the fringes of your skirt, the curves of your thighs exposed as you crossed your ankles. That proved to be a significant challenge.

You were a regular member of the church. Your attendance isolated. Your presence came after the death of your grandparents a few months prior.

He remembered first seeing you. As if a halo shined above your head as you confidently strode into the building. The click of your platform shoes echoed across the floor as you plopped onto a seat. Charlie nearly stumbled over his sermon when you met eyes that day. Your gaze was focused. Made up eyes with a mixture of curiosity and rebellion.

Above your heart, you wore a silver cross. The muscles in your neck flexing as you chew a piece of bubble gum. Beautiful wasn’t fitting enough to describe you. Charlie was enchanted by the way you tried to follow along in your Bible but you seemed to be a step behind.

His cock started to throb when you would separate your legs, exposing the black lace material that covered your pussy. After the third time he saw you, Charlie approached you with a confident stride. He hoped it was enough to cover the urge to wince at his wounds. It’s what he deserved after his fist jerked himself off the previous nights.

He readied himself to speak but you looked him up and down with a slight smirk.

“Yeah?” You ran the tip of your tongue along the edges of your teeth and Charlie cleared his throat.

“God looks favorably on those who are devout to him. And I know he looks down on you with deep appreciation.” He was used to his charm working immediately. Charlie prepared for flirtation in return, a giggle or even batting eyelashes but instead you snorted with a flick of your hair.

“Duh. That’s why I come here. I know God loves me otherwise I wouldn’t be alive.” He opened his mouth to question what you meant but you spun on your heels and walked away.

Charlie was self admittedly obsessed with you. He found every excuse imaginable to walk by your area. He found you online. His fingers shook and his forearm was sore from busting a load when he looked at your photos.

But his deep desire for you only grew when he ran into you at the diner. You drank a milkshake and nibbled on the remainder of your fries. When you saw him, you waved him over. Charlie plastered on a smile and spoke your name with a feign politeness.

“Can you be a good little priest and watch my purse?” You asked him and he swallowed. He nodded as you walked to the near restroom.

Charlie understood fully it was juvenile to search your purse but when his fingers fell on the material of lace, an overwhelming feeling of excitement came. He pocketed the pair of panties and gained his strength when you returned.

His life before turning to the cloth consisted of perverse acts and they lingered within him like a poison. You were possessing his every thought just like corrupted angels that turned away from God. Charlie was tired of his own rough hand. One that inflicted regular discipline. One that desperately wanted to touch you.

He walked around the church during nightfall. Kneeling before the candles and begging for any assistance. For strength to resist. But it was too much. So much so, that Father Charlie began stealing more and more things. A lipgloss tube. Chains. A secondary fragrance. Anything that could bring him closer to you.

Charlie concluded and pried himself out of the intoxication of the image of being between your legs.

“Take solace in the congregation!” He cried out, holding his hands up. “Lean onto God for your salvation against this treachery!” Charlie quieted.

The service concluded and the rainfall began. Numbers dwindled except you. His breathing trembled as he strode to you. “Ah, is your mind filled with worry?” He tucked his hands behind his back. You popped your hip and stared at the wood intricacies.

“I can’t go home. There was a leak in my apartment ceiling. I’m about to phone a friend so I can stay with him while it’s being fixed.” You adjusted your ring and Charlie clenched his fists.

The mention of another male made him feel nearly nauseous. Charlie clicked his jaw and raised his eyebrows. “You can have sanctuary here. We have rooms-“

“God, why do you talk like that?” You turned to face him and he was taken aback by your aggressive tone. “You’re my age. And you act like you’re Jesus!”

You gripped his collar suddenly and Charlie let out a gasp. Your breath smelled like strawberries. The shine to your lips with a hint of glitter. “Get over yourself, Father. Just because you wear this ridiculous outfit, doesn’t mean you’re anything less than a little boy.”

Every word you spoke was laced with a condescending bite. You let him go but Charlie didn’t step back. His eyes kept falling to the wicked mouth giving him a slew of insults that were a muffle in his ears.

“Anyway. I keep trying to call him but there’s barely any service in here.” You roll your eyes and Charlie musters his confidence back.

“You can stay here tonight. Give him a call in the morning. I can promise you safety here.” His voice was barely above a whisper. You seemed to contemplate it for a moment. Your stare narrowed before a minimal softness came.

“Well. I guess I can spare one night.”

Charlie led you in silence to his room. Every footstep was heavy. The weight of his internal battle tormenting him. He stood in silence as your fingers traced the walls, lingering on the hung cross and twirled the quilt on his bed.

You sat down, resting your palms on your knees and met his look.

“How long have you been catholic?” The question was genuine and his intrigue increased as you chuckled. You examined your nails with a lilting response.

“Not long. Grew up around the church but left when I was eighteen. Swore it off until these super hot guys in a band attacked me,” His jaw dropped and rage ignited his chest. “But I happened to have my Cross. Guess you could call it Divine intervention. I stabbed the man with it in the eye. Maced the other one. Third dude ran away.”

You completed the sentence with a giggle. “I promised God that if he got me out, I’d join the church. And I keep my word.” You pressed your hands together in prayer.

Charlie lost control of his body and he moved towards you. He set his large hands on your shoulders, squeezing your muscles and he bent down. “How could anyone want to hurt you?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He pressed a finger against your lips and you pulled it into your mouth. Charlie grunted and removed it.

You sank down on the floor, unbuckling his pants with a practiced ease. Peering at him, you smiled and hooked your finger in his trousers.

His size and girth made your mouth water. You allowed your lips to part, drool pooling down your tongue that stuck out. You removed his boxers, Charlie’s dick twitching as you slapped the tip against your tongue. You licked his length, dragging motions that made his vision go white.

When you took him in your mouth, moving your neck to deepthroat, he moaned and his hand set on your head. Charlie pumped your skull, thrusting but you pulled off. Messily sucking his balls and he started convulsing.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He pulled the strings. He held the reins and control was his.

A part of him unlocked, one that he tried to put away. Charlie growled and yanked you off his shaft. Laughter escaped you, as you still believed you called the shots.

“Oh my god! You were about to cream down my throat and I only did it for a minute or two.” He stood there as you dug the pair of stolen panties from his pocket.

“Did you really think I was that stupid? You think I don’t know a fucking pervert when I see them?” You flicked them at his face and Charlie’s cheeks heated. “You’re disgusting.”

He reached and gripped your jaw. Charlie backed you up until you were slammed on the bed, his knee between your thighs as his cock pulsed. He wrapped that same hand around your throat, squeezing until you were staring at him with wide eyes.

“I am going to ruin you and that sweet little pussy you flash at me. You think this is a goddamn joke?” His voice was rasped with lust and a sickness he caught the moment he saw you.

Charlie let go of your throat and watched you cough. He tore away your panties, shredding off the skirt and stared at your dripping cunt. He let his head fall to the side, dark brown eyes focused on your flustered expression.

You went to gain some sort of momentum to support yourself but Charlie gave your pussy a sharp slap.

You made a shrieking noise at the impact and he scoffed. “Oh don’t act so fuckin stupid. Is that little corrupted brain of yours not getting it?” Weeks of build up poured out of him and he smacked your center three more times. Each strike harder than the last.

Your mouth pressed in a line, a poor attempt to conceal the pleasure. Charlie allowed a sinister smile to curl. “You’re almost as fucked up as I am, doll.” Your eyes widened as he slowly let his mouth graze your lower half.

He let his full lips brush against your bare skin as he breathed in. Charlie smelled the scent of your pulsing cunt and the wild need ignited in him. The priest gripped your hips as his knees pressed into the floor. He smashed his mouth against your pussy.

It was better than candy. The most saccharine sensation as he parted his lips and found your clit. Charlie’s dick was so hard that his hand picked up the discarded panties. He wrapped them around his cock, moaning at the relief as his tongue tasted you.

Charlie worked you over, his other hand keeping your hips in place.

His nose hit the right spots and he wasn’t shy about being messy. You were panting, holding his head and grinding as much as you could. Your moans were better than his favorite song. Charlie had plenty of experience burying his face between a woman’s legs. It was something that he did not only for their pleasure but his own.

Feeling your body contract, moving into his corrupted touch made Charlie’s eyes roll back as more slick soaked his mouth. You cried out, a series of, “Oh god, fuck! F-fuck.” You sounded on the brink of tears.

Charlie pushed two fingers inside you, making your whimpers become pathetic. He pumped them as he lifted himself, hovering over you with a wet chin. “Open that whore mouth,” he commanded and you did.

Charlie let the spit fall, coating your tongue and lips. “Swallow it. You know all about that, huh?” He enjoyed the sight of you beneath him. Charlie kissed you. Deeply and hungrily. He sucked your lower lip lewdly, letting a thick groan escape him. You returned it in kind, pressing your chest against his, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his arms.

Your fingers felt the scars on his back but Charlie didn’t care. Every single self inflicted mark was worth it if it meant he could be with you.

“Fuck me, please. Please fuck me,” You begged and Charlie’s dick fucking hurt but he loved the pain. He ran the tip of his cock against your clit, smearing the cum and continuous wetness.

He sank into your entrance, stretching you and you both let out a harmonious sigh. Charlie’s half opened eyes observed you arch your back but that familiar fire burned in your eyes. You tightened your legs that were around his waist. He knew you were trying to flip over. Not now. Charlie aggressively thrusted into you, bringing his hand down to spank the side of your ass.

“Oh no, you don’t get to ride me yet. You’re gonna lay there like the helpless sinner you are.” He growled and heaved your thighs over his shoulders. Getting an even deeper angle as your ass was off the mattress.

Drool escaped your hung open mouth and he let his palm feel your lower stomach. “Yeah? You feel that? Feel me in your pathetic pussy? You,” Thrust,” “Are,” thrust, “Mine.”

“Yours,” You sobbed and he smacked your face.

“You can do better. You can do fucking better than that.” Charlie smeared the spit on your mouth, cheek and slapped it again. “Tell me you’re a good girl.”

“I’m a good girl. I’m your good girl.” You pleaded with growing pleasure.

“See? You obey me. Deep down,” He felt the bulge again. “You’re a desperate little girl needing to be fucked. By someone as sick as me.”

You let out a wail, moans of pleasure coming out in staccato breaths. Charlie busted his load into your pussy, his lips hovering over yours as you both humped each other.

He rolled over, sinking you on his cock. Your tits were in his face, he sucked your nipple as you bounced. Charlie felt your fingers scratch his chest, marking his skin in the shape of a Cross with your nail.

He pried off your tit, his hands holding your waist. “Pussy squeezin me so tight. Like you can’t get enough. Greed is a sin,” Charlie sucked your pulse point and brought you to a second climax.

You fucked yourself on his dick. Mewling as he coated your insides with cum. “You’re my dirty little sinner. Give me every last drop. Let me have it,” He whispered the last part of the sentence.

He didn’t forget your tale of woe. Charlie put away your confession in his mind. You were put in a position of self defense. But if you hadn’t been so brave, you wouldn’t have walked into the congregation.

You slowed down, lazily riding his dick with a dazed expression.

“Get on your knees. You’re gonna lick my cock clean and finish the game you started.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @fear-is-truth @starkeysprincess @cameronsprincess @chavezprincess @titsout4nicholas @userchai @taintandviolent @webbluvrsugar @oceanblvd111

[nightmare-niko]

Pretty When You Cry [Father Charlie Mayhew x reader]

pt. 2

Word Count: 1916

Warnings: manhandling, kinda munch! Charlie, one slap, mean! Dom Charlie, blasphemy (they fuck in the church😬)

A/N: not my gifs! I have the originals reblogged on my page😘 this was actually already being written and then I got an anon request for basically exactly what I was already writing!! Hope ya like it hehe 🙃 i also dont really ever write like this kind of smut so i hope i did good!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

You weren't a religious person by any means. But staying the night at your parents had you up early, trying to find the most church-appropriate outfit. of course, your parents failed to tell you that they were planning on bringing you along to church. Your skirt was a bit too short. But it is not like you had room to complain with such short notice!

You remember going to high school with Father Charlie— or as you knew him Charlie. The two of you didn't run with the same crowds-- but you knew each other.

Now, here you were. Paying no attention to the words coming from his mouth and all attention to how good he looked. Damn-- maybe you should have shot your shot years ago when he was a personal trainer.

As you watched him at the head of the room, you allowed your mind to wander.

One extremely long and boring sermon later, you stand awkwardly behind your parents as they talk to what Seems like every member of the church. God how you regret agreeing to come-- It's not like you knew anyone here- none of your friends went to church. But here you were, being judged by middle-aged churchgoers. How fun.

The sound of your name being called catches your attention.

You whip your head around to the noise, "Father Charlie!" The name is unnatural as it falls from your lips. You quickly look at your parents- too engrossed in a conversation. “It's been a while!" You awkwardly step closer to the man.

He hums, "It has been, hasn't it? The first time in the church as well.”

“Well, you know...” You gesture back to your parents.

"I'm assuming this wasn't on your schedule.” He looks you up and down, “Given your attire.”

You gasp sharply, heat rising to your face as you pathetically try to pull your skirt down. "I-uh,” you try to think of an excuse, "I didn't pack any pants..." You lie-- lying in a church is one thing but to the priest?

If Charlie sensed your lie he didn't comment on it. "Well, I hope you enjoyed today's sermon.”

"I did!" You lie again, a little too enthusiastically.

Charlie narrows his eyes at you, "You weren't paying attention, were you?" His voice is playful.

"No, I was not," You quickly confess.

He laughs, you have to fight to not stare shamefully at his beautiful face for too long. "That's odd— because when I looked at you, you looked very focused," He teases.

“I wasn't paying attention to your voice. Just your fa-" you stop in your tracks. Utterly petrified at the situation you have just found yourself in. His eyebrows raise in surprise at your slip-up. “I mean I didn't even know that you could see me in that crowd-- I-I- just figured that-”

“That every time we locked eyes it wasn't on purpose?” he finishes your thought.

You nod pathetically, your shoes suddenly extremely interesting.

Charlie takes a step towards you, the proximity making you look up at the man. Has he always been that tall? "I want you to go into my office and wait for me.” His voice is a seductive tone you have never heard him use before. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“But what about my parents?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

“Dont worry about them,” he assures before walking away. Leaving you standing alone— stunned.

To say you were terrified was an understatement. Sure, you weren't in any danger-- at least you didn't think so. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? Here you sat, in a priest's office. Surrounded by biblical Imagery. And you were 99% Sure you were soaked through your cotton panties, you didn't care. No one but you was going to know... right?

Five minutes turned to ten. You sat anxiously in the chair across from Charlie's desk. A clock on the wall ticked away obnoxiously. You had figured when you walked in it would take him a while for him to return. how long should you wait? Has he forgotten that you were sitting in his office, impatiently waiting? You didn't dare to snoop, or even scroll on your phone. Charlie said to wait for him, and that's what you would do.

For thirty minutes you're alone in that office. you straighten your posture when you hear the clicks of Charlie’s boots nearing. The sound of the door opening makes you flinch pathetically. You don't dare turn around. Eyes glued on the desk in front of you.

Charlie is silent as he moves around behind you. Your pulse pounds in your throat at the anticipation.

“You seem nervous.” You tense at his voice, still refusing to turn around and face the man.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “I am nervous, Father.” You press your thighs together in an atempt to find some sort of relief to your throbbing center.

He groans quietly from behind you, “look at me.”

Like a magnet your head whips around to look at the man. His sharp gaze made your breath hitch. You felt hazy as he stepped towards you. Your eyes locked on his as he comes to stand right in front of you. Your breath quickens when he captures your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

Charlies predatory gaze on you deepens, his lips curling into a smirk, "you--" he rubs the lipstick on your mouth, smudging it. "Are such a pretty mess for me, darling.”

You bat your eyelashes up at him, “I don't know what you mean, Father.”

He grips the sides of your face harshly, cheeks smushing together into a pout. “Showing up to my church dressed like a slut—” he spits, “shamlessly eyefucking me the whole time like you were the only one in the room.”

You whimper at his words— he was right of course. But that didn't stop your face from flushing in embarrassment.

“Now look at you. Slut. Sitting before me like a doe as if you didn’t wait in my office hoping I would come in here and fuck you like the whore that you are.”

You moan shamelessly when he lets go of your face, while your whole body was screaming at you to submit to the man before you. You could help but push his buttons just a little bit further.

“You know for a priest you sure do have a filthy mouth—” His eyes narrow on you as you speak. “im such a slut but here you are hard in your pants over a damn mini skirt.” If looks could kill, you’d surely be dead. You needed more.

You open your mouth to speak again. But before you could even get a sound out, Charlie strikes his large hand across your cheek. You moan again, “fuck!”

Wordlessly, he turns to the desk before you. You watch curiously as he haphazardly pushes the clutter on his desk onto the floor. Your hands tremble in anticipation as you watch him bound towards you. He effortlessly picks you up from the chair you sat on, as if a reflex you cross you’d ankles behind his back as his hands greedily grip your thighs and ass.

He gently places you on the recently cleared off desk. A stark contrast to the way he effortlessly hoisted you from your seat. You attempt to grind down in the wooden desk under you for some kind of stimulation, but Charlie’s grip stops you.

“So impatient,” he purrs. He captures your lips in a quick, gentle kiss. You whine at the loss of him, but you don’t have to worry for long as his hands greedily grasps at your skirt, tearing at your legs. He leaves you with one last opened mouth kiss as he begins to trail wet kisses down your neck.

He mumbles something you can’t quite hear. But you don’t really care when he sinks to his knees, his strong hands prying your legs open. He trails more kisses to your inner thigh all the way up to your core. He licks a stripe over your soaked through panties, your legs try to close but his hands are holding your thighs open. His eyes lock on yours as he pulls them down your legs, the speed agonizing as you whimper. In a second his lips are back on you, his wet kisses up your thighs driving you mad.

“Charlie,” You thread your hand through his hair as he bites and licks at your heat like a starved man.

He mumbles a quick “no,” as he pulls away from you. His chin slicked and shiny from you. The scene is pornographic, if you had a camera you’d take a picture. He fumbles with his belt buckle and throws it to the side, the metal clanking to the floor loudly. You shamelessly stare as he stands back up, towering over you again he gets close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

“Look at you,” he tuts. You lurch forward— pulling him into a greedy, filthy kiss. When he moans into your mouth it’s the most heavenly sound you’ve ever heard. Pushing you back into the desk, once again he’s muttering something, a prayer. You paw at his zipper and he lazily watches you has you pull out his angry cock.

“Please?” You beg, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer sexual frustration.

“Since you asked so nicely~” he steals a quick kiss before dragging his leaking tip through your folds.

He pushes into you fully in one smooth motion. Your back arches up off of the desk, wood painfully digging into your spine. You didn’t care— all you cared about was him.

Fast sharp deep thrusts have you screaming as the sounds of skin ring throughout the office. You curse- throwing your arms over your head. Charlie’s mouth gaping while he groans, pressing and thrusting himself into you.

