#charlie mayhew x y/n
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Routine—Dr. Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader
summary— Dr. Mayhew invites you after hours for a ‘routine check up.’ Based on this request.
warnings— slight cnc, abuse of power, anal fingering, face fucking, praise kink, degradation, face slapping, tit slapping, choking, objectification, hair pulling, sir kink, spitting, anal, unprotected sex, ass to mouth, breeding kink, creampie.
a/n— i feel like i’ve been gone so long but i’m back now <3(though it’s lowkey hard to write with long nails)
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿
It was late, the air unusually quiet except for the low hum of fluorescent lights. You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to come back after hours for your follow up. Dr. Mayhew’s cryptic suggestion earlier in the day had been impossible to shake: “Come back tonight when it’s quiet. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”
Something in his tone had made your pulse quicken, his usual professional demeanor cracking just enough to reveal something darker. You told yourself it was all in your head, but now, standing in the dimly lit exam room, you couldn’t ignore the tension crackling between you.
Dr. Mayhew entered, his white coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His dark eyes raked over you, lingering just a moment too long. “Still here, I see,” he said, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click. “Good girl.”
The session started—a few questions, a brief examination. But as his hands lingered, brushing against your skin under the guise of professionalism, the air grew heavy with something unspoken. He leaned in close, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve been testing my patience all day.”
Dr. Mayhew adjusted his gloves, his gaze piercing but tinged with something else, something darker. His lips curved into a slight smirk as he approached you, tilting his head. “I need to perform a full examination,” he murmured, his tone smooth but commanding. “Let’s start with your chest.”
You hesitated, but the intensity in his stare rooted you to the spot. His hands moved deliberately, sliding over your shoulders before trailing down to rest just below your collarbone. “Relax,” he said, voice low and firm. “This is all part of the process.”
He cupped your boobs, the touch firm under the guise of a medical examination. His fingers lingered, pressing in ways that made you swallow hard. “You’re tense,” he muttered, almost to himself, his thumbs brushing suggestively. “Maybe I should take my time here.”
Your breath hitched, but his movements never faltered. “Don’t act so shy now,” he said, leaning in so his breath ghosted over your ear. “You knew exactly what you were coming back for.”
He firmly massaged your boobs, his gaze sharp as he did. He directed you to turn around, his voice clipped and commanding. “Bend over the table,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the examination bed.
You hesitated, unsure of his intentions. “W-why are you doing this?” you asked, trying to steady your breath.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rested a firm hand at the base of your spine, encouraging compliance. His other hand moved with practiced authority, adjusting your position so that you could arch better. “I’m the doctor here,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “And I know what’s best for you. Trust me.”
Your heart raced as he began his inspection, his hands firm and meticulous as he groped your ass. He tugged lightly on your hair, tilting your head to the side. “Keep still,” he instructed, the subtle pull sending a shock of awareness through you. “I need you to behave.”
A gasp left your lips as he tore the shorts under your tights, the cool air making your bare pussy quiver.
“D-doctor—” you groaned, but he cut you off sharply.
“Don’t speak, this is routine. I need to make sure everything is fine with every part of you,” he growled.
Another gasp left your lips as you felt the unmistakable feeling of a finger circling the hole no one had ever been in. The hole no one should be in—yet the pure taboo of it had you biting your lip and arching your back deeper.
“No hemorrhoids, virgin ass, so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, his voice low.
You bit down on your lip harder, groaning as you felt a finger push inside you.
“Shh, just let me do this,” he cooed.
Your doctor knew best, didn’t he? Though, alarm bells were ringing in your head.
You clamped around his finger and he let it settle, curving and slowly moving it around so he could wiggle his way inside you.
“Such a tight virgin ass,” he murmured.
Just as you were starting to feel pleasure, he removed his finger. You let out a sigh of relief but your breath caught again as you heard the sound of a belt buckle clinking. Turning around, his pants were pooled at his feet with the thickest cock you had ever seen.
You were about to say something when he grabbed your curls, turning your body around.
“Need to make sure that throat is able to be used for what it’s made for,” he murmured.
He shoved his swollen cock into your mouth before you could even think about what to do. It immediately hit the back of your throat and he kept it settled until you were gasping for air before he pulled out.
You gasped as you tried to get air but he began pushing your face into his crotch leaving you no choice but to accept his length back into your mouth.
“Learn how to suck cock like you were made for you dumb slut, take it all the way in!” he growled, tightening his grip in your curls and thrusting harshly as he proceeded to fuck your mouth even more vigorously than before.