"Just, like that, oh.. god." You wail as he slams himself into your g spot repeatedly.

Charlie greedily paws at your clothed breasts as his hips slap into yours. You clench around him— you can already feel your orgasm building from the rough pace set. Charlie’s hips stutter from your action and you clench again. A low groan leaves his beautifully shaped lips as he digs his fingers into your hips.

You moan— you try to form words but Charlie feels so good inside of you that your brain feels like mush. He seems to be able to tell your close however by the way his thumb reaches down to rub sloppy circles onto your clit.

Your vision turns white as you come undone. Your nails dig into the desk below you as Charlie chases his own release. He leans down, pressing kisses into your cheeks and necks, unlike the kisses before; these are gentle and caring. You hiss when he pulls out of you, missing the feeling of him inside you immediately.

“How much convincing will it take for you to come to next weeks service?” He breathily laughs against the side of your face.

“If it’s gonna end like this again— none at all.”

♡︎༻🌸༺♡︎

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[tokyoghls]

like a prayer — c. mayhew ･˳ . ⋆

✧ ࣪ ─ ᥫ᭡ cw. blowjob, oral fixation, cum eating/feeding, religious/blasphemy themes, fem!reader. innocent/clueless!reader. mdni.

☆ an ☆ hellooo, hope you like this one, I tried so hard to portray charlie as best as i could since I’ve just read fanfics and haven’t actually watched the series, BUT as soon as it’s available on Disney+ I’ll watch it 🙂‍↕️

**also, keep in mind that this is just a fanfic, I don’t mean any disrespect towards religion or anything.

There wasn’t a way to explain the feeling, for it made his heart quicken and resolve to thin— sinful thoughts to dance around his mind like tiny devils with horns and tails, whispering wrongdoings to his ear.

He never considered himself to be weak and uncharacteristically doubtful. He knew right from wrong, yet he couldn’t help but steal a glance your way during mass— white lace veil hiding your face from his eyes, waiting for the minute you’d uncover and showed your tight knit brows and full lips, gaze set on the chapel’s ceiling as if looking directly at god’s eyes and wishing you’d glance his way instead, but you never do.

And he always finds himself thanking God you didn’t, as he wouldn’t find it in him to hold back if you had look his way and realized his sinful intentions, the way his thoughts traveled to your Sunday’s attire and pretty hands touching every surface in his office.

That’s why he’s been intentionally avoiding you— walking out of his office five minutes before you come to clean it, and if by any chance you came in earlier, he wouldn’t engage in conversation, making something up and mumbling a quick goodbye so he could avoid looking at your buttocks, displayed beneath that pretty white dress you choose to always wear on Sundays, or the way you chewed on your pencil in thought.

He’d find himself secluded in his room trying to find a way to get you out of his mind, and he found one, but eventually it failed.

The first time he’d done something like that, he thought all it took to forget about you was to rub one off and get on with it, but it was useless— he knew this the moment he realized, that, after every Sunday mass where he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, he locked himself inside his room and jerked off to the thought of you: kneeling on the pew, hands on a prayer and brows furrowing while your lips formed shapes and let out soft exhales with every word spoken.

Just like now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Father Charlie, did I do something wrong?”.

Your voice pulled him out of his trance, eyes blinking twice and mind focusing in the present. He’s daydreaming. Again.

“Mmh?”.

He hasn’t been listening at all, too busy looking at your clavicle where a cross rested to notice the concerned tinge in your voice.

“Are you okay, Father?”.

He nodded, hands intertwining behind his back and anxious fingers scratching at each other, “Yes, don’t worry, my mind drifted elsewhere for a minute- what were you saying just now?”.

“Alright, umm- I asked if I had done anything to upset you?”.

“Of course not, why would you think that?”, he scoffed, trying to come up with something to change the subject. He didn’t want to say he thinks about you in a sinful way, he’s the father of this chapel after all— it wasn’t remotely okay to think about one of his parishioners that way.

Your gaze nervously shifted to the ceiling, fingers fumbling with each other in front of you, “Well, you’ve been ignoring me lately I tho-”.

“Is not what you think, I’ve just been busy with… something”.

Well, he couldn’t say he’s been busy jerking off to the thought of you sprawled on his desk could he? It was the smartest response he could come up with but also the dumbest.

“Oh well, then uhm… my mom’s waiting for me so I’ll go now”.

Charlie couldn’t do more than watch as your figure disappeared and get lost in thought once again.

Since that interaction, he hasn’t seen you around much— you didn’t attend church two consecutive Sundays, but eventually you returned, looking as beautiful as ever. He’s watching you again, but just to a certain point where your parents won’t notice the lingering glances and tiny smiles he’d send your way.

He has just finished the mass, everyone scattered around, greeting friends and family, him too- he was a loved priest. And of course, your family had to greet him.

“Father Charlie, we’re so pleased to see you again”, your mother spoke fondly, gaze shifting to you, standing behind your father as if you were a scared child. “C’mon honey, Father Charlie is waiting for you to say hello- oh sorry, she’s not in the mood now, she fell sick and she’s not feeling well…”.

Charlie tried to ignore the fact you were partly avoiding him, gaze set on him but also full of doubt. He could just smile thinking that you probably thought he was mad at you. “Don’t worry, I was quite surprised by your absence, but I’m glad you’ve returned”, he nodded, adding teasingly. “You’re my most devoted congregants, and not seeing you here for so long had me thinking you’ve found another church”.

“Oh no! Don’t say things like that!”, your mother giggled and shook her head, “We would never, we’re very attached to this church, my family and I used to come here every Sunday when I was young- I have many great memories here…”.

Charlie wasn’t paying attention to your mom and her incessant rambling anymore, he was paying attention to you. Maybe a little too much that he didn’t hear half of what your mother said.

“… and now we’re looking for a suitable husband for our dear daughter, of course we’d want him to be one of our dear brothers of this church, they all are decent men”

That caught his attention and a mocking snort left his lips. Your mom’s confused gaze made him remember his current position, and awkward cough leaving his lips, “Don’t mind me, continue…”.

You, marrying one of these guys? One of these prude and revolting guys being able to take your hand in marriage…? He couldn’t imagine of one of them warming your bed every night, was it jealousy? That, one of these men, would have you first?

“actually- we wanted to reach out to you, father, we believe you can be of great help for her to learn the ways of a happy marriage, based on respect and love. So, father, what do you think?”.

He couldn’t allow that, not even in a million years.

“Sorry, what I think about what?”. Charlie replied apologetically, looking partly ashamed for not paying attention to your dear mom. Though he wasn’t sure what she was really asking for, he missed half of the speech because of thinking about your possible suitors.

“About teaching our daughter the ways to a happy marriage, you know, principles, respect, values… we’d be very happy if you could help her learn- me and her father are far from being a perfect marriage, and we tried to teach her to some extent, but we’d like it if she learns from God’s hands from now on…”.

Your mom really shouldn’t have said that.

“Fa-father, are you sure this is the right lesson?”. you asked breathless, lips puffy and covered in a thin layer of spit, glistening under the warm lights in his office.

You were quite confused since this wasn’t the usual lessons Father Charlie imparted.

He glanced down at you, hand touching your cheek affectionately, the corner of his mouth twitching. He loved your innocence. “Of course, you need to learn to give proper head to your soon to be husband- now keep going, yeah? Your mother was quite specific when she said she wanted you to learn”.

With a nod of your head, you returned to your task. Tongue peeking out to give a lick to his reddened tip, a bead of salty precum attaching to your warm muscle. You were so close to stuff him all inside your mouth, he’s been working your throat muscles to accommodate him completely and you were quite greedy now, you think you can take him all the way in without your throat burning from the tight stretch.

From your position on the floor, you could look up at any moment and see his conflicted features, he was holding back so you could learn properly— or so he told you.

He was being patient and generous with you, he didn’t want his student chocking on his dick on her first try.

“Careful with those teeth, don’t want my dick bruised”. you hummed and he groaned, loving the way it felt when you did that. A desperate cry left your lips when you couldn’t stuff his dick completely inside, it was so thick and long that it almost embarrassed you to think you could take it without a problem. He noticed that and caressed your hair reassuringly, holding your nape and pushing you down carefully. “Slow, take your time yeah?”.

Breathing through your nose, you held back your tears and let him take the lead. You tried so hard not to gag, thinking about other things like the rough fabric of the tapestry beneath your knees, just to distract your mind from the pressure his dick was inducing your throat in.

But it was futile.

He tried to pull you all the way down but when he heard your muffled gag, he stopped, leaving you to catch your breath, not minding the way your nails dug into his hips trying to push away from him. He held you in place and consoled you.

“It’s alright, don’t worry, it’ll pass… I thought you were ready to take this lesson, tch… I think we should stop now”. The voice that was once filled with lust, now was filled with mockery.

You made a sound denying his request, taking a deep inhale through your nose and engulfing his shaft inside your mouth again, almost going all the way down— it was still a hard task but you found a way to accommodate more of him inside.

“God help me…”. He murmured, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, chest heaving up and down, balls tight and jaw locked. If he kept clenching his teeth like that, they’d surely fall out.

Charlie couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way your mouth was full of his dick and mouth corners were glistening with a mixture of spit and cum, traveling all the way to your chin and jaw, made his mind spiral with lust and exasperated groans to leave his lips— he didn’t want to cum so soon.

You were doing so good for him, so good… Even if he wanted to blame himself for falling into temptation, he couldn’t think about that now— about the hopefulness on your mother’s face when he accepted this task. He wanted to make it right. So he was going to give his all, even if it meant tarnishing your innocence with his selfish and lust filled soul.

You started sucking his dick as if you were drinking through a straw, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth the moment his hips jerked, filling your mouth with his dick entirely, no restrictions, without consideration... Your eyes opened wide, nails digging again in his thighs, tapping incessantly on them to make him stop. You couldn’t breath, but you could hear his own moan ring through the room.

Your protests fell into deaf ears, Charlie’s hips kept fucking your mouth as if he was fucking your pussy— with a hunger equivalent to that of the abstinent man he was.

Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn’t. He felt so good he didn’t find it in himself to cease the attack on your mouth, he wanted you to learn, so stopping now would be wasting all the hard work he’d been doing.

Tears escaped the corners of your tight closed eyes, your clit throbbed with every push of his hips and moans he left out, you were so enjoying it even if it hurt a bit, even if it was hard to breath you didn’t want him to stop, not when he tasted this good.

“I’m gonna cum now, princess— won’t do that while I’m inside your mouth, but I want you to keep it open, tongue out”, he instructed, pulling his reddened dick out of your mouth with a pop, a thread of saliva and cum keeping it connected to your lips.

Your mouth opened and your tongue peeked out, showing the thin layer of cum that accumulated on your pink muscle. You watched as his hand grabbed his dick, jerking it up and down with desperation.

He lasted a few seconds before he came, white spurts of cum falling all over your chin and inside your mouth, “Swallow”, he ordered before you did exactly that. Charlie smiled, hand lifting up to wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb, pushing it inside your mouth with more of his cum.

“That’s it… don’t waste any of it”.

[goldfades]

PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE

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for this request

─ summary | a preacher's daughter becomes involved in a secret and passionate affair with a priest, challenging her strict upbringing and the expectations of her family and faith.

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x preacher's daughter!reader

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut. fingering, heavy make-out sessions, praise/degradation?

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Your father always said the church was supposed to be your sanctuary.

From the time you were old enough to sit still on a pew, the towering stained glass windows and the echo of hymns in the vaulted ceiling had been your world. Every sermon, every candlelit service, every whispered prayer had woven itself into the fabric of your life, wrapping you in a cloak of devotion that felt as natural as breathing.

Now, standing in the shadow of the altar, that cloak felt a little too tight.

The evening light filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floors. Blues and golds stretched in long, quiet beams, like the church itself was holding its breath. Outside, the world was settling into the calm of twilight, but inside, the silence felt heavier than usual. It pressed down on your shoulders, thick and stifling.

You stood there, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the wooden pew in front of you. The familiar scent of incense and old books filled your lungs as you breathed in deeply, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been crawling under your skin for weeks now. Something was different, though you couldn’t quite place it. The church, once a place of comfort, now felt... constricting. Maybe it was the weight of expectation—or maybe it was something else entirely, something you didn’t dare to name yet.

Your gaze drifted to the large crucifix at the front of the room, eyes tracing the well-worn details of it, the soft glow of candlelight flickering at its base. You were supposed to feel something here. Reverence. Peace. But instead, a knot twisted in your chest, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t unravel.

Footsteps echoed behind you, soft but deliberate, the sound pulling you back to the present. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel his presence like the air had shifted, like the temperature in the room dropped just a fraction of a degree.

“Evening service is in an hour.”

Father Charlie’s voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence, brushing against the nape of your neck like a whisper. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, though you weren’t entirely sure why. He always had that effect on you, though you told yourself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just... respect. Nothing more.

You turned to face him, forcing a smile as you nodded. “I know. I just... wanted a moment before the crowd comes in.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, and something in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way you felt when he did, like you were being seen for the first time, like every carefully crafted piece of who you were might unravel if you weren’t careful.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice still soft, but there was an edge to it now, something unspoken that hung in the air between you.

You looked away quickly, your fingers curling tighter around the pew. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, reminding you of your duty, of your place. You were the preacher’s daughter, after all. Everything about your life was tied to this church, to your father’s legacy, to the faith you were supposed to uphold with unwavering loyalty.

But then why did it feel like everything was starting to crack?

You forced yourself to stand taller, clearing your throat as you spoke again, your voice quieter this time. “I should probably go help with preparations.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you.

The silence stretched between you once more, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and unspoken. Something was shifting, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

───

College had opened a thousand new doors for you, each one leading you further away from the world you had known for so long. The freedom was intoxicating—more than you could have imagined. Late nights spent in libraries, impromptu road trips with friends, a city that felt alive beneath your feet, humming with possibilities you had never considered. For the first time in your life, you weren’t tethered to the expectations of your family, the expectations of the church.

But even as you explored new ideas, met people who challenged the beliefs you had grown up with, and carved out space for yourself in a world much bigger than the small town you’d left behind, something kept pulling you back. A tug, a whisper, a lingering sense of obligation that gnawed at you when the campus quieted down in the early hours of the morning.

It wasn’t just the faith you were raised in that haunted you; it was the weight of your father’s voice echoing in your head, the way he spoke about duty, commitment, and sacrifice. His sermons had always been about more than just scripture—they were about life, about how the world tested you, how sin was a slippery slope. How it could seduce you without you even realizing it.

You thought you could ignore it for a while, push the thoughts aside as you embraced everything new. But when the holidays came and you found yourself back home, the old routines settled over you like a heavy coat. The Sunday services, the church events, the constant watchful eyes of the congregation. You could feel them all waiting, wondering if the preacher’s daughter had come back changed, if the world had gotten to you.

And then, there was Father Charlie.

You hadn’t expected to see him again—not like this, not after everything had shifted inside of you. College had given you new perspectives, yes, but it hadn’t prepared you for the way your pulse raced the moment you saw him standing in the front of the church, speaking with your father as if everything was still the same.

But it wasn’t.

Charlie looked different. Or maybe you did. He was older now, though not by much, and there was a certain weight in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just his sermons or the way he carried himself with that steady, unshakable calm; it was the way his gaze lingered on you, the way it seemed like he could see through the mask you were trying so hard to keep up.

You’d always known him as the priest who helped your father, the man who had been an almost constant presence in your home, at dinners, at family gatherings. He was someone you trusted, someone you never questioned. Until now.

There was something about him now, something that made the air feel too thick when you were in the same room. Maybe it was because you had changed, maybe it was because you had seen more of the world and realized how small the one you left behind had been. Or maybe it was because for the first time, you were looking at him not through the lens of innocence and trust, but through something darker. Something you weren’t ready to name.

It started innocently enough—helping your father prepare for services, catching up with old friends from the congregation, falling back into the role of the dutiful daughter. You had perfected that role long ago, and slipping back into it felt almost too easy, like muscle memory. But every time you caught a glimpse of Charlie, that mask cracked just a little more.

You told yourself it was nothing, that it was just the stress of being home again, of reconciling who you were now with who you had been before. But it wasn’t long before you found yourself lingering after church events, staying late to help clean up, just to see if he’d still be there. Just to see if his eyes would meet yours again, if that strange, unspoken tension between you would return.

And it always did.

It was subtle at first, the way he looked at you from across the room, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long before he turned away. You tried to convince yourself you were imagining it, that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then there were the conversations, those moments when the two of you were alone in the church hall, the only sound the distant hum of people outside. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he leaned in just a fraction too close, the way his hand brushed yours when you passed him something.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But one evening, after a particularly long meeting at the church, when everyone else had left and you were gathering your things, you turned around to find him standing in the doorway, watching you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. The look in his eyes was different this time—darker, more intense. There was something there that you hadn’t seen before, or maybe something you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s home,” you replied, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sound of it clicking shut seemed to echo in the silence, making the space between you feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find something, some answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

You should have felt uncomfortable. You should have made some excuse to leave, to get out of there before whatever this was could unfold. But instead, you stayed rooted to the spot, your breath shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Your heart skipped another beat, a wave of heat washing over you at his words. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to the man standing in front of you—the man who had always been so steady, so composed, and now looked like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

“Charlie, I—”

“I know,” he interrupted, taking another step closer, his eyes still locked on yours. “I know this is... complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. He was a priest. You were the preacher’s daughter. There were rules, lines that couldn’t be crossed, things that couldn’t be said.

But here you were, standing in the quiet of the church, and those lines had never felt more blurred.

It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. You knew it deep down, felt it in the pit of your stomach. He was a man of God, your father’s closest confidant, the last person you should have these thoughts about. And yet, here he was—standing before you, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, like you were the only person in the world at that moment.

He was too close now. You could smell the faint scent of incense still clinging to his clothes, could see the slight furrow in his brow as he struggled to keep his composure. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the muted shuffle of footsteps outside the room.

You should leave. You needed to. But instead, you found yourself taking a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

Charlie exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Neither do I,” he admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and dangerous. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a man above these temptations, above human desires. And you were supposed to be someone who understood that, who respected the boundaries that came with it. But somehow, those boundaries had started to blur long before either of you realized.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to close the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. That he might cross that final line. But he hesitated, clenching his fist as if to hold himself back.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered under his breath, taking a small step backward, as if the space would help clear the growing storm between you.

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, the right way to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions inside you. “Charlie...”

“Don’t,” he cut you off softly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand how wrong this is.”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water, but they didn’t stop the way your heart fluttered in your chest, or the way your stomach twisted with something dangerous. You knew he was right. This was wrong, on every level. And yet, the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name—it sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t ignore.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something darker—something you didn’t dare name out loud.

“Because,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with restrained emotion, “I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. It wasn’t the confession you had expected, and it wasn’t one that made things any easier. If anything, it only made the situation even more complicated.

“I should go,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to take a step back, to create some distance between you and the storm brewing in the space you shared.

That was all you said before turning around, and leaving the room.

───

You weren't sure how this had happened, but sure as hell did. Charlie's lips were on yours, pushing you into the door with force. You hummed into his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

All you remember was his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The world outside that door no longer existed, fading into a blur as Charlie’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that felt like it had been building for far too long.

All you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else—the quiet of the church hall, the soft creak of the door behind you, the whisper of your name on Charlie’s lips before everything had spiraled out of control.

You had always imagined this would be different, more hesitant, slower, maybe even sweet. But this? This was something else entirely. It was rushed, desperate, like both of you had been holding back for so long that the dam had finally broken, flooding every bit of restraint.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to close the gap between you entirely. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t. His lips were warm, insistent, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, surrendering to the pull you had resisted for so long.

The weight of what you were doing hit you in flashes—between the soft gasp that escaped your throat and the way Charlie’s breath hitched when you responded with equal need. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this. But nothing had ever felt so... inevitable.

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, sending sparks through your body that only grew more intense the longer it went on. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, the battle he was fighting between what he knew was wrong and what he wanted more than anything at that moment.

It was a battle you were losing, too.

You broke away for a second, gasping for air as his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes—dark, conflicted, and filled with something so raw—locked onto yours. For a moment, the weight of what you’d just done hung between you.

But then, before either of you could think too much, his lips were back on yours, silencing any doubts. This time, softer.

This time, his kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. The urgency had dimmed just enough to let the moment stretch out, to let the reality of what was happening sink in. His hands traced a path from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer, while his lips moved tenderly against yours, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

Your mind was a blur of sensations—the warmth of his breath, the soft friction of his body pressing into yours, the quiet hum of the world outside this stolen moment. Every touch, every kiss, felt like it was lighting a fire inside you that you couldn't put out, even if you tried.

But then, as his lips left yours to trail softly down your jawline, the weight of it all crashed down on you. What had you done? What were you doing?

“Charlie,” you whispered, your voice trembling as reality clawed its way back in. His name fell from your lips like a plea, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or to keep going.

He froze, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his hands still gripping your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression filled with a storm of emotions—regret, desire, conflict, everything.

“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for some kind of answer, some justification for the lines he had just crossed. “I shouldn’t have...”

You shook your head, still catching your breath, your hands sliding down from his shoulders. “No,” you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I wanted this, too.”

Charlie swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, torn between the undeniable truth of your words and the overwhelming guilt gnawing at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself, to keep himself from falling further.

“We can’t do this,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the words were meant for both of you. “This... it’s wrong. It goes against everything.”

“Charlie,” you scoffed as you straightened up. “So what? So what if this is wrong, who said we can't have fun every once in a while?”

Charlie’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. You watched as he clenched his jaw, wrestling with the temptation that you had just fanned back into life with that careless, reckless comment.

“Fun?” he repeated, his voice low and strained, almost like he couldn’t believe you had said it. “You think this is just fun?”

You tilted your head, shrugging, though you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “Why not? Why does it have to be this heavy, guilt-ridden thing? It’s only wrong if we make it wrong.” Your voice was bold, but there was a trembling edge beneath it, one you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Charlie’s hand ran through his hair in frustration as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, taking a step closer, and for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes again—the same fire that had pulled you both into this moment in the first place. “This isn’t just some game. You have no idea what you’re risking.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance again, the tension between you crackling like electricity. “I know exactly what I’m risking, Charlie. And I don’t care. Don’t you get that by now? I want this.”

For a split second, you saw the conflict in his eyes again, the internal war he was waging, but then his hand reached out, gripping your arm, pulling you closer. His breath was ragged as his forehead pressed against yours, his fingers tightening around you like he was holding on for dear life.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation. “This isn’t something we can just... play with. It’s wrong, and I—”

“Do you want me to stop?” you cut him off, your voice soft but firm, your lips inches from his.

Charlie’s breath hitched as his grip on you tightened even more. His eyes searched yours, the weight of the decision heavy between you both. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with anticipation, with the unspoken truth neither of you could deny anymore.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper, filled with all the tension and desire he had been trying so hard to suppress. “But I should. We should.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, and without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took.

In an instant, his resolve crumbled, and Charlie’s lips crashed into yours with a force that sent a shiver down your spine. All the restraint, all the guilt, evaporated in that single moment as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough.

That was how this little affair had began. What started as a reckless act of rebellion, something thrilling and dangerous, had spiraled into something much bigger, something neither of you could have anticipated.

For Charlie, everything began to shift. At first, it was just the stolen kisses and the hurried, whispered moments behind locked doors. But then, gradually, you noticed the change in him—subtle at first, but undeniable as time went on. He wasn’t the same devout, principled man he’d been before. The conviction that once held him together was starting to unravel, and it wasn’t just about you anymore.

His sermons, once delivered with unshakable passion, began to falter. He spoke the words, but there was a hollowness to them now, a lack of fire that hadn’t been there before. The weight of his role as a priest no longer seemed to sit so heavily on his shoulders. It was as though he was slipping further away from the man he had been, day by day, like he had loosened his grip on the faith that had once defined him.

It wasn’t just in the church either. You saw it in his eyes, the way they lit up when he saw you, no longer clouded with guilt or hesitation. The same man who had once knelt in prayer for hours, seeking forgiveness for even the smallest of sins, now seemed to be the furthest thing from repentant. There was a spark in him that had nothing to do with religion—a hunger for something more, something that you had awakened in him.

You had become his escape, his release from the rigid life he had once lived. And it was clear that, for the first time in a long while, he was having fun. Real fun. The kind that made his eyes light up with a mischievous glint, the kind that left him grinning after each secret encounter. He was no longer the solemn, restrained Father Charlie that everyone in the church knew. Around you, he laughed more, joked more, and seemed more alive than he ever had before.

There was a recklessness to him now, a side of Charlie that had been hidden beneath layers of duty and piety. When you were together, it was as though none of the rules applied. His hands roamed freely, his lips found yours without hesitation, and the weight of his priesthood—the guilt that had once threatened to crush him—seemed to melt away with each touch, each kiss, each stolen moment.

He wasn’t praying for forgiveness anymore. He wasn’t praying for anything at all.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Charlie was slipping further and further away from the man he had been, from the role he had devoted his life to. But even as you saw him change, a part of you knew—you liked this version of him better. The one who wasn’t weighed down by morality, the one who let himself live, who let himself enjoy this, enjoy you.

Because, in truth, he had never seemed happier.

Then, your family's Christmas Eve dinner came and of course, Charlie would be invited. Your mother and father were practically buzzing with excitement—this was their biggest event of the year.

It would be in your home, just as it always was, with the dining room decked out in festive decorations. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and roasting meat filled the air, and the flicker of candlelight danced along the walls. Your mother had spent days planning every detail, from the table settings to the perfect holiday playlist softly playing in the background. This was the night your family pulled out all the stops, and the guest of honor, of course, was none other than Father Charlie.

As you descended the stairs, dressed in a modest yet elegant outfit your mother had insisted upon, your stomach churned. The thought of Charlie sitting across from you, pretending nothing was happening between the two of you, made your skin prickle with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. You could already picture him, composed and serene, his priestly demeanor fully intact. But you knew better. Beneath the calm exterior, beneath the collar, there was a man who had unraveled, one you had helped tear apart.

The dining room was a scene of festive cheer by the time you arrived, your parents bustling about, greeting guests and making sure everything was perfect. You could hear your father laughing loudly from the other room, his booming voice full of pride as he told someone about how Father Charlie had become such an important part of the church community. How proud they were to have him there.

And then you saw him.

Charlie stood near the fireplace, talking to a few of the older parishioners who had arrived early, his usual composed expression firmly in place. He looked every bit the part—his black priest’s garb impeccable, his hands clasped in front of him in that familiar posture of calm authority. But when his eyes flicked over to you, for the briefest of moments, something shifted. His gaze lingered, and you saw the hint of heat behind them, a flash of memory that you were certain only the two of you understood. His lips quirked up in a small smile, seemingly innocent and kind. But you knew better.

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother’s voice pulled you back into the moment. “Sweetheart, come say hello to Father Charlie!” she called, her voice brimming with affection.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto your face as you made your way toward him. Your mother was already gushing about how wonderful it was to have him here, how much your family appreciated him spending Christmas Eve with them. You barely heard her, your mind racing as Charlie’s eyes met yours, steady but unreadable.

“Good evening,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, though there was an edge to it that only you could catch. The soft smile that graced his features had turned into a small smirk as he took in your shy expression.

He extended his hand, and for a split second, as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity surged through you. It was barely noticeable—a moment so fleeting your mother wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But for you, it was enough to send your mind spiraling back to all the times his hands had been on you in a much different way.

“Good evening, Father,” you replied, your voice steady, though your pulse was racing beneath the surface.

“Such a lovely home, as always,” Charlie said, turning his attention to your mother with a charming smile, ever the perfect guest. But as he spoke, you caught the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to hold back something deeper.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself painfully aware of Charlie's presence, of the way he seemed just a little too comfortable, a little too close. He wasn’t careless enough to raise suspicion, not with your family and half the parish sitting around the table, but there were moments—subtle, fleeting moments—that made your heart race.

It started with the way he looked at you. His eyes would linger a beat too long whenever you caught each other’s gaze across the table. He spoke politely to your parents, laughed at the right moments, even indulged your father’s long-winded stories about the church’s history. But every time he glanced your way, there was something beneath the surface. A smoldering awareness.

Then, there were his hands. When he passed you the breadbasket, his fingers brushed against yours. Not an accident, not something your parents would ever notice, but it was enough. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and the heat in his gaze told you he knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb grazed your wrist in a way that made your breath hitch, and when you glanced up, he was already looking away, like it never happened. But you knew.

Charlie was being reckless, though not in an obvious way. His behavior was just subtle enough to keep from drawing attention, but to you, it was impossible to miss. His foot nudged yours beneath the table during dinner, a simple tap, but the look he gave you when your knees touched—it was almost too much. You could barely keep yourself composed, your mind spinning with the memory of him pushing you up against the door, his lips on yours.

"Father, would you like more wine?" your mother asked, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between you two.

Charlie smiled, nodding graciously as he held out his glass. "Just a little more, thank you."

As your mother poured, his eyes found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away, not immediately. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just enough to send your thoughts into overdrive. It was like a private joke, one that only the two of you understood. A secret dance of hidden touches, stolen glances, and unspoken words.

You tried to focus on your plate, on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible. Every move he made felt like it was meant for you, no matter how small. When he reached for his napkin, his hand grazed your thigh under the table, just for a second, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You glanced at him in shock, and he gave you a sideways smile, the kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

He was playing with fire, and so were you.

Dinner stretched on, with your father telling more stories and your mother doting on everyone, but all you could think about was Charlie. The way he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room, but always coming back to you. It was reckless, the way he was letting his guard down, letting you see the cracks in his calm facade.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” your father asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. His concerned gaze made your stomach tighten.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yes, just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.”

Your father patted your shoulder, satisfied with your answer, but when you glanced at Charlie, you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t tired at all. He was far from it.

As dessert was served, the tension between you two only grew. He was no longer pretending to keep his distance, not really. His foot stayed lightly pressed against yours under the table, and when your fingers brushed again as you passed him a dish, he let them linger, his thumb trailing over your knuckles for just a second too long.

The worst part? No one else noticed a thing.

Charlie was playing this game with expert precision—just enough to make your pulse quicken, but not enough to get caught.

As dessert came to an end, Charlie's eyes flickered towards you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He had barely spoken directly to you the entire night, but now, it was like he couldn’t wait any longer. You were both playing this game, pushing the boundaries of how far you could go without crossing an invisible line—at least in front of everyone else.

"Could you show me where the coffee cups are?" Charlie asked, leaning back casually in his chair. His voice was calm, maybe even a little too casual, but you caught the subtle undercurrent of something more.

Your mother’s head turned slightly, her brow furrowing in mild confusion. "Father, you’ve been here enough times to know where they are, haven’t you?"

You held your breath, your pulse quickening at the way your mother’s question hung in the air. Charlie smiled smoothly, shaking his head.

"Ah, but every time I’m here, something’s moved around. You know how it is in a busy house," he said, chuckling lightly, the picture of a gracious guest. But his eyes were on you again, and you knew this wasn’t about coffee cups. Not even close.

"Of course," your mother laughed, brushing it off with a wave. "Go ahead, sweetheart, show Father Charlie where everything is."

Your heart was pounding as you rose from your seat, barely able to look at your parents. The room felt too small, too hot, like every eye was on you as you and Charlie stood up from the table. But when you glanced back, your father was already engrossed in another conversation, and your mother was busy with the dishes.

Charlie followed you into the hallway, his footsteps too close behind you. Your breath hitched as you led him toward the kitchen, trying to act natural, but the tension between you two was suffocating. You could feel his presence like a shadow, his gaze boring into the back of your neck as you rounded the corner.

The second you stepped out of view, his hand caught your wrist, pulling you to a stop. You spun to face him, heart racing, and before you could say a word, his body was pressing you back against the kitchen counter.

"Charlie—" you whispered, but he silenced you with a look, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"I couldn’t stand it any longer," he muttered, his voice low and thick with something dark. His hands came to rest on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I need you, baby..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed the side of your face, and you felt your resolve start to crumble. You knew this was wrong—knew it with every fiber of your being—but Charlie’s lips were dangerously close to yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he whispered, his voice ragged, filled with a hunger he hadn’t bothered to hide anymore.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on you. There was still time to stop this, to step away, but you knew neither of you would. You had pushed each other too far, and now, there was no turning back.

"I know," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "I’ve been waiting for you to crack."

A low groan escaped him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. His hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between you was overwhelming. It was reckless, dangerous, but it was also everything you had been waiting for.

The tension that had simmered all night finally broke, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with the same desperation. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

Charlie pulled away just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes. "Your parents are in the other room," he murmured with a small smirk, though the way he held you betrayed any thought of stopping.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. "Then why can’t you stop?"

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a reckless abandon that sent a shiver down your spine. The world outside the kitchen, the family dinner, the church—it all melted away as you gave in to the dangerous pull between you.

Charlie pulled away for a second, his hand reaching up to grip your face harshly. "Dirty girl, aren't you?"

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes never leaving his. "You started this, Charlie."

Charlie's grip tightened, and you felt the heat of his gaze searing into you, both intoxicating and possessive. He kissed you again, his mouth fierce, almost punishing, as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your back hit the counter, but the discomfort barely registered—he pressed his body into yours, and you gasped against his lips, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation flooding your senses.

His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding beneath your shirt, the roughness of his palms igniting your skin. You felt him pause, as if savoring the feeling of you under his hands, and when he finally pulled back, it was only to whisper against your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. "You like this, don't you? Knowing we could get caught..."

You could barely think, your body burning with need. You bit your lip, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Isn’t that what you want?" you whispered back, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.

Charlie groaned, his grip on you tightening. His fingers found the hem of your jeans, teasing, as he trailed hot kisses down the side of your neck. "Always so defiant," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll break you yet."

The intensity of his words sent a thrill through you, and you tilted your head back, giving him access to more of your neck as he kissed you, nipping at your skin, leaving a trail of marks behind. His hands, strong and demanding, finally dipped lower, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen.

"Charlie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as your hands clutched at his shoulders, needing him closer, needing more.

Charlie’s breath was hot against your neck as his hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your jeans. His fingers dipped just beneath the fabric, tracing your skin with maddening slowness. "Say my name again," he demanded, his voice husky and filled with dark need.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his fingers toyed with you, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy the aching desire that built inside you. "Charlie," you breathed, your voice trembling, desperate.

His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you harder against him. "Louder," he growled, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He was taunting you, daring you to give in completely, and you could feel the power shift between you. You were no longer in control—he was, and the knowledge only heightened the tension.

You clenched your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn’t making it easy. His other hand slid to your throat, not choking but holding you in place, his grip firm as he pressed his lips against yours again, more demanding than before.

"You think you can push me, don’t you?" he muttered against your lips. "Make me lose control." His fingers slipped lower, brushing the spot that made your knees weak, and you gasped, unable to stop the flood of heat that rushed through you. He smiled, wicked and knowing, as if he could sense your surrender.

Your head fell back against the cabinet, your breathing ragged, your body burning under his touch. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "But you're mine," he murmured, his voice a promise and a warning all at once. "And you’ll break before I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Charlie's words sank in, his hand at your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to remind you of his control. The intensity of his stare sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you found yourself caught between the desire to challenge him and the undeniable pull of surrender.

"Are you sure about that?" you whispered, your voice soft but laced with defiance, the words barely slipping past your lips as you fought to maintain some control.

A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth, his gaze flickering with something dark and unrelenting. "Oh, I’m sure," he said, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His fingers danced over the waistband of your skirt before slipping inside, his touch both teasing and commanding, and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen intensified, your breath hitching in response.

His fingers played with your panties, that were already soaked before slipping in a finger. You let out a soft hum, your head falling back on to the counter as your eyes squeezed shut. You tried to steady yourself, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you fought to stay grounded, but Charlie’s presence overwhelmed you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, and he kissed his way down, each press of his mouth against your skin sending shockwaves through your body. When his finger moved deeper, the other brushing against your clit, your body betrayed you with a soft, needy whimper.

"That’s it," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl, filled with satisfaction at the sound. "Let me hear you."

The tension inside you built, every stroke of his finger pushing you closer to the edge, and you were losing the battle of resistance. Charlie’s hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you locked in place, at his mercy. His breath was hot against your ear, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had you trembling.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Your mind was clouded, your body aching for release, but you bit your lip, fighting the words he wanted from you. The defiance only seemed to amuse him further, his grip tightening slightly. "Still holding out?" he asked, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "You think you can win this game?"

Your heart raced, your body betraying you as you squirmed under his touch, and you knew you were close to breaking. His fingers moved with more purpose now, pushing you closer to the brink, and a gasp escaped you as your resolve began to crumble.

"I—" You could barely form the words, your body arching into him, desperate for more.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. His fingers curled, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure coursing through you was too much to bear.

"Charlie—please," you finally gasped, your voice breaking as you surrendered to him completely. "Make me cum."

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand finally giving you what you needed as his finger moved deeper and quicker. "Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dripping with possessive pride. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to let out a shuddering moan, your knees falling weak as the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Charlie's hand covered your mouth quickly, the sound muffled by his large hand. After you rode out your high, Charlie's hand slipped out of your skirt as you caught your breath.

As if on cue, your mother came in with some dishes in her hand. There wasn't even a trace of suspicion in her expression, she was too busy with the dinner to even question why you two were taking so long and why you two were standing so close.

"Did you guys find the cups?" She asked with a sigh, loading the dishwasher with the dishes.

Charlie casually wiped his hand on his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he hadn’t just had you unraveling under his touch moments before. His lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement as he shot you a sideways glance. The contrast between your rapid breathing and his calm demeanor was infuriating. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—and he was reveling in it.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice steady as ever. "We were just…looking for them."

You tried to compose yourself, struggling to regulate your breaths without drawing attention. Your legs still felt shaky, and the warmth of his body so close to yours lingered like a sinful reminder of what had just happened. You forced a smile, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice the flushed look on your face.

Your mother barely glanced at you two as she continued with the dishes, completely oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. "Great, we're just about to leave for service," she said with a tired sigh. "I’ll need your help with cleaning the table soon."

"Of course," Charlie responded, his voice filled with an edge of playful charm, though only you could hear the smug satisfaction underneath it all. He took a step closer to you, almost brushing his arm against yours as he reached up to grab the cups from the shelf. The proximity sent another wave of heat through you, and it took everything in you not to react visibly.

Your mother turned her back again, preoccupied with the dishwasher, and Charlie seized the opportunity. He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You’re going to have to work on that poker face, baby."

You shot him a sharp look, your body still buzzing from the intensity of earlier, and now his teasing only made it worse. The urge to wipe that smug look off his face was almost overwhelming, but you had no choice but to keep it together, your mother only a few feet away.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He knew how much power he held over you in that moment, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it anytime soon.

Your mother finally turned back to face you. "You okay, honey?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed you standing still by the counter. "You look a bit flushed."

You swallowed hard, fighting to find your voice. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little warm in here," you lied, managing to give her a weak smile. "I'll help with the table."

Charlie glanced back at you, his smirk still firmly in place as he picked up the cups. His voice was smooth and casual, betraying nothing of the wickedness lurking beneath the surface. "I’ll take care of the rest," he said, shooting you a look that made your pulse quicken. "You just… relax."

Your mother nodded, oblivious. "Thanks, Charlie."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ PTOLEMAEA (C.M.) ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: emotional and physical abuse, inappropriate comments (only one), parent issues, confessional themes, religious themes, mentions of miscarriages, alcoholism, cheating and gambling

summary: In a church’s embrace, faith and desire collide. A daughter’s silent struggle beneath parents’ guise, seeks solace in forbidden thoughts.

pairing: charlie mayhew x reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: umm.. what can I say? I’m just a girl and I am obsessed with Nicholas Chavez so ofc I had to write something for him!! Sorry if there are any inaccuracies I am not a roman catholic Christian, and in no ways do I approve of any kind of religious discrimination or whatsoever!! This is just a work of fanfiction. Just to mention yet again English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes. Feel free to write your thoughts and opinions, requests are open as long as you are respectful!! And as always I hope you enjoy <333

You stood at Sunday morning mass beside your parents, the familiar scent of candles and incense filling the air. Your hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, a delicate bow resting against it—just the way your mother liked it.

You wore a knee-length skirt with an appropriate top, an outfit that aligned with the image of a good Christian girl. You were supposed to be focused on prayer, absorbing the priest’s sermon, but your mind wandered elsewhere.

The morning had already been eventful, and your thoughts kept replaying the chaotic scene at home before you arrived at church.

It had all changed so quickly once you stepped through the church doors. Your mother and father, as if by some silent agreement, shifted into their usual roles.

They greeted neighbors with wide smiles, exchanging pleasantries as though everything in your household was perfectly ordinary. Then, during mass, they stood on either side of you, hands folded in prayer, playing the part of a devout and happy Christian couple.

But it was a charade, and you knew it all too well. Only an hour earlier, their voices had echoed through the house in another heated argument.

Your father, as always, was a shadow of the man you had once imagined he could be. He had wanted a son, a dream he clung to until after your birth. But after several miscarriages, his hope dissolved, replaced by bitterness. His drinking became a constant, and gambling soon followed. He found his escape in these vices, and over time, he drifted further from any sense of family.

Your mother, meanwhile, had her own form of escape. The affairs started when you were still too young to fully understand, but over time, even your father became aware. They would argue and scream, but the fights eventually gave way to indifference. They had stopped trying to fix anything, stopped pretending they even wanted to.

And then there was you. A silent observer, a helpless child who could only watch as her parents’ marriage fell apart piece by piece. You wondered, even at a young age, what you had done wrong. What could you have done differently? Why did you feel like it was your fault?

It wasn’t uncommon for your mother to slap you when things got particularly tense. Your father, too, had his moments—he would make inappropriate comments about your appearance that left you feeling small, but thank God, it never went beyond that.

Still, you tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, the ideal Christian girl. You volunteered at the church, memorized Bible verses, and always said your prayers, hoping that maybe one day it would be enough. Maybe one day Jesus would answer your prayers and fix what was broken.

But as you stood there in church, surrounded by people who had no idea what your life was really like, you felt tired. Tired of pretending, tired of praying for something that never seemed to come.

“Why don’t you focus, sweetheart?” your mother whispered sharply, her breath hot against your ear as she nudged you with her elbow.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, casting your eyes down. You forced yourself to listen to the priest’s voice, though his words washed over you like water over stone. But the truth lingered, always at the back of your mind.

You prayed every day, but sometimes, even you doubted if anyone was listening.

“We talked about this, Y/N. Pull yourself together,” your mother hissed, her voice sharp as she leaned in close.

Then, just as quickly, her face softened into a warm smile when an elderly woman nearby turned to glance your way. The performance was flawless—an image of maternal grace. But you felt the sting of her words sink in, a quiet reminder of how fragile your role in this family really was.

Your attention drifted back to the priest, Father Charlie, whose voice filled the room with conviction. “…Remember, the Lord hears all cries, even those spoken in silence. He sees every tear and knows every sorrow in your heart,” he said, his tone both soothing and firm.

“And He asks that we carry these burdens with faith, for through Him, we are never alone. We are called to forgive, to love, even when it feels impossible. For if He could forgive us, how can we withhold forgiveness from others?”

Father Charlie had been the priest at your church for a few years now, and in that time, he had become somewhat of an enigma to you. He was young, undeniably handsome, with a presence that was both comforting and mysterious.

His words held weight, and you admired him for the way he commanded the attention of the congregation, always knowing what to say.

You were fond of him—perhaps too fond. But you couldn’t entirely blame yourself for it. The girls at your Christian school were the ones who started the gossip.

You thought back to the way they whispered about him, shamelessly thirsting after him as though he were some untouchable prize.

“Did you know he was a personal trainer before he became a priest?” one of the girls had said, wide-eyed.

“What a waste,” another had added, grinning. “Who wouldn’t want to be with a man like him?”

At first, you found their comments disgusting and inappropriate. You tried to dismiss them as nothing more than vulgar fantasies. But then, despite yourself, the idea of Father Charlie as something other than a priest began to creep into your mind.

You imagined what he might have been like before his vow to the church. Your cheeks flushed as the thought of him—of his strong body and sharp features—set your nerves alight, and soon an embarrassing heat bloomed in your body, spreading across your skin.

You prayed it away. You really did. You asked God for guidance, for the strength to rid yourself of these sinful thoughts.

You even tried to crush on someone more suitable, someone your age, but it never lasted. Your mind always wandered back to Father Charlie, back to his deep voice and the way he seemed to command every room he walked into.

As he continued preaching, your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. For the thousandth time, you marveled at his otherworldly face, the perfect symmetry of his jaw, the way his lips moved as he spoke of forgiveness and grace.

And though you knew better, though you told yourself it was nonsense, you swore you saw something—some glimmer in his eyes when they landed on you.

His gaze lingered, just for a moment, but it was enough to send your heart racing. You shifted uncomfortably in the pew, a wave of guilt and excitement washing over you.

What if he knew?

What if he could sense what you were thinking?

Of course, it was impossible. But each time his eyes flickered in your direction, the thoughts in your head grew louder, more intense, and far more dangerous.

You fought to keep your composure, but it felt like you were unraveling. Even as his voice carried on with words of love and forgiveness, you couldn’t shake the weight of your desires—desires that no prayer seemed capable of silencing.

—

The soft echo of footsteps faded as the last congregants filtered out of the church, leaving behind the lingering scent of incense and the faintest hint of candle wax. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, glancing at your parents as they walked toward the car, your mother’s back rigid, your father’s shoulders slumped. A familiar heaviness settled in your chest.

“Aren’t you coming, dear?” Your mother’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp yet feathered with concern.

“Just a moment. I would like to have a word with Father Charlie... alone,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper, tinged with trepidation.

Your mother narrowed her eyes, her expression a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “Oh dear, I’m sure Father Charlie is quite a busy man. You shouldn’t be bothering him with... pointless nonsense.” Her forced smile did little to mask her annoyance.

“Mother, I—”

A throat cleared nearby, interrupting you. You both turned to see Father Charlie standing there, his friendly smile disarming and warm.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “I am here to listen to everyone’s worries and thoughts. It is a part of my calling.”

Your mother opened her mouth to protest, but Father Charlie cut her off effortlessly. “I assure you I am more than glad to help your daughter with whatever it is.” His gaze shifted to you, filled with an understanding that made your heart flutter.

After a moment of tense silence, your mother relented, though it was clear she was not pleased. “Well, alright. We’ll be waiting with your father in the car. Don’t take too long.” Her words dripped with coldness as she turned to leave, casting one last accusatory glance your way.

“Yes, Mother,” you murmured, your heart pounding.

“Father Charlie,” she nodded, the tone of her voice suggesting she was dismissing him more than acknowledging him. He smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I hope to see you soon, Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, his tone light but sincere.

As the heavy doors of the church swung shut behind your mother, a sigh escaped your lips, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Father Charlie chuckled softly, the sound like music—a melody far more pleasant than the hymns that had echoed just moments ago. “She is quite the figure,” he observed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Oh, that she is…” you muttered, the embarrassment creeping into your cheeks.

“Come, walk with me.” He gestured down the long aisle, and you fell into step beside him, your heart racing as you moved past the rows of empty pews. The church felt different now, as if it were just the two of you in a sacred, intimate space.

For a few moments, silence enveloped you both. The quiet was comfortable, yet heavy with anticipation. Then, Father Charlie broke the stillness. “I don’t mean to rush you, but why did you wish to speak with me?” His voice was gentle, with a hint of curiosity.

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “I—um…” The embarrassment was suffocating.

“It’s alright. No need to rush. Take your time,” he encouraged, his gaze unwavering, offering a safe harbor in the storm of your thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your racing heart. “Well, I’ve been having some... inadequate thoughts about certain things... and aspects of my life. I’ve tried to pray about it, but it doesn’t seem to help.” The confession spilled out, the weight of guilt and confusion pressing heavily on your chest.

Father Charlie nodded, his expression one of understanding. “That is understandable. Sometimes it is hard for us to connect with the Lord. Temptation is not an easy thing to deal with.” He paused, a shadow crossing his features as if battling something within himself.

“And resisting sin is certainly…” He faltered, the words hanging in the air, unfinished.

“Perhaps coming to a confessional could help?” he suggested, tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with a mix of warmth and something else—something deeper.

The thought of confession made your stomach churn, but you felt drawn to him, the connection between you sparking with unexpected intensity. “I don’t know if that’s what I need…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Sometimes, sharing our burdens can lighten the load we carry. It’s a safe space, a chance to speak freely. I’m here for you,” he assured, his tone steady and inviting.

You looked up at him, caught in the sincerity of his gaze. “It just feels... wrong, you know? I’ve been trying so hard to be the perfect daughter, the perfect Christian. But I keep failing.”

A flicker of something akin to sympathy crossed his features. “It’s not about perfection, Y/N. We all have our struggles. It’s part of being human. What matters is the intention behind our actions and the effort to seek forgiveness.”

His words resonated within you, echoing the very truths you had been grappling with. “But what if my intentions are... inappropriate?” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Father Charlie stepped a bit closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm embrace. “We all have thoughts that we may not be proud of. It’s what we do with those thoughts that defines us. Have you spoken to anyone about this before?”

You shook your head, feeling exposed. “No, I’ve kept it all inside. I’m afraid of what they might think—especially my mother.”

“Your mother may not understand, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer in silence. You deserve to express your feelings.” His voice was firm, yet tender, grounding you in the moment.

“Do you really think so?” you asked, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“I know so,” he replied, a soft smile breaking across his face. “You are not alone. I’m here, and I’m listening.”

A warmth blossomed in your chest at his words, filling the void of loneliness that had settled within you for so long. “Thank you, Father Charlie,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, a sound that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s my calling to help. You’re brave for reaching out; that’s a step in the right direction.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of your worries still pressing down but feeling a little lighter. “I just wish I could find a way to... reconcile what I feel with my faith.”

Father Charlie nodded, his expression serious yet encouraging. “That’s a journey many embark on, and it’s not always straightforward. But I believe that through honesty—both with yourself and with God—you can find a path that feels right for you.”

His words hung in the air, resonating within you. “But how do I begin?”

“Perhaps we can start with confession. It’s a way to unburden yourself—an opportunity to speak openly without fear of judgment. I would be honored to guide you through it.”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and terrifying. “I’ve never done that before,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

“It’s perfectly alright. Everyone starts somewhere. Just remember, it’s a safe space,” he reassured, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “Okay... I’ll think about it.”

Father Charlie’s smile widened, a genuine warmth emanating from him. “That’s all I ask. Just take your time.”

You felt a sudden rush of emotions, a mixture of gratitude, fear, and something akin to hope. “Thank you, Father. For listening, for understanding.”

“It’s my pleasure, Y/N,” he replied softly. “Remember, you are not alone in this.”

The moment felt suspended in time, an electric charge hanging in the air between you. You were acutely aware of his presence, the way he seemed to draw you in, making the world outside fade away.

But reality came crashing back as you glanced toward the church doors, where the shadows of your parents loomed. “I should go,” you said reluctantly, the weight of the outside world pressing back in.

“Of course,” he said, his tone understanding, yet a hint of disappointment lingered in his eyes.

As you turned to leave, you felt a sudden urge to say more, to linger in that moment just a little longer. “Father Charlie?”

“Yes?” He looked at you, his expression expectant.

“Can I—can I come back and talk to you again?”

“Anytime, Y/N. My door is always open for you.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the uncertainty. “Thank you.”

With one last glance, you stepped toward the heavy doors, your heart racing with the thrill of what you had just shared. As you pushed them open, the sunlight flooded in, illuminating the path ahead.

“See you soon, Y/N,” Father Charlie called after you, his voice wrapping around you like a promise.

You took a deep breath, feeling lighter as you stepped outside, the echoes of your conversation lingering in your mind. The conflict within you still simmered, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a spark of hope.

As you made your way to the car, your mother’s cold gaze met yours, but you held your head high. You were beginning to understand that seeking guidance, even from a handsome priest who stirred feelings you never knew you could possess, was a step toward finding your own truth. And perhaps, just perhaps, you were on the brink of discovering a deeper connection to both your faith and yourself.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF GROTESQUERIE OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT FOR THE ONES I CREATED DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

tags:

[bloodibambiidoll]

✞ Father Mayhew’s obsessive little church mouse. Everyone thinks you’re an angel, the picture of virtue. But the truth is you spend every Sunday service pressing you thighs together thinking about the things he’s going to do to you after. You leave your panties in his room and kiss prints in the pages of his Bible. You’re his devout follower. In your eyes, he is God. ✞

[colsons-baker]

The Sins of The Father

Father Charlie x Reader

Disclaimer: this is my reimagining of Father Charlie / him before the events of Grotesquerie (and yes I have seen it and knows what happens but idc he’s still the hot priest to me ✋🏻)

You, an angelic face sat in the pew with your family, a vision in a white lace dress your mother always complained was too short for church so you wore it every Sunday to annoy her. He, a young priest newly moved to the parish, who couldn’t help keep his eyes on you a moment longer than he did the others in the congregation. The first sin, lust.

Charlie had never done drugs but he imagined the way he craved you was what it would be like to be an addict. He hid it as best he could, a priest should not have these thoughts or feelings. A priest should never do what he did when he was alone in his room at night and all he could picture was you.

He knew you felt it too, something in the way you looked at him as he held onto your hand for just a moment more as he greeted the parishioners one by one while they left the church. Could you tell what he did to the thought of you? Could you tell how desperate he was for you? Could you tell how conflicted he was between right and wrong and all his life choices?

——

His list of sins began to grow as time passed. Second sin, envy.

Envy was not a strange feeling to Charlie, everyone was guilty of being envious of another at some point. It was something that a person could not help, something that was probably ingrained inside us all. But he had never felt envy like this.

The months passed and the longing for you did not leave him, neither did the burden of his guilt for wanting you in the way that he did. He would watch you out of the corner of his eye after Mass, talking to a friend of yours while he spoke to some parishioner. He wanted to be able to talk to you outside of the formalities, he wanted to be the person infront of you making you smile. He was jealous that they got to spend that time with you and he did not and he had never felt that type of envy before.

It was an envy that ate him alive, made him dislike the people who knew you better than he did. It was an envy fuelled by longing. Maybe it was even an envy fuelled by love.

———-

But one moment could never be enough to quench his thirst for you. The third and fourth sins, greed and gluttony.

“I think you have your days mixed up, Y/N.” Charlie chuckled as he made his way to the pew you were seated on. He was just leaving his office for the day when he saw you sitting there.

You turned your head to look at him as he stopped beside you. “I do?”

“Well, last time I checked it was Thursday and I’ve never seen you here outside of Sunday mass. And you don’t even attend that regularly.” He teased, but the Sunday’s you did not show were the ones he hated most. “May I?” He pointed to the pew.

“Of course.” You nodded, sliding over to give him some room.

Charlie breathed out as he sat down. He looked around before focusing once more upon you. “So?” You turned your head to him once more. “Why are you here?”

You hummed. “I don’t know.” You admitted with a shrug. “I just felt like I should come here.”

“Why?” Charlie looked at you as you looked at him.

To see you was what you wanted to tell him, because that was the truth. But how could you explain that to a man of the cloth in a church?

Not knowing what to say, you said nothing as the two of you looked at one another. The silence lingered in the air between you for a moment before the kiss began, and when it began it became obvious that neither one of you wanted it to stop. But he was a priest and this was wrong.

You pulled away, looking at him in a state of semi-shock. This is what you had wanted, but it’s not something you thought would happen. “I-I have to go.” You said quickly as you stood and quickly walked to the door.

“Y/N please!” Charlie stood pleading with you to stay as the church door closed behind you. He sighed and slumped back onto the pew, avoiding eye contact with the crucifix on the altar. He knew he should be paying penitence for what just transpired but he could not bring himself to. The kiss had not felt wrong and he didn’t want it to stop. He just wanted more.

———

Charlie rose his head as he heard a knock on the open office door. “Y/N?” He stood, not expecting to see you standing there. It was Sunday, mass was in an hour and you were in the dress your mother hated.

“I’m sorry Father, but I had to come.” You told him, taking a step inside but stopping short of going to him.

Charlie shook his head. “Call me Charlie, please.” He whispered, his voice not able to get past the lump in his throat. He wondered if you would even turn up for mass today, so the last place he expected you was here, now.

You nodded before looking down. You had thought this over a million times in your head since Thursday, but now you were here…well where do you start?

Charlie cleared his throat. “Thursday was…”

“Wrong?” You suggested.

“Something I’ve wanted since I first set eyes on you.”

You looked at him. “What?”

Charlie shook his head as he looked away. “I’ve done so much to get to where I am, to be in this position. But you? You’re testing my faith more than I ever thought a person could.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I like it.”

You smiled slightly and he smiled back.

“I felt called to the church, I can’t explain what that feels like to someone who doesn’t feel that calling.” He told you. “But every time I look at you, I feel a new calling. And I don’t know what to do.” He whispered.

You shook your head, trying to take it all in. “My parents would kill me.” You laughed a little, it was a joke but it had truth in it. But what could they do? You weren’t a kid, just a sinner.

Charlie moved closer to you. He reached out slowly, taking a hold of your wrist. “How would they ever know?” He whispered.

————

From that moment a relationship grew, which only brought more sins upon the young priest, but he did not know if he cared. His faith in his profession began to crumble, but his faith in you and the relationship you formed. which blossomed in secret liaisons and out-of-town dates without his collar on, shone bright. The fourth and fifth sins, pride and sloth

“Charlie…we need to talk.” You told him as you stood in the door to his room, him by his closet.

“What’s up babe?” He asked, not looking at you.

You breathed in, trying to steady yourself before you dropped the bomb that would blow everything out of the water.

“I-I’m pregnant.”

Charlie froze but he didn’t turn to look at you. His mind raced with thoughts, more thoughts than he could handle.

“P-pregnant?” He said quietly after a moment, still not turning to look at you.

Charlie believed that no man was without sin. But the sin of your relationship was something he had taken all on himself, not wanting you to be tarnished in anyway. But he had failed because now you were pregnant. Maybe this was his penance, caught up to him at last, because now you were full of sin. And the child you carried would be born of it.

“Charlie? Please look at me.” You whispered, your eyes welling up.

He turned his head and you saw his eyes mirror yours. Both of you were thinking the same thing. What would happen now? What would happen to your relationship, to your child, to Charlie’s faith? He couldn’t do the right thing and marry you as it went against the rules of the church and if your relationship ever got out then you would be a pariah in this town.

You see, no man was without sin, least of all Charlie. But his sin was so beautiful that he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop himself. His sin was you, and he never wanted to give you up.

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future.

PREVIEW TWO

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

ONE

The tension in your hospital room is palpable, Detective Lois and Dr. Mayhew locking eyes as if each were ready to strike. You’re bewildered, unsure of whom or what to believe. But one thing is clear: Dr. Mayhew is your husband. He appears to be the quickest path to recovering your memory—even though Lois seems convinced he’s the reason you’re in this condition.

“Detective Tryon, as eager as you are to drag a statement out of my wife, she’ll be of no use to your scheme of blaming me for your incompetence,” Dr. Mayhew says, running a hand through his hair with a clear hint of tension. “She remembers nothing, and your persistence will only confuse her further.” He sighs heavily, while Lois watches him with a mocking smile, as if her patience has completely worn thin.

“Your performance is so convincing. You must have taken acting lessons at some point in your life,” she says, stepping toward him with a threatening air. “I can’t allow you to harm this woman before she has the chance to tell the world who you really are.”

“Enough!” you exclaim, frustrated by their bickering. Both turn to you, their expressions shifting to something like concern. “Detective Tryon, I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe. But if this man truly is my husband, that must mean something,” you say, almost on instinct. Perhaps you’re being foolish, even hasty. But there has to be something to this. Taking a risk is all you have left—now that you don’t even belong to yourself.

"Are you really willing to risk your life to be near this man, Y/N?" Detective Tryon holds your arm, her grip nearly desperate, as though trying to pull you away from Dr. Mayhew. The force of it makes you uncomfortable, and you wince, letting out a low sound of pain.

“Release my wife, Detective,” Dr. Mayhew snaps, his tone finally sharpened, his calm composure cracking. “I remind you that if we report your misconduct to your superiors, your entire baseless case will fall apart.” He steps between you and Lois, his hands slipping into his lab coat pockets, the stance a clear challenge.

"What would truly please you, right?" Lois challenges, staring straight into Dr. Mayhew's eyes. You watch them silently, still feeling the ache in your arm where Lois had grabbed you.

"Would you like to know what would actually please me?" Dr. Mayhew whispers, moving closer to Lois. "I’d be pleased to have my wife with me again, without the interference of a lunatic so obsessed with her own failures that she needs to ruin my life just to sleep at night. Careful, Lois. You’re becoming obsessed with me." You're uncertain of his intentions, but the authoritative tone in his voice and the way he carries himself is undeniably alluring.

Lois narrows her eyes, her expression darkening as Dr. Mayhew moves closer, his tone laced with mockery and barely concealed venom. “Is that so, Dr. Mayhew? Obsession, you call it?” she scoffs, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Let’s not confuse dedication to justice with obsession. But perhaps you’re simply too accustomed to manipulating the truth to recognize it when you see it.”

You watch the exchange, torn between skepticism and an undeniable draw toward him. Despite the sharp edge in his words, the way Dr. Mayhew stands his ground, unyielding and unafraid, stirs something within you. Even as his gaze shifts to meet yours, there’s an intensity there that unsettles yet captivates you—a magnetic pull that defies reason.

“Why not focus on your own affairs, Detective,” he murmurs, his eyes still on you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “and let my wife and I… reconnect. Unless, of course, you’ve truly no other purpose in your life than meddling in mine.”

Your confidence is remarkable, Charlie," Lois remarks. "Mrs. Mayhew, if you need me for any reason, here’s my number. I’ll also be visiting again soon to see if there’s been any progress in your memory recovery." She hands you a card with her contact information, then smirks mockingly at Dr. Mayhew. "And don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll let Megan know you’ll be unavailable." With that, she finally exits your hospital room.

Charlie stares at you, irritation burning in his gaze. "Do you believe her?" Dr. Mayhew demands, advancing toward you with sudden intensity. You feel as if the air is being drawn from your lungs with his nearness, his gaze piercing. "Honestly, I don’t know whom to believe," you murmur, leaning back against the hospital bed behind you, your eyes locked onto his.

"Fine!" he exclaims, voice laced with indignation. He turns to leave, but then hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame as if torn between staying and leaving. After a tense pause, he steps back inside, his tone shifting from anger to something raw and vulnerable.

"Y/N… if you can’t trust me, then at least remember what we once were. Remember the promises we made." His voice drops to a murmur, almost pleading. "I’m not the monster she’s painting me to be." The intensity in his words sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you more conflicted than ever as he finally, reluctantly, exits the room. What makes it all worse is that neither of them is truly thinking about you. Neither one noticed that you’ve only just discovered your own name, that you're lost and confused. They don’t see that you don’t want to be manipulated—you want to be understood.

“You are like him…” you murmur, recognizing that you’re no longer in your hospital room. Everything around you is intensely white—the walls, the bed you're seated on, every corner spotless and untouched. A cross hangs on the wall behind the priest, casting a shadow that flickers slightly, as if from candlelight. The room feels steeped in something sacred, almost otherworldly, like a faint echo of a memory stirring within you. The priest looks at you with a serene expression, though there’s an unmistakable weight behind his gaze. As he steps closer, the almost sacred atmosphere around you amplifies the tension. You try to process the overwhelming resemblance to Dr. Mayhew—even the contours of his face are identical, but the priest’s shorter, more traditional hairstyle highlights the difference. Your mind wavers between doubt and recognition, as if your subconscious is trying to unveil something long forgotten.

“You keep searching for answers outside yourself, yet everything you need lies within,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing through the room like a quiet revelation.

“Father, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, what to feel,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze. Tears slip down your cheeks, and a quiet, aching desperation fills the space between you. The priest, unmoved yet tender, holds your gaze.

“Faith moves mountains, and as long as it resides within you, you will be safe,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command that resonates deeply. “Find your faith, and you will know what—and whom—to believe.”

Despite the haziness, a strange comfort wraps around your heart, soft yet unexplainable. His words, laced with a familiar warmth, guide you into a calm acceptance, though the reason remains unknown. Then, leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “Now, kneel and seek forgiveness.” Almost instinctively, you find yourself on your knees before him, grasping the folds of his robe at his knees, your head bowed as though in reverence.

“Father, forgive me,” you whisper, your head bowed. His fingers lift your chin gently, compelling you to meet his gaze. “How can I grant you absolution, when your hands are stained with blood, my sweet sinner?” he murmurs, lowering his face near yours, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

You’re shocked, frozen beneath his intense gaze, but unable to break away. As you glance down, horror floods your senses—you see your hands smeared with blood. Stumbling backward, you gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. The priest rises from the bed, stepping slowly toward you with an unwavering gaze, a faint trail of blood marking his face. You’re overwhelmed with fear, a scream building in your throat until it finally erupts, piercing the silence. And then—just like that—you awaken from your haunting dream, heart racing, as the unsettling remnants of the nightmare fade into the dim light of your hospital room.

Dr. Mayhew, startled awake in the chair beside your bed, immediately reaches for you. “Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he stands and wraps you in a firm embrace. His arms encircle you with a warmth that feels protective, grounding you in the present moment, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever haunted you.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whisper once you catch your breath, the tension beginning to ease as you lean into his hold. And everything feels like déjà vu. Just like before, you wake from a nightmare involving the priest, and once again, Dr. Mayhew is by your side. You can't help but wonder if there’s a connection between his presence and the terrifying, bloody dreams that haunt you each night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Dr. Mayhew murmurs softly, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. The warmth of his embrace gives you an unexpected feeling of lightness, as though he’s holding you together amidst the lingering fragments of your nightmare.

“Can we leave this place?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to stifle the tears that have flowed since you woke. He holds you a little closer, and you feel a subtle tension in his grip, as if considering your question carefully.

“We will, soon,” he assures, his tone steady, though a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. “For now, rest. I’ll be here.”

"Stay here; I need you to answer me—while looking into my eyes," you insist, tugging at Dr. Mayhew's clothes, almost dislodging his tie. Though he’d intended to return to the hospital chair, he remains by your side, his gaze steady yet guarded.

“Will you even believe my answer?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, as though unsure anything he says would hold weight with you. His eyes search yours, wary yet attentive, as if weighing what he’s willing to reveal.

"You'll have to take the risk and believe that I will," you say softly, though you're unsure if you can truly trust anything he says. Dr. Mayhew's hand reaches gently to touch your face, but you instinctively pull back, murmuring, "I’m sorry."

“Ask me whatever you wish, Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with impatience, perhaps confused by your conflicting actions—clinging to him, pulling him closer, yet retreating from his touch. You, too, are struggling to understand what you’re feeling, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away.

“Do you love me?” you ask, your gaze unwavering, trying to find answers in the depths of his eyes. His stare holds yours, as if the question should be irrelevant, as if he has already shown you everything you need to know. His expression softens, but the weight of his response carries something more.

"I’m your husband, Y/N," he replies, his voice steady, but there's an intensity in his eyes, a depth of meaning that you can’t ignore. "Doesn't that answer everything?" His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and for a moment, you wonder if the truth lies somewhere in the space between his claims and the confusion that churns in your heart.

"Answer me, Dr. Mayhew, do you love me?" you ask, using a more assertive tone, making it clear that you are not satisfied with his previous answer. He smiles, as if he can't believe it. "I love you, Mrs. Mayhew. I would die for you if necessary," he responds confidently. His eyes are fixed on you, as if waiting for something.

"Then even if the truth disappoints me. Even if you think it's going to hurt me, I need you to be honest. About these murders, about Megan, about everything." You speak firmly, staring into his eyes.

Dr. Mayhew's expression hardens as you mention the two things he surely wishes you would forget. For a moment, he looks at the hospital room wall without saying anything. "Honesty is a double-edged sword. As you inflict it on someone, someone can inflict it on you," his gaze darkens, his demeanor heavy, almost demonic. "If honesty is what you want; honesty is all you'll get."

He stands up, lifting his face to yours, now standing directly in front of you. "You think the truth will set you free, but sometimes it only binds you to something far worse," Dr. Mayhew says, so close to your face it feels as though he's about to kiss you. His words are heavy, yet his gaze is devilishly captivating. For a moment, you sense that he's savoring the expression of fear in your eyes. "Then let the truth bind us both, if that's what we deserve," you reply, challenging him, even though a part of you trembles with fear.

He straightens his coat, his hand running through his hair with a sharp, almost angry gesture, as though attempting to pull himself together. "Rest, Y/N. The truth will find its way to you, sooner or later. But I can promise you this: I am, and will always be, honest with the woman I love—even if she doubts me." With those words, Dr. Mayhew places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a gesture of tenderness. Then, without another word, he exits your hospital room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

[familiarscars]

Infamous Desire | Nicholas Chavez

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. nicholas chavez x female reader. ⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. With dreams becoming more and more real, you live in the impasse between succumbing to the infamous desire. ⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). dirty talk, somnophilia, knife play, explicit sex, murder, stalker, profanity.

With your palms together, you hear each word of his like music to your ears. He says “God, our Father, take away the sins of the world” as if he were not the bearer of most of them.

Light brown hair perfectly combed back, narrow gaze and broad shoulders over the dark cassock with red details over the cross. Father Charles was the definition of a heretic, frighteningly handsome and intoxicating beautiful, capable of warming parts hitherto unknown beneath the sacred vestments.

"May the Lord lead you safely to your homes, my brothers, I have heard that an evildoer is roaming Houston." Father Charles warns, closing his Bible and turning his attention to the faithful. "Pray, fast, keep evil far from your homes and avoid going out at dusk."

Leaving the only chapel in Houston empty, everyone followed the low sun due to the time and left after the end of Sunday mass, except you. Running her fingers over the dark wooden benches as she walked forward, her eyes never left the man standing at the pulpit, focused on the scriptures. From this point of view, his arms seemed larger, as if they were going to tear the tailored fabric at any moment.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, dreaming about him every night after prayer had become a routine, and it was common for the temperature to fluctuate between her legs.

"Is everything okay, sister?" Father Charles' voice cut through your thoughts that seemed to be drifting into dangerous territory.

''Yes, yes" You answered a little shakily, adjusting your skirt as a distraction "Do you need any more help to fix the church?"

Father Charles gave you that look and smiled, walking towards you, flames coming out of his pupils and shooting through your body like embers. Since his arrival at the parish, nothing seemed to have returned to its normal state.

"Always so dedicated, sister…" Charles said in a hoarse whisper, leaning down until he was at your height, he lifted your chin with his fingertips and your faces were so close that the warm air of his breath blew against your face. "You deserve the best reward that heaven has to offer you."

With his fingers moving away from the contact with your face, you felt him blush and smiled shyly as you shrugged your shoulders. "Would it be bold of me to ask what it would be, Father Charles?"

"That's not an answer I can give when my mission is to only apply punishments."

"Then maybe I deserve to be punished." You say frankly, forgetting that you are in front of a Catholic authority, obeying only the command of the unbearable heat between your thighs.

"Do you wish to confess, sister?" He asks before half-closing his eyes.

Closed in the four wooden walls of a confessional, your fingers lowered the veil that covered the top of your head, and from the side view you saw Father Charles sitting in the next room.

"Father, give me your blessing because I have sinned"

You say without taking your attention off his erect body. "Every night in my dreams my object of desire manages to persuade me, without any effort, I allow him to take me, to soil my body with his sweet profanity and give me the cup of sin to drink with him. It is becoming more and more recurrent, I am no longer able to separate illusion from reality and being close to him has been torture without remembering the images we experience every night."

"It doesn't seem that serious to me, sister" he began with a deep voice filling the confessional. "We cannot control our dreams, there is no need to consider it a sin to have carnal desires."

"Not even if the object of desire, is you?"

An anguished silence formed in seconds, from the side view you noticed Father Charles closing his fingers on his own thigh, shrinking the fabric of his cassock. You didn't know what that reaction meant more precisely, but a wave of regret for saying those words slowly emerged.

Six Hail Marys and twelve Our Fathers was your punishment, not exactly what you expected after revealing to your parish priest the unbridled delirium he caused in your head every night. Charles left the confessional in silence and, with the discouragement of having done the biggest mistake of your life, you returned to your room at the back of the church.

Cold water from the shower on your naked body, eyes closed, and nothing could contain the maddening agony of thinking about that man from the moment you woke up until the time you went to sleep. Like a volcano, he left a trail of overwhelming destruction with just his intoxicating presence and the woody scent of his skin.

Your fingers sailed to your nipples, twirling around them in circular motions, allowing your mind to take you as far as possible. Heat, tension, stiffness on the soft skin, that was the effect he had on you as if he were constantly electrocuting you with high voltage wires.

All the shame spread in his presence and you just wanted to feel him, you just wished that instead of your fingers entering, it were his. In your core, you made rotary movements until your clitoris stiffened from the spasm generated by your body. A moan escaped your lips, you're at the height of pleasure, didn't care about being heard by the other nuns in the room as you sank two more fingers inside yourself.

Between the strands of hair, you raised your head and noticed a presence watching you through the bathroom window, but you didn't move to stop when you realized that having someone on the other side made you even more excited.

A short scream tells you that you came on your fingers, and a last sigh of relief leaves your lips as you relax in the hot water. The sight of another body in the window is no longer there, and you raise your eyebrows, curiously wondering where the figure that was stalking you was.

After turning off the shower, you wrapped your body in a towel and with bare feet felt the cold floor on the way to the back door of the room. The night breeze attacked you with force, with a wind that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You heard a grunting sound that seemed to come from the outskirts of the parish, and even though you were hesitant, you overcame your fear and followed wherever the noise was.

You covered your mouth with your hands to prevent your scream from echoing around the place as you saw Father Charles disemboweling a man's body in the middle of the lawn. His white clothes were stained with blood, his hair disheveled over his face, and he was panting like an animal as he finished taking the life of that being. Shock seemed not to be enough, your legs were frozen in place, and you forgot that your towel had slipped when you put your hands to your mouth in fright.

The dark and demonic gaze that had taken over Father Charles's body left the lifeless body and wandered towards you. Appetite leapt from his expression, as if the reclusive animal was finally free, thirsty for everything it needed to repel. He delighted in the fear on your face, and you tried to retreat as his steps advanced, but to no avail when he grabbed you by the throat and threw you against the church wall.

"Ask me, sister" he said softly, taking his hand from your throat to your hair, his face slowly nuzzled your neck and little by little you gave in as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Ask me why my body is covered in the blood of a guy I don't know."

"Because, Father Charles…" You gasped when he passed a rigid tip at your entrance.

"Because he was watching you from the same place where I usually jump to see you every night, sister."

"You…

"No… it wasn't just a dream, we gave in to our desires together, every damn night since I got here." He blew and sent shivers down your entire body, pressing your legs tighter around his waist. The object he was using, cold and firm, pierced you and elicited a shy moan. "There is no sin without punishment, sister. Prepare to meet the worst of the devil in me tonight."

The handle of Father Charles' knife moved back and forth against the liquid that was running between your legs. Hot, voracious and with the taste of blood, it was the kiss of the man destined for the holy life who synchronized his tongues at the same time as he passed his lips over my face and pressed his body against the wall.

Infamous desire inflamed your veins and you used your hips to grind against the tip of the knife with the slow and sensual rhythm of the kiss. Your moans were muffled by Charles' lips every time he sank the object deeper.

"That's it, darling," he exhaled in a hoarse voice. "There's no need to rush to finish this dance, I'll always come back the next morning."

Every night was real, he invaded your dreams and confused your reality with the kisses on your belly and the rotating movements he made against your clitoris. Responsible for all the orgasms that flooded your bed the previous morning, Father Charles escaped your fantasies and came true before your eyes.

Taking the soaked knife out of you, he heard the plea you made when you felt you were empty. With a mischievous smile, it didn't take long for him to fill you again with his hard and robust member, too strong for your tight entrance. Charles tore the walls of your pussy as he forced himself against you, and your moan as he dug his nails into your wounded back sounded even louder.

Your breathing synchronized, and he looked deep into your eyes as he thrust and lifted your body with each thrust. You closed your legs to squeeze him, and you had never heard a sound as intriguing as the moan of a man like him. Your body gave the first spasm and your eyes rolled back with the high concentration of pleasure in your vertebrae.

Charles gave you a relentless sequence of penetrations, slamming your back against the wall, rough and delirious, he didn't waste a single drop of your body, running his tongue over your face, neck and breasts, as if it were his fountain of youth.

With a long grunt, you came all over Charles and drew a restrained smile from him. He used his own fluid as lubricant to continue his thrusts. The pause made him sigh and with his fingers digging into the back of your neck he led you to kneel in front of him. His entire length was entering your mouth with difficulty.

You thought it was impossible for someone to have something so exaggerated, but he did. Your hand helped you by stimulating his erection and you worked on smearing it with your saliva, tasting it as it hit your throat. Charles writhed silently and made up for his lack of control by squeezing your hair between his fingers.

Your free hand massaged his balls without breaking eye contact with him. You felt your legs slip again just seeing Charles blush at how slowly he sucked your cock inside.

It was definitely not just a dream this time.

[fear-is-truth]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑

— charlie mayhew x nun!reader. | mdni

tags: mature content 18+・blasphemy・fem!reader・unprotected p in v・not proofread

a/n: i’m sorry

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW sits back in a wooden chair, dark eyes following you closely, but not with the sanctity expected from a priest. he’s holding a bible in his hand, fingers idly brushing the worn edges, but the words that come out of his mouth have strayed far from the expected teachings.

“celibacy,” he declares, “is a widely misunderstood concept. it’s not about abstaining, but about control. mastery of the flesh, not rejection of it.”

you’re sitting across from him, hands folded neatly in your lap as you tried to maintain a composed front. you don’t bother to mask the skepticism in your tone. “is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, father? that indulging a little bit isn’t breaking your vows?”

the soft mockery didn’t deter him. if anything, it fueled him. his expression does not falter; in fact, he smiles wider. “ah, but sister. did christ not spend forty days in the wilderness, surrounded by temptation, and come out stronger? his words are laced with arrogance, each one delivered as if it were irrefutable truth. the towel around his waist slips just a little, revealing more skin, but he makes no effort to adjust it. his gaze never leaves yours, and the audacity of it all strikes you.

“is it not written that to know sin, one must overcome it?

under current circumstances, charlie mayhew is a man of contradictions—utterly confident despite his obviously flawed reasoning. it’s impossible to tell if he truly believed what he was saying or if he simply liked bending the truth for his own purposes.

“so what you’re telling me,” your voice carried a soft lilt, lips curling as you meet his gaze, “is that celibacy is… negotiable now? sounds a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

slowly, you rise to your feet, deliberately turning away before bending down. the slit in your black habit parts slightly, revealing fishnet stockings, the round curve of your ass visible through the thin fabric.

“indulgence is sin when it lacks discipline,” he replies without skipping a beat, but there’s a new, raspy quality in his voice now.

“but when it’s controlled—when you allow yourself to feel something and rise above it—that’s where true strength lies. that’s power. that’s faith.” he’s idly stroking himself, slow pumps of his hand around the throbbing length. taking your own sweet time, you made a show of adjusting the strap on your high heels and allowing him to see the red lacy thong underneath as the slit falls open a bit more.

“besides,” he continues, “what’s the harm in understanding sin—up close? is it not our duty to learn the limits of our restraint, to test our strength?”

not answering, you simply sashay toward the priest, heels clicking softly against the floor, until you stop directly in front of him. his eyes follow your every movement as you free yourself of your garments, though the smirk on his lips never falters. you reach down and tilt his chin up with one finger,

“for someone who preaches so much about temptation,” you purr, “you sure don’t seem eager to resist it.”

he raises a brow, but before he can respond, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling him with deliberate slowness. your hand slides down his chest, fingertips brushing against smooth skin. his breath catches as one of your hands grazes over his toned abs, while the other squeezes his face with a teasing pressure.

“tell me, father.”

leaning in, you press your lips to his. when he doesn’t pull away, you deepen the kiss, gently pulling his lower lip between your teeth. his breath shudders as you release him, eyes scorching with lust.

“is this what you had in mind when you swore to be devout?”

a stretched groan escapes his lips when you guided the tip of his shaft between your slick folds. carefully, you sink down onto him, relishing in the tight, hot stretch—inch by glorious inch. your eyelids momentarily flutter shut as you were fully impaled on his cock, and just when you thought he’s about to kiss you again, charlie dips his head down. you gasped when you feel his tongue tracing slow circles around the areola before finally wrapping his lips around your nipple.

“ooh,” you manage to breathe out, and you immediately feel him smile against your breast. charlie starts to thrust up into you, his girth stretching you out to the extent that you can practically feel every ridge and bump of the veins that scattered along his length dragging against your walls. ripples of pleasure course through your body, the cross pendant you wore around your neck bouncing between your breasts with the motion.

the small room is soon filled with the slapping sounds of skin on skin, coupled with the wet suction of your pussy swallowing his cock, occasionally punctuated by your whimpers and his moans.

it doesn’t take long for the hot coil inside of you to snap. a powerful orgasm tears through your body, inner walls convulsing around him. within seconds, his seed is spurting into your womb, triggering aftershocks that left you trembling like a leaf in high wind.

charlie’s head falls back to rest against the wall behind him, as his cock continued to twitch deep inside you, residual spasms in sync with the weak fluttering of your pussy around him. your body is still tingling, a pleasant, dizzy warmth spreading through you.

“jesus…” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them. he chuckles dryly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hand lazily trails up your back.

“no, sister.” he murmurs, toying with a strand of your hair, gently tugging.

“it’s ‘father charlie’ to you.”

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[greengoblinswifey]

Moth to a Flame- Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

summary— you find yourself entangled with your co-star, Nicholas Chavez, despite being in a committed relationship. The chemistry between you ignites on and off set and the lines blur, leading to a heated affair.

warnings— fingering, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral, cheating(reader does), praise kink, degrading kink, not proofread i fear.

a/n: this is long asf but you’ll love it, read while listening to Moth to a Flame by The. Weeknd <3

On set, the tension was palpable. The cameras were rolling for season two of the show where Nicholas and you, as the main characters, were set to film an intense love scene. The script called for his character to finally confess his desire for you, despite your on-screen character’s relationship with someone else. Ironically, it wasn’t just the characters who were tangled up in complicated feelings. In real life, you and Nicholas had crossed the same line, and it made filming the scene that much more real.

Your boyfriend, Cody, who had always been a bit uneasy about you acting alongside Nicholas, was on set that day, watching the scene unfold. The moment Nicholas delivered his line with intense conviction- “I want you, fuck your boyfriend,” It was almost like a direct hit to Cody in real life. His fists clenched, and you could feel the heat of his glare even from where you stood.

The scene continued, Nicholas's hands on your waist, pulling you close as you kissed for the first time this season. The chemistry between you both was undeniable on and off and that only seemed to infuriate your boyfriend further. Before the director could call “cut,” Cody stormed forward, clearly upset.

“Cut!” the director yelled, trying to defuse the situation. You hurried over to him, placing a hand on his chest to calm him down.

“Listen, babe, take a breather, okay? We have to do this scene. It’s just acting,” you whispered, trying to soothe his frustration. You could feel Nicholas' eyes on you from across the set, jaw clenched in irritation. He hated seeing Cody upset, especially when it came to you which was very common.

“I don’t like it,” Cody muttered, his voice low. “The way he looks at you, the way you two are-”

“Go take a walk through the city, clear your head," you interrupted softly, trying to stay professional even though the tension was real. “It’s part of the job, okay? We’re gonna take a break.”

He hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Nicholas. But eventually, after a few tense moments, he gave in and turned to leave, though not without a frustrated huff. The moment he was out of earshot, you sighed, running a hand through your braids.

Nicholas approached you, his eyes dark with a mix of desire and irritation. “You okay?” he asked, though his gaze flickered toward where Cody had disappeared.

You nodded, but inside, the emotions were swirling. You were cheating on your boyfriend in the show, but the real betrayal lingered in the air, just beneath the surface.

In the next scene, the tension was still hanging in the air, and the director decided it was best to take a break. “Alright, we’re gonna pause here,” he announced. “Everyone take ten, grab some snacks, get some air. We’ll continue filming once we’re all settled again.”

You nodded, eager for a moment to escape the tension between your boyfriend and Nicholas on set. Heading back to your trailer, you sank onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling while sipping on coffee. Your mind raced, replaying the scene that had just unfolded. You had been thinking about leaving Cody for a while now, but his overbearing presence made it hard. You feared what he might do if you walked away. And then, of course, there was the media, always watching.

As you lay there, lost in thought, a knock sounded at your door. You assumed it was Cody, needing to cool off after his earlier outburst. Without even looking, you called out, “Cody, just take a walk. You need to cool off.”

The door opened, but instead of Cody’s familiar presence, it was Nicholas who stepped in. You sat up on the bed, surprised. “Oh, Hey,” you muttered, sitting up straighter as he walked towards you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice low and concerned. He studied your face closely, his eyes filled with genuine care. You tried to give a nonchalant smile, nodding.

“I’m fine,” you lied, though it was obvious you weren’t. Nicholas’ gaze flickered from your brown eyes down to your lips, then back up again. He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until there was barely any distance at all.

You both were inching toward each other, your breath mingling as the attraction that had been building between you two, both on and off screen, reached its breaking point for the hundredth time. Before you could think, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow and tender at first, but then his hands moved up to cup your breasts, sending sparks through you.

You pulled away, breathless, your heart pounding. “What if Cody comes back? What if he sees us?” you whispered, half in fear, half in excitement.

Nicholas, with a wicked grin, leaned in closer, his voice a deep rasp. “Let him see. Let him see me make you feel good, in a way he never can.”

The room felt hot, the air thick with desire. Nicholas stood up and crossed the room to lock the door. The click of the lock made your pulse race. Then, without hesitation, he took off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and defined abs. He looked absolutely irresistible, his body chiseled and perfect.

You couldn’t stop staring, practically drooling at how unbelievably hot he was. And as he stood there, looking down at you with smoldering eyes, you realized just how powerless you were to resist him any longer.

The tension in the trailer was thick, the heat between you and Nicholas undeniable. You wanted more of him, but the looming threat of Cody returning, or the director calling everyone back to set, weighed on your mind. Despite that, your body ached for his touch, and you couldn’t resist as he sat beside you, his lips crashing back onto yours.

The kiss deepened, your moans of his name slipping past your lips as he whispered against your skin, “I love when you moan my name.” His eyes darkened with desire as he added, “I hope that whenever Cody fucks you, you’re thinking of me.”

Your breath hitched as his mouth trailed lower, his hands already tugging at the low-cut top you wore. His lips found your breasts, his mouth warm as he sucked on your skin, sending waves of pleasure through you. “Nicholas,” you moaned, trying to stop him before he left any visible marks. “No hickeys, please-”

But he didn’t listen. He left two dark hickeys on your breasts, smirking as he pulled away to admire his work. “I hope when he takes off your clothes, he sees these,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “He’ll know you belong to someone else. To me.”

You shivered as his hands trailed down to your skirt, slipping underneath to find your lacy panties. His fingers rubbed you through the thin fabric, and you were already soaked. A soft moan escaped your lips as your hips lifted into his touch, begging for more.

“Does this turn you on?” Nicholas asked, slipping a finger past your panties and into your heat, teasing you. “Cheating on that little boy?” He held your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him as he asked again. “Do I turn you on?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip before whispering, “Yes Daddy, you do.”

He grinned, sliding another finger inside you, his thumb rubbing your clit in slow, agonizing circles. You gasped, arching your back off the bed as the pleasure built inside you. “Such a good girl,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you deeply to muffle your moans. His lips moved to your neck, placing soft kisses there as he praised you. “You’re taking my fingers so well, you’re so wet, soaking my hand.”

Your breath came in ragged pants, your body trembling as the pleasure became overwhelming. He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a smirk. Then he leaned down and kissed you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He didn’t stop there. His fingers returned to your heat, sliding in and out as his mouth found your breasts again, sucking and teasing your sensitive skin. His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

It wasn’t long before your body gave in. You came hard around his fingers, your moans muffled by his lips as he kissed you through it. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride. “Such a good girl for Daddy, coming on my fingers like that. That’s my girl.”

He kept fingering you gently, easing you down from your high, until you were breathless and shaking beneath him.

Without a word, you slid down the bed, pulling at Nicholas’s pants with urgency. His eyes had been locked on you, heavy with lust, and when you finally freed his hard cock, you were mesmerized by how perfect it looked, thick, long and pretty with a pink tip. You wasted no time, taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around him as a deep moan escaped his lips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back as you worked your tongue along his shaft. “You’re such a good girl, feels so good.”

You started teasing him, your mouth moving slowly, hands caressing his balls, but the teasing hadn’t lasted long. Nicholas grabbed your braids, gently tugging your head forward. “Suck my cock,” he demanded, his voice low and rough. “No teasing.”

You obeyed, taking him deeper, your mouth moving faster as you pleased him just the way he liked. His hands guided your movements, and his moans filled the air, telling you how perfect you were, how no one could ever make him feel like this. “You’re too good for him,” he said through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You belong to me, no matter who you’re with.”

The words sent a shiver through you, and you moaned around him, sending vibrations along his length. He gasped, tightening his grip on your hair. “Does he know you call me when he sleeps? Does he know where your heart lies?”

You couldn’t respond, your mouth full of him, but the moans you let out told him everything. You took him deeper, gagging slightly as he hit the back of your throat, and he cursed under his breath, his abs tightening.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his voice strained. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth.”

You nodded eagerly, quickening your pace, and your hands massaged his balls as you took him as deep as you could. It only took a few more strokes before his hips jerked, and with a groan, he spilled into your mouth. His head fell back, and he moaned, “Such a good girl, my good girl. You did so good for me. You sucked my cock so well.”

You swallowed everything, licking him clean before pulling away, looking up at him as he watched you with hooded eyes.

Nicholas pulled you up from the bed, guiding you into his arms as your lips met in a soft kiss. His touch was gentle now, and as you nestled against his chest, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His hand found its way to your hair, stroking it soothingly while you relaxed in his embrace.

“I don’t want to do this forever,” you murmured softly, your voice tinged with the weight of your emotions. The tension of sneaking around and the complications with Cody weighed heavily on your mind.

Nicholas held you tighter, understanding the unspoken struggle. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

Before either of you could say more, there was a sharp knock on the trailer door. “Filming’s starting again in five!” the director called from outside.

You sighed, pulling yourself from the warmth of Nicholas’s embrace. “I guess it’s time,” you said with a small, reluctant smile.

You quickly washed your mouth in the small sink, your mind already shifting back to the scene you had to film. Nicholas lingered for a moment, waiting for you to finish before stepping to the side to give you space. He couldn’t come out with you immediately, it would look suspicious, so he stayed behind, allowing you to exit first.

When you stepped back on set, Cody was already there, his eyes burning as he watched you. He hadn’t said anything yet, but you could feel the tension radiating from him, as though he suspected something. Nicholas emerged a minute later, casually strolling back to his mark, though you could see the edge in his expression as his gaze briefly flickered over to your boyfriend.

It was time to get back into character, but the lines between fiction and reality were blurring more than ever. Cody’s stare bore into you as if daring you to give something away, while Nicholas stood close, his jaw clenched, waiting for the scene to unfold.

The director called out, “Action!” and the scene picked up exactly where they left off. Nicholas, fully in character, glared at you with fiery intensity as he delivered his line, “I want you. Fuck your boyfriend.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed you, pulling you into a kiss that was far more heated than the script required. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your waist and chest, his presence dominating the moment. The kiss deepened, and as he moved you onto the bed, it felt as though the lines between acting and reality blurred. He seemed to glance over toward Cody, who was watching from behind the camera, but it was hard to tell if it was intentional or not.

“Cut!” the director shouted, stepping forward with a smile. “That was flawless, great job you two.”

Nicholas's lips were still hovering over yours, your breaths mingling as you both panted from the intensity of the scene. His hands stayed on your body just a little longer than necessary, and Cody’s eyes burned with suspicion from across the set. It was as though he could feel something was off, but he said nothing.

Later, the day’s filming wrapped, and everyone was heading back to the hotel. You, Nicholas, and Cody were all staying in the same hotel, which only added to the tension. In your shared room with your boyfriend, his agitation was evident. He was pacing, his expression dark and frustrated.

“What was that today?” he demanded, his tone sharp. “The way you two were all over each other. It didn’t look like acting.”

You sighed, trying to remain calm. “It was nothing, Cody. We were just doing the scene, it’s literally just acting. I don’t know what you’re talking about”

He wasn’t convinced. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to you, scrutinizing every word that left your lips. “You sure about that?” he asked. “Because it didn’t look like nothing from where I was standing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you stepped away from him, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m not about to argue with you over my job. You chose to be there.”

Cody’s face softened as he realized he was pushing too hard. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to approach you again. “I just, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to make it a thing.”

But you were done with the conversation. “I don’t want to hear it, Cody.” The words were final, your back turned to him as you tried to distance yourself from the situation. Frustrated, his voice snapped at you, but then he stopped himself, muttering another apology. He moved closer, pressing his lips to your neck in a gesture meant to calm the tension. But as his lips touched your skin, you found yourself closing your eyes, not thinking of him, but of Nicholas, the way his hands had held you, the way his lips had lingered on your neck during filming and outside of it.

Cody’s hands slid down, trying to pull at your clothes, his fingers tugging at the hem of your top, but you stopped him before he could pull it off. The memory of the hickeys Nicholas had left on your chest flashed in your mind.

“I- I don’t want to have sex tonight,” you said abruptly, pulling away from his touch.

His frustration was immediate. He huffed and stormed toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. You could hear the water running. He couldn’t understand why things had suddenly shifted, why the desire had waned on your end. But deep down, you knew.

You knew you’d much rather Nicholas be the one to kiss your neck, pull down your top and take you right then and there. You were aching for him, dripping with arousal. You were determined to get a piece of him later that night when your boyfriend was asleep or hopefully out getting drunk.

As the night wore on, you waited for Cody to finish in the bathroom. You laid in bed, pretending to sleep, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he finally crawled in beside you, exhausted and oblivious. Once you were sure he was deeply asleep, you carefully slid out of bed. To test, you flicked your finger against his forehead, smiling slightly when he didn’t stir.

Moving quietly, you slipped into the bathroom and began your nightly routine, washing your face and applying your skincare and makeup. The rush of anticipation built with every step. You picked up the red lingerie, skimpy and barely there, hugging you in all the right places, and slid it on, admiring how it clung to your body in the mirror. Then, you wrapped yourself in a trench coat, keeping the surprise hidden.

With one last glance at your boyfriend, who remained fast asleep, you grabbed your phone and texted Nicholas. “Is your door open?”

His reply came quickly. “It’s open, princess.”

Your heart raced as you made your way down the hall, the soft click of your heels barely audible. Reaching Nicholas’ room, you opened the door slightly, peeking in before stepping inside. Nicholas was standing there, eyes darkening with hunger the moment he saw you in the trench coat. He crossed the room, meeting you at the door, gaze fixed on you.

Without saying a word, you undid the knot of your trench coat and let it fall to the floor. The red lingerie you wore underneath left nothing to the imagination. His breath caught as he took in the sight of you. “You look so sexy for Daddy,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Before you could respond, Nicholas pressed you against the door, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands found your breasts. You moaned softly, hands tangling in his hair, feeling the intensity of his need. He squeezed your breasts, murmuring, “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy," you breathed, arching into him, “I’m all yours.”

His smirk deepened, his lips claiming yours as he pulled you even closer, his hands exploring every inch of you.

He lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him, grinding against the hardness pressing into you. His hands gripped your thighs as he carried you to the bed, laying you down gently before pulling his shirt over his head. You watched, breathless, as he slid his boxers off, his thick cock already hard and leaking, the tip glistening with precum.

Hovering over you, he began rubbing himself along your soaked entrance, teasing, dragging his length up and down your slick folds. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice husky as his eyes took in the sight of you beneath him.

“Just fuck me, Daddy,” you begged, voice desperate and needy.

Nicholas smiled, a dark gleam in his eyes as he reached for the straps of your lingerie and slowly pulled it off, baring your body to him completely. He kissed down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake until his mouth found your pussy. His tongue flicked against your clit, and you moaned loudly, gripping the sheets as pleasure rolled through you. He devoured you, lapping at your wetness, the sensations building and building until you were on the edge, so close to coming.

But just as you were about to let go, he pulled away, leaving you panting and needy. “I want you to come around me,” he said, his voice filled with desire. He reached for a condom from the nightstand.

“No condom this time,” you interrupted, breathless but firm. “I want to feel all of you. I want you to cum inside me.”

Nicholas’ eyes flashed with something primal, his lips curling into a smirk. He tossed the condom aside and positioned himself between your legs, rubbing his cock against your entrance, teasing you again. “You sure?” he asked, voice low and commanding.

“I’m ready,” you whispered, nodding, “I want it all.”

With a groan of satisfaction, he pressed his thick cock inside you, filling you inch by inch. You gasped as he stretched you, the feeling of him raw inside you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. Nicholas began to thrust, slow and deep at first, driving you both wild.

As the heat between you intensified, you felt an electric thrill run through your body, urging you to crave more of him. “Daddy,” you breathed, your voice a sultry whisper, “I want more.”

With that invitation, he increased the pace, thrusting harder and deeper. The headboard creaked under the pressure, the whole floor probably heard, your nails dug into his back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You were lost in the rhythm, your breath quickening, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You wrapped your legs around him tightly for a moment, pulling him closer before releasing them, spreading wider to accommodate him. The shift allowed him to plunge deeper, each stroke igniting a raw, primal desire within you. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and you met his movements with your own, pushing back against him as he filled you completely.

“Just like that daddy,” you urged, your voice thick with passion.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts hard and relentless, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he pulled back slightly, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His voice was a low as he murmured against your mouth, “You’re all mine. You belong to Daddy now, you always have.”

A shiver of excitement raced through you, and he continued, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you said, the words flowing from your lips as if they were the only truth that mattered.

“Whose pussy is this?” he asked, his tone commanding, eyes locked onto yours.

“Yours, Daddy. It’s all yours,” you replied, the thrill of submission making your heart race.

“Good girl,” he said, a satisfied smirk across his lips. “That’s my good girl.”

With renewed intensity, he rolled his hips beautifully against yours, the connection between you both electric. “I want you to cum all over my dick, raw, for the first time,” he urged, his voice thick with desire.

The feeling of him pushing deeper ignited a fire within you, building to a peak you couldn't hold back. With a gasp, your body responded to his words, pleasure washing over you in waves as you squirted, soaking him completely.

Nicholas groaned in response, his grip on you tightening as he felt the warmth of your release.

“That’s so hot baby, that turned you on huh,” he said, now chasing his own orgasm as your body lay shaking underneath him.

“Y-yes daddy,” you sobbed and he grinned, his pretty white teeth glistening.

“You soaked me baby, squirting on me like that, being a cheating slut turns you on?” His pace never let up but this time, he reached between your bodies and began rubbing your clit sending a pleasure you almost couldn’t take rushing through your writhing body.

A scream left your lips as you creamed and squirted again all over his cock, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fucking hell baby,” he moaned and you felt his hot cum spurt inside of you. He continued thrusting gently, the pace almost loving as he allowed your grip to milk him of every drop.

Now a panting mess, he fell beside you and turned to face you. Your leg was draped across his heaving body and you stared at his beautiful disbelieved figure as he opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re going to be the death of me baby.”

[babygorewhore]

Home Care

Dr. Charlie Mayhew x fem reader.

Charlie Mayhew has to stay over to make sure his patient stays safe. But he’s unable to contain his desire after learning how men have treated you.

This is written for my love @cxrrodedcoffin I hope you enjoy my darling!!! Thank you so much to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me out with this love letter!!!!

Warnings! Obsessive behavior! Slight stalking! Oral! Fem receiving! Finger sucking! Bondage! Spitting! Fingering! Spanking! Degrading! Praise! Unprotected sex! Bulge! Rough (?) sex! Incorrect medical terms because I’m not in that field lol.

“I’m not thrilled about being stuck here with you either.” Charlie told you as you examined your nails.

The Doctor leaned against the wall as he watched you. He was giving your sick grandfather overnight care. He admitted to himself that he used to be an asshole in high school. Making fun of you for going into the family inherited business. A mortician.

Charlie just wanted your attention. He always wanted your eyes on him. That’s why he posted pictures of himself at the gym despite his filled schedule. Being a Doctor gave him the opportunity to save lives. Yet, he couldn’t save himself from his obsession with you.

Your apartment had elements of the Macabre and pieces of the world you honored with work. But you still had a brightness to your smile. It wasn’t innocence, you’d had some experience in the dating world.

You always took care of others. A little angel sent above. You didn’t fully forgive him for the past and he didn’t blame you. He worried he’d scare you off if you saw the darkness in him.

Charlie sometimes followed you home. Just because he had to make sure you were safe. Coming into your bedroom while you slept was taking it a bit far a few weeks ago but he just had to see you. Charlie tried to act as if he didn’t know where anything was when he came in.

Your thighs were exposed, the pajama shorts hugging the curves of your hips and the soft shirt exposed the lower part of your stomach. Charlie swallowed, moistening his dry mouth and neared you. He removed his uniform coat. So he’d look like a normal man.

Your fingers tapped away at your screen, indicating that you were texting someone. Angrily.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned. He half expected you to ignore him but instead you sighed.

“I’m sick of this guy. He treats me like shit. I’m telling him off.”

Charlie’s hackles raised at your answer. “How’s he treating you like shit?”

“Guys only care about getting off and leaving. I put up with it too long. But I was lonely.” You rolled your eyes and he blinked rapidly.

“You mean, he just…fucked you and left?” Charlie bit out the sentence, unable to hide the jealousy and you shrugged. “Did he even make you cum?”

His bold words made you sit up straight but he didn’t take them back. You snorted and set your phone down. You crossed your ankles together.

“Nope. Men just want to stick it in and get theirs.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched and he trembled. He adjusted the stethoscope hanging on his neck. “No. Men don’t. Little boys do.”

You rolled your eyes and applied chapstick. You moved your lips and set it back down. “What would you know about that? If you weren’t in college, you were working. Or being a dick.”

“You think I don’t care about making a girl feel good?” He breathed heavily as you positioned yourself further in the chair. Your hands providing balance in the middle and your fingers spread.

“I mean you’re good at your job. But women? Not so much.” Your blatant disregard and ignorance to his activities made him feel crazy.

“You realize I have a in depth knowledge of the human body. I know where to touch. How much pressure to use and how long.” Charlie tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he reached down. Cupping your chin. His thumb swiped your mouth and you parted them.

You sucked his digit, tongue rolling around and he snapped. Charlie hauled you off the chair, tossing you on the plush mattress.

“All those fucking weeks watching you. Trying to keep myself under control,” He groaned as you parted your legs, letting him settle between them. He felt the dampness in your center on his stomach.

“You were stalking me?” You shrieked but a small smirk curved. Charlie snarled and tapped your cheek.

“Open your mouth.” You did, instinctively letting your tongue slightly stick out and he let drool fall past his lips. “God, you’re already obeying me? Like a good little patient?”

Charlie sat up, taking off his shirt and his muscular form highlighted by the LED lights. You looked up at him with half lidded eyes as he took your hand, bringing your fingers to his mouth. Charlie sucked them softly, letting his other palm knead your chest. You arched your back as your pussy fluttered.

His thighs caged you in and he let go of your hand. Your fingers fell out of his mouth and Charlie unfastened his belt. You inhaled sharply as he tied it around your wrists, pinning them to the headboard of the bed.

“You’re gonna lay there and take it. That sweet little cunt is gonna leak from how good this will feel.”

A sinister darkness flickered in his eyes as you mewled at his words. Charlie tugged off your shorts, thick digits snapping the waistband of your panties and he peeled them off. He admired the lace of the fabric and was mesmerized by the sticky middle.

You were so turned on that it hurt. Charlie shoved his pants down, chuckling at the eager sounds you made. His cock slapped his inner thigh. He lowered himself down, his stomach hitting the bed and cupped your ass.

He smelled your scent, his nose nudging your center and groaned. “Selfish little angel. Keeping this pussy from me. Knowing I won’t be able to get enough.”

Charlie laid his tongue flat against your slit, grunting at the taste and he focused kitten licking your clit. His motions were firm and you whimpered. His hold kept you from moving too much, even laying his forearm across your pelvis. He spread your folds apart, exposing more sensitive areas and plunged his tongue inside your needy hole.

You were on fire, jerking from pleasure and Charlie’s dick throbbed. His other hand drifted to find the discarded panties and wrapped them around his shaft. Lazily pumping because he was solely focused on the pretty girl underneath him.

He sucked your clit, gently nipping it and returned to leisurely slurping like an ice cream cone. The heels of your feet dug into his shoulders and he nodded. “Mmm, needed this didn’t you, baby doll? That why you’re so tense all the time?”

You shuddered as he pressed two fingers in you, hitting an even deeper spot and you were almost hysterical. Charlie wanted to make you cum right then and there but he forced himself to hold off for now. He continued finger fucking you and lifted up. Meeting your lips in a messy kiss, making you share the wetness coating his mouth and chin.

Charlie kissed you hard, making your vision go white and ripped himself away. He growled and took hold of his dick. His red tip running against your clit, smearing the arousal and a sadistic pleasure burned him. He loved seeing you whine and cry.

“You want it? Beg.”

“Please fuck me! Please, please, please!” You cried out and he clicked his tongue in ridicule.

“Oh come on, sweetheart. You can do better. That slutty mouth can beg harder than that.” Charlie laughed as you let out chants similar to a prayer.

He slammed into balls deep and you silently went slack for a few seconds. His size was huge and overwhelming despite the prep. You panted and shook your head.

“It’s not gonna fit all the way-“ You said tightly but Charlie jerked his jaw.

“We’re not playing that game. You wanna play dumb and pretend you don’t like how much it hurts? But I’ll fucking make it fit,” He flipped you over on your knees, twisting your arms so your still tied wrists weren’t straining.

Charlie shoved your chest down, slapping your ass so hard it echoed. He pressed into your pussy again, letting his big hands hold your hips as he thrusted into you.

You sounded fucking filthy. Moaning, sobbing and sweating against the pillow as he railed into you. You curled inwards as your orgasm approached you but he shook his head.

“Where you going?” Charlie spanked you harder and separated your ass. He thrusted deeper and felt your slick dripping on his cock.

“Oh god, fuck! F-fuck!” You exclaimed and wailed. He grabbed the back of your hair, yanking you back and caught your lips.

Charlie sucked your pulse point as you bounced on it, laying your head back as you creamed on his dick.

“Bouncing on my cock like the dirty whore you are. You gonna let me fill you up? You want me to cum in your greedy pussy?” He asked in your ear and you moved faster.

Charlie squeezed your tits and let his hand fall to your stomach. He felt the bulge and spilled inside you. Cum burst in your cunt and your second release hit you. You both grunted and you felt tears streaming down your face.

He saw you weren’t going to slow down and twitched from overstimulation. Charlie pulled out, feeling your fluids fall onto the sheets and brought his face back to your pussy.

“You’re gonna let me eat it out of you, huh? God you’re so disgusting.” He followed his statement with shoving his face against you. You had to bite down on your arm to keep from screaming but he wasn’t happy with that.

“No, no, you wanna scream? Then do it.” Charlie ordered. “Or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you again?”

Tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie @fear-is-truth @starkeysprincess @starkeysbabygirl @cameronsprincess @oceanblvd111 @titsout4nicholas @webbluvrsugar @glossyseraphim

[nightmare-niko]

F*cked My Way Up To The Top [Father Charlie Mayhew x reader]

pt.1

Prompts: 2/6/8

Word count: 1457

Warnings: oral! fem receiving, dom! Ish reader— this ones actually kinda just cute lol

A/n: this one was requested but i changed one of the prompts a tiny bit to fit the scheme better! i hope yall still like it tho hehe :3 and also lets pretend that the whip cuts on his back aren't fresh !!! for Y/ns sheets sake...

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

The last time you visited Church, you forgot to leave your number. You were too busy trying to sneak out to your car with no one seeing the priest's cum running down your bare (but marked) legs. Charlie had offered for you to stay the night, but you'd rather die than do the walk of shame out of a church in the daylight. When you found out you had a rare three-day weekend you began your planning. It would be unfair for you to show up and cause chaos on a Sunday... again, which is why you chose to dress your best and show up to church on a Monday.

When you strolled into the church, Father Charlie was deep in a conversation with someone you honestly couldn't get less of a shit about. Taking a seat near the back, you watch as Charlie's eyes rake over your form. You shamelessly stare as he gets visibly more and more nervous under your hungry gaze. What power you had over him, it was pathetic on his part. You loved it. The minutes ticked by agonizingly as you watched him. Nothing about the look in his eyes told you he gave a single shit about the person before him. It was honestly extremely amusing.

It wasn't long before he was making his way over to you. "Y/N, I'm surprised to see you back." He slips into the space beside you. Your head reels as his cologne invades your senses.

"I was just so touched by last week's service I had to pay another visit.” You gesture down to your slightly more church-appropriate outfit, "I even dressed modestly.

He hums, eyes darting right to your stocking-covered thighs and pencil skirt, “Are we sure...”

You follow his eyes and flush, “It's not my fault it's cold in here..." You defend.

He laughs quietly, "That's true.” He pauses for a moment before leaning closer. "You think I don't know why you’re here?" His breath is hot against your face.

"You think I don't know you’re itching to get your hands on me?" You’re quick with your response, it shocks him. "You started fidgeting like a schoolboy the moment I walked in.”

You watch as the blood rushes to Charlie’s face, painting the tips of his ears pink. He clears his throat, "Well then, what's your plan?"

"Well, my car is parked out back. So, either we sneak out and go to mine...” you pause in faux contemplation, “or we could risk everyone in this church, hearing us fucking in your office.”

The man before you gasps, you fight to contain your amusement. You try to get up, but he stops you. “What if someone sees?"

"We've been friends since high school, Father. This whole town knows we know each other."

The worry in his brow doesn’t budge, you sigh- “Look, maybe this was a mistake, we can just forget—“ "No- No it—“ he cuts you off, “Well maybe it is but I don’t care. I will repent later, go wait and I'll be out in a few minutes.”

oh god not again

"I won't leave you for thirty minutes again, I promise,” He reassures.

•

You’re 100% sure you blacked out because now you were pulling into your driveway with Charlie in your passenger seat. “Aren’t I just such a gentleman?” You tease.

“Yeah? In what way?” His voice matches your playful tone.

"I drove you to my house before— ya know...” you put the car in park.

“No, I don't know, before what?"

"Before fucking your brains out." You shrug nonchalantly as you pull the key out of the ignition.

“Is that what I did? Fucked your brains out?"

"Yup!" You open your car door, stepping one foot out before turning back to him. "And that's what I'm gonna do to you so— c'mon!”

You skip towards your front door with Charlie right on your trail. It's been a while since you had a man in your house, your body vibrates with anticipation as you unlock your front door.

"You know, one of these days you should let me take you to lunch or something.”

"We'll See," You shrug, shrugging off your jacket. "Behave for me today and I'll let you do whatever you want.” You turn to him, pressing your chest against him, and his hands immediately find their place on your hips.

"I think I like the sound of that~" Charlie leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. You revel in the taste of his lips on yours. You didn't know what it was— but something about Charlie was so intoxicating. He was tall, much taller than you— and as your torso pressed against his, you realized he was hard in his slacks. "That's," he groans, pressing his visible bulge into your stomach, "that, darling, is what you do to me."

You hum and take him by the hand to lead him through your house and into your bedroom. He looked good-- When did he not look good? Wasting no time you bring Charlie's face back to yours for another searing kiss.

Charlie's hands greedily pull your neatly tucked blouse out from your skirt. You help him lift it over your head, the chill of the room sending goosebumps up your arms. You quickly pull your skirt and tights down, leaving you in just your white ruffle socks and underwear. Charlie quickly mirrors your actions, ridding himself of his shirt and pants quicker than you had expected— damn he was hot.

Your padded feet patter across the hardwood as you make your way onto your bed. You beckon Charlie over to you with your finger. His strong body towers over you as your back collides with the headboard behind you. His finger trails down the side of your neck, the marks he had left last week were mostly faded— that was no good. His lips greedily work to leave more love bites, you whine.

Raking your manicured nails down his toned chest, he groans against your skin, “fuck.” he sits up to get a better look at you under him, “Let me taste you, baby, please?”

You bring your foot up to his chest, pushing gently to get him on his back, "Beg. Maybe I'll consider." You seductively crawl over to him, sitting on his clothed cock. He revels from underneath you, his hands squeezing at your thighs and ass. You kiss all over his torso as he struggles to form a coherent thought— drunk on you.

“Please— Baby please, I need to taste you.” He slurs, “Sit on my face— suffocate me I don't care. I'll die a happy man.”

You giggle against his skin, nipping at him with your teeth playfully. “How did you know flattery works on me~”

“Lucky guess,” he chuckles.

Charlie desperately paws at you wordlessly pleading for you to end his suffering. You comply— removing your underwear. The moment your dripping cunt was close enough his lips were latched onto you. Kissing licking and biting at you like a starved man, he curses against you again.

The grip on your thighs is almost painful, you are certain he would leave crescent moons on them. You loved it. You rut against his nose as his tongue prods at your hole— you moan theatrically, folding over as the pleasure shoots through your whole body. Charlie sloppily laps at your folds until your legs begin to shake.

Your orgasm takes you by complete and utter surprise. Your vision goes white as Charlie licks up everything gratefully.

“fuck!” you pant, removing yourself from above him to slump onto your mattress. Charlie lay there panting— his face and chest kissed in a deep blush. Your eyes trail down his torso and to his boxers, the grey material soiled with a dark spot. You gasp, “did you?”

“yes,” he shamefully admits, hiding his face behind his arms

“Hey hey no it's okay!” you quickly reassure him. You try to pry his arms away from his face. “C'mon lemme see you, baby.”

“I’m embarrassed,” he mumbles.

You laugh lightly, kissing his arms in an attempt to lower his guard. “That was like the hottest thing I've ever experienced.”

“Really?” he peaks out at you.

“uh— are you kidding??” you exclaim, he fully puts down his arm and you leave a peck on his lips. “stay? Just for a little?”

He smiles tiredly, “You're gonna have a hard time getting me to leave.”

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana

@sleepysongbirdsings @magicalcowboyarbiter

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[eu-nicola]

the family [part 1]

sinopsis: In Italy 1850 Lucien a former priest gets involved in a game of seduction with his girlfriend's younger sister; what begins as flirting becomes a destructive obsession

warnings: love triangle, forbidden relationship, tension

word counter: 3720

author's note: english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct

It was a summer afternoon in Italy, in 1825. The sun was sliding lazily over the green hills and terracotta roofs, illuminating the elegant palazzo that stood on the outskirts of Florence, home of the Ricci family. Lucien arrived accompanied by a black carriage and a pair of suitcases that seemed to contain everything he owned. With the past still fresh in his mind, he got out of the carriage with a calmness that did not reflect the tumult inside him. He had left the life of a priest a couple of years ago, seeking redemption and new experiences. But in Giuliana, his fiancée, Lucien had found something unexpected: a discreet love that seemed to offer him a second chance at peace.

Giuliana greeted him with a radiant smile at the foot of the entrance stairs. Dressed in a soft sky blue that highlighted her eyes, she radiated elegance and simplicity.

—Lucien, my love! “I am so glad you have arrived,” she said, extending a gloved hand and looking at him with the reserved affection of a bride.

“You don’t know how much I have been waiting for this moment,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her fingers softly.

Giuliana smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly, but her gaze soon turned to the door.

“I want to introduce you to my family. They are very excited to meet you.”

Lucien followed Giuliana into the palazzo, as they walked through a hall filled with ancient frescoes and the scent of freshly polished wax and fresh flowers. Upon reaching the large room, his gaze fell on every detail: the portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls, the chandeliers filled with crystals, the mahogany furniture, all witnesses to the wealth and prestige of the Ricci family.

Around a tea table sat Giuliana's parents and her younger sister, Isabella. Seeing Lucien, the father stood up and greeted him with a firm nod, while Giuliana's mother gave him a polite smile.

"Lucien, dear, allow me to introduce you to my parents," Giuliana said with a smile, feeling proud to have him at her side.

"It's an honor to finally meet you," Lucien said, bowing respectfully to them.

After the formal greetings, Lucien turned his attention to the young woman sitting next to Giuliana. Unlike her sister, who possessed the serenity of a well-bred woman, Isabella exuded an almost wild vitality, even if she tried to hide it under the manners that the situation demanded. Her hair fell in dark waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—a shade between amber and honey—watched him with curiosity and a slight smile that she tried to hide. Isabella looked to be about nineteen, and there was something in her bearing that reminded her of a wild animal, trapped in a fine suit and impeccable hairdo.

“Isabella, my younger sister,” Giuliana announced. “Isabella, this is Lucien.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucien,” Isabella said, her voice soft but with a hint of irony, a spark that immediately caught Lucien’s attention.

Lucien noticed how Isabella examined him closely. Unlike the others, her eyes did not reflect the courtesy that good manners required; there was an intensity in them that she did not bother to hide, as if she wanted to see him as he was, without filters or appearances.

“The pleasure is mine, Isabella,” he replied, bowing slightly and keeping his gaze fixed on her for a few seconds longer than necessary.

As the minutes ticked by and tea was served, Lucien tried to concentrate on the conversations about family business and the upcoming festivities Giuliana had planned in honor of his arrival. But something inside him kept him from paying full attention; whenever he could, his gaze returned to Isabella, who seemed to have no intention of hiding the effect she had on him.

During tea, Isabella made some irreverent comments that provoked awkward laughter at the table. His mother gave him a disapproving look, but Lucien couldn't help but find a freshness in those comments that surprised him. Giuliana, always calm, tried to divert attention to more appropriate topics, but Isabella seemed to enjoy her reactions, as if she found pleasure in testing the limits of everyone's patience.

As the afternoon drew to a close, as the Ricci family showed Lucien around the gardens and showed him the orchard they maintained at the back of the palazzo, he lingered beside Isabella. Isabella had been quiet during the walk, observing the flowers and fountains with a thoughtful expression, until she noticed Lucien's gaze following her.

"Are you surprised to find me silent?" she asked, shooting him a glance.

"Perhaps a little," Lucien replied, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to be too obvious, but he couldn't deny that curiosity consumed him.

"You shouldn't let my words fool you," she replied, locking eyes with him. "Maybe I'm just a mirage in a garden."

Lucien smiled. There was something about Isabella that was magnetic to him, something he'd never felt with Giuliana, though he tried hard to remind himself that he was there as her fiancé. Isabella, however, had a way of looking at him that made him feel naked, as if she saw beyond his facade of a reformed gentleman.

“A mirage that, however, seems very real at the moment,” he said, unable to resist returning her gaze.

Isabella lowered her gaze, but a lopsided smile appeared on her lips. The tension between them was palpable, as if the air between them had become thick and charged with unspoken promises. For Lucien, this was something new, a spark of life and risk that drew him irremediably.

Isabella had always been a vivid contrast to her sister Giuliana, like shadow and light, or fire and water. While Giuliana was calm and serene, dedicated to pleasing her parents and honoring her family, Isabella was a burning flame, always ready to be fanned by any small breath of adventure. Although they shared the same education in the arts, language, and sciences proper to young ladies of her status, Isabella had grown up with a restlessness that her parents never managed to appease, as if something inside her always yearned for more.

Since she was little, she had stood out for her inclination towards daring ideas, and although she knew how to present herself as a perfect lady in front of everyone, those who knew her well knew that she was unpredictable, capable of disappearing without warning and getting lost in the nearby forest or in the streets of the town. Isabella did not obey rules in the same way that Giuliana did; she knew the rules, yes, but she preferred to break them rather than follow them.

As a child, she had been found more than once hiding in the stables, trying to ride the horses on her own without the help of a groom. Unlike Giuliana, who would never have questioned her mother's instructions on what was appropriate for a lady, Isabella had always been direct and shameless, defying every expectation. Even now, as a woman, she had not lost her tendency to behave in a brazen manner, always on the edge of what was allowed.

During family dinners, Isabella would often provoke her parents, sometimes with little jokes, other times with questions that she knew would make her mother uncomfortable. Although Giuliana would often try to intervene with a disapproving look, Isabella would always return an amused smile, as if the conflict was just a game she had invented to entertain herself.

The next day, Lucien watched her again as they ate breakfast together. Isabella had arrived a little late, apologizing with a smile that didn't seem apologetic at all. Her parents didn't say anything, though her mother gave her a disapproving look. Lucien noticed that Isabella seemed to enjoy every chance she got to make her parents uncomfortable. She took a seat next to Giuliana and gave Lucien a fleeting glance before focusing her attention on her tea. However, when she thought no one was looking at her, he noticed how her expression changed, becoming more open, less restrained.

"Did you have a good rest, Lucien?" Isabella asked in a casual tone, but with a hint of irony that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"That's right, thank you," he replied, smiling slightly. "The house is really cozy."

"And even more so if you have the freedom to explore its corners," she added, giving him a sidelong glance. Or to disappear whenever you want.

Giuliana frowned slightly, as if she sensed the underlying tone in his words, but said nothing. Lucien, however, understood the provocation. With Isabella, it seemed that every word was double-edged, every smile. Over the next few days, Lucien watched her more closely, fascinated by that duality of hers. There was something about the way Isabella moved, how she constantly sought to escape the gaze of her parents, the expectations imposed by her surname.

One such evening, while Giuliana was helping her mother with the preparations for dinner, Lucien decided to take a walk around the palazzo. It was a beautiful evening, with the sky covered in golden and pink hues, and the wind carried with it the scent of jasmine and wet grass. He was walking aimlessly through the gardens, admiring the fountains and classical statues, when he heard a light laugh coming from the hedges. At first, he thought it was some maid of the house; However, when he peeked out a little, he saw the figure of Isabella, who, without noticing his presence, was busy picking small wild flowers that had sprouted between the stones of a path.

Lucien watched her in silence, captivated by her naturalness, by the way she let herself be carried away by the moment. She looked carefree and full of life, as if this garden were her own secret refuge. Lucien felt the urge to come closer, to share this moment, even if only as an invisible observer.

Isabella, however, noticed him before he could do anything.

“Oh, Lucien,” she said with a playful smile, her eyes shining at the sight of him. “Do you like spying?”

Lucien blushed slightly, although he tried to hide it.

“Not at all, but it seems that fate insists on putting you in my path,” he replied, maintaining his composure and sketching a slight smile.

“Fate?” she replied, arching an eyebrow. I'd never heard him apologize so blatantly, though I suppose there's something to be said for interrupting someone else's moment.

Isabella gave him a mocking look, but deep down Lucien felt she was testing him, as if she wanted to see how he would react. Undaunted, he moved a little closer, until only a couple of steps separated them. Isabella didn't back away; on the contrary, she looked him straight in the eye, not losing a drop of her confidence.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, adopting a softer tone. “I thought you would be inside, helping your sister.”

“Giuliana is the one with the virtue of patience,” she replied with a touch of irony. “I prefer to be here, rather than sit and listen to my mother talk about what a lady should and shouldn’t do.”

There was a brief silence, and Lucien felt the air around him grow thicker. Isabella’s proximity, her scent of wildflowers and her gaze awakened in him a longing he couldn’t deny. He knew it was inappropriate, that his role was that of a faithful and devoted fiancé, but in Isabella’s presence, all that determination felt like a thin thread about to snap.

“You don’t like that life?” he dared to ask, unable to contain his curiosity.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, as if considering whether to answer him honestly.

“Not entirely.” It’s a nice life, of course, but it’s not the one I want for myself,” he finally answered. “Giuliana can have all that; she’s perfect for that world. I…” he looked down at the flowers in his hand. “I want something different.”

“And what is it that you want?” Lucien asked, not taking his eyes off her.

Isabella looked up, and for a second, her expression was serious, without a trace of the mockery or disdain she often used. There was a deep sadness in her eyes, a kind of melancholy that Lucien had not seen in her until that moment.

“Freedom, perhaps,” she murmured. “The freedom to live without so many rules, without having to answer to anyone but myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m like one of these birds,” she added, pointing to a bird flying above them, “trapped in a golden cage.”

Lucien felt a pang in his chest as he listened to her. He had expected some light response, some witty comment, but instead Isabella had let her guard down, if only for an instant, showing him a vulnerability that touched him. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her that he understood her, that he shared that desire to escape, even if it wasn’t exactly the same.

Isabella turned to him suddenly, an intensity in her gaze that almost made him recoil.

“Tell me, Lucien,” she said in a whisper, “do you ever feel like this? Like you’re trapped in a place that’s not yours?”

The question surprised him, and although his instincts told him to keep his distance, something in her eyes pushed him to be honest.

“Yes, sometimes,” he admitted, without taking his eyes off her. “Though, unlike you, I don’t think I have anyone to blame but myself.”

Isabella watched him intently, as if she were weighing his every word, trying to decipher what he wasn't saying.

Suddenly, Isabella smiled, a smile that was a mix of complicity and defiance.

"Maybe you can escape, Lucien. Maybe there's something, someone, who can make you remember what it feels like to be free."

The implication in her words was so obvious that Lucien felt a heat rise to his face. But instead of backing away, he leaned a little closer to her, keeping his gaze fixed on Isabella's eyes. He could feel her breathing, and every fiber of his being asked him to break all the rules, to give in to that impulse that whispered to him to take her by the hand, to cross that invisible line that he himself had drawn.

"And you, Isabella?" he murmured, in a tone that sounded more intimate than he intended. "Do you think there's someone who can give you that freedom you so desire?"

Isabella looked at him intently, and for a moment, it seemed she was going to respond. But instead, she simply smiled and stepped away from him, taking a few steps back.

“Perhaps,” she said, her tone both light and deep. “But if there is someone capable of that, they will have to be very bold.”

Without saying anything else, she turned and began walking back toward the palazzo, leaving Lucien alone in the garden, lost in his thoughts and in the echo of her words. She knew there was something dangerous about that attraction, that every time they met, they came closer to a point of no return. And yet, Lucien couldn’t ignore the growing desire that drove him to want more, to find out how far he could go in this game that Isabella seemed to have started.

This little game continued on Giuliana’s birthday which was cause for celebration, the night of the ball, the palazzo was filled with light and music, with the chandeliers shining over the crowd dancing in the main hall. The guests, in their evening gowns and sparkling jewelry, moved gracefully to the tune of a delicate melody that filled the air. Lucien stood next to Giuliana, fulfilling the role of the perfect fiancé as he surveyed the guests, exchanging polite greetings and responding with a discreet smile.

Every time his gaze swept the room, his eyes unwittingly sought out Isabella.

She, on the other hand, seemed perfectly oblivious to him, laughing and chatting with a few family friends and maintaining an expression of innocent amusement. Isabella wore an emerald silk dress, which fell in delicate layers and moved with each step she took. Lucien noticed that the color highlighted her eyes and made her seem an even more ethereal figure. Despite his effort to stay focused on Giuliana, Lucien couldn't help but look towards her, trying to find some sign, some gesture that would welcome him to seek her out.

Finally, Isabella surprised him. Barely sparing him a glance, she slipped away from the crowd, leaving her companions with an improvised excuse and disappearing through one of the side doors that led to the gardens. Lucien felt his pulse quicken, and even though he knew he shouldn’t follow her, his body moved before he could stop himself. He waited a few seconds, bidding farewell to Giuliana under the excuse of needing some fresh air, and, making sure no one was watching, he headed towards the garden following Isabella’s footsteps.

He found her in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by rose bushes that filled the air with a sweet scent. She was standing under the moonlight, watching the stars as if he wasn’t there, as if his presence didn’t matter. Lucien looked at her for a moment, captivated by the image: Isabella, in her silk dress, illuminated by the silver light and the night air gently playing with her hair. Finally, he dared to approach.

“Escaping the party?” —he murmured in a low tone, trying to maintain his composure, although his words sounded more intimate than he intended.

She turned her head slowly and gave him a smile that seemed to know much more than he wanted to admit.

“Escaping is something that gives me a certain pleasure,” she replied in a carefree tone, her eyes reflecting the light of the stars. “Though, if I'm being honest, I didn't expect anyone to follow me.”

“Maybe I was looking for a moment of peace,” he replied, moving a little closer. “But seeing you here, I thought that maybe peace wasn’t what I really needed tonight.”

Isabella stared at him, and for a moment that seemed like an eternity, she said nothing. Then, she smiled mischievously and extended her hand towards him, as if she were making a tacit invitation to cross the line that they had both been skirting since they met.

“So, what do you need tonight, Lucien?” she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Lucien looked at her hand, and although he knew that accepting meant entering into a game of no return, he took her hand firmly. Feeling her skin, warm and soft, he felt an electric shock run through his body, a spark that ignited all his senses. Isabella intertwined her fingers with his, and without saying anything, she began to guide him through the garden, away from the music, the lights, and any prying eyes.

After walking a bit, they reached an even more hidden corner, near a marble fountain that stood imposingly in the middle of the garden. There, far from any interruptions, Isabella stopped and turned to look at him, her eyes shining with an intensity that seemed to challenge him.

“I suppose my sister would never understand why I prefer to be here instead of in the ballroom,” she said softly, without letting go of his hand.

“Giuliana has a very different spirit than you,” Lucien replied, with a sincerity that came out almost without thinking. “You are…” he paused, searching for the right words, although they all seemed insufficient. “different.”

Isabella smiled with a glint of mischief in her eyes, aware of the effect her words had on him.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, leaning slightly towards him, shortening the distance between them.

Lucien noticed how his breath mixed with hers, and, without thinking, he slid his hand to her waist, pulling her gently. In any other situation, it would have been inappropriate, but in this corner, under the cover of night, there were no restrictions or formalities. Isabella did not resist; on the contrary, she moved a little closer, allowing their bodies to brush against each other, the space between them to become almost nonexistent.

“What do you think?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing hers.

Isabella kept her gaze fixed on him, her dark eyes reflecting a mix of desire and defiance.

“I think you've been playing at being someone you're not for too long,” she whispered, and, without giving him time to respond, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss, barely a touch, but intense enough for both of them to feel the heat between them.

Lucien felt every fiber of his being ignite at that kiss, and, casting aside all doubt, he pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. Isabella responded immediately, with the same restrained passion, the same silent desire they had both suppressed for so long. Their lips moved urgently, as if that kiss was a need they couldn’t ignore, as if it was the answer to a question that had been left unresolved since the first moment they met.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, and Lucien looked at her, trying to process what had just happened. He knew it was crazy, that this moment could change everything, but he couldn’t ignore the fire burning inside him, the desire Isabella had awakened in him.

Isabella smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if she had gotten exactly what she wanted.

“I’m afraid if you keep crossing the line, Lucien, there will be no turning back,” she said in a soft tone, but filled with an unspoken promise.

“What if I don’t want to turn back?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, and then, instead of answering, she took his hand and brought it to her chest, right over her heart. Lucien felt her heartbeat accelerate, and in that moment, he understood that what they shared was something neither of them could ignore. Lucien knew there was no escape now.