A sick and twisted part of you just wanted to show him how good you were at this. So, your tongue darted out, trailing along his shaft and getting it sloppy.
“Fuck, that’s it, slut,” he moaned.
You hummed around his cock and continued, gliding your tongue along him as he fucked your throat. Your hands went to his heavy balls, massaging as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, trying your best not to gag.
“You’re such a good cock sucking whore, m’ gonna cum down that throat,” he gasped, his pace faltering but still just as brutal.
Suckling on the bulbous tip, you stroked his shaft and felt his cum spurt into your mouth. He thrusted into your throat again, holding you down as he came down your throat, your nose touching his pelvis.
“That’s a good whore, don’t let a drop go to waste,” he cooed.
Once again, not missing a beat, he grabbed you by your curls, shoving you flat onto the table. “Now, I’m gonna put my cock inside that pussy, just because I can,” he whispered, “and you’re going to take every single inch like the good little whore you are.”
You didn’t bother protesting, you knew your protests would fall on deaf ears and so, you allowed him to spread your legs.
“You’re so wet, your pussy’s working just fine,” he smirked, using the head of his cock to drag along your folds.
You whined shamelessly, the throbbing in your clit growing unbearable.
“No whines, only begging, and call me sir while you’re at it,” he demanded.
Something came over you—or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.
“Please sir, just put it in, please fuck me,” you pleaded, your pussy getting wetter as you uttered each word.
A sharp smack against your cheek made you whine again. “You can do better than that, slut.”
“Please fuck me sir, I need your cock, I’ve never needed anything more, just please fuck me, fuck me like a slut,” you begged.
Satisfied by your begging, he grabbed you by the throat, thrusting inside your wet pussy giving you no time to adjust.
“So tight, like your pussy was made for my cock,” he murmured.
His grip around your throat tightened as he slammed into you, hard, your tits bouncing. His other hand came down on your tits, slapping them before a sharp smack was placed on your cheek, making you moan.
“Oh, you like that? You like being treated like just an object for me to use? Good, because that’s all you are to me,” Dr. Mayhew said.
Your pussy fluttered at his words, his cock pounding against your g spot repeatedly and you could feel a strong orgasm building. He leaned down, using his free hand to force your jaw open before spitting into it.
“Swallow, and soon as you do, cum on my cock, slut,” he muttered.
You swallowed his spit on your tongue and drenched him, your back arching off the table as your orgasm took ahold of you. As you squirted on his cock, your entire body shivered, his cock pounding your pussy through your orgasm.
“That’s it, what a good slut, this is all you’re good for, being an object for me to use,” he said, “now get on your hands and knees and spread that ass.”
By then you had accepted your fate, being nothing more than just a fuck toy for Dr. Mayhew. Why else would you have come back so late? You complied, arching your back as you did and spreading your ass to him.
He felt slick fingers rubbing your pussy then trailing back to your hole. A gasp left your lips as you felt two fingers plunge into you, the burning stretch leaving you aching.
“You’re going to wish it was my fingers fucking that ass,” he chuckled.
You realized what he meant, feeling the leaking tip of his cock bore into you. Still, you kept your ass spread open for him, allowing him to push deeper inside you.
“Fucking hell, so tight for me,” he groaned, finally able to fit half of his length inside.
He grabbed your hands, pinning them behind you and holding on as he fucked your ass. His thrusts were steady and deep, invading a hole that had never been used before.
“S-slow down,” you pleaded.
“You don’t tell me what to do, bitch, I do what I want to you and you take it like a good fucking slut who’s nothing more than an object for me to use. Objects shut the fuck up,” he retorted.
A sob left your lips but your body betrayed you as your ass clamped around his cock and your pussy clenched around nothing at his filthy words.
He took the opportunity to let go of your hands, reaching to rub your clit as he felt the impending orgasm.
“Stop acting like you aren’t enjoying this and fucking cum for me,” he said, “cum with my cock in your ass.”
He rubbed rough circles on your clit, his cock slamming inside your hole and you felt yourself squirt on his fingers, your body once again betraying you.
“Good girl, that’s what objects do, they listen.”
He pulled his thick cock out of your ass leaving you agape before grabbing your by your curls to face it.
“Clean my cock so I can fuck that pussy again,” he demanded.
Staring up at him, you took him into your mouth, sucking and slurping until every part of him was covered in your saliva. When he was satisfied with your work, he pulled you off him, a trail of spit connecting you with the tip.
“So beautiful when you’re ruined like this,” you heard him mutter.
He pushed you onto your back, his cock plunging into you as he chased his own orgasm.
“Look at me bitch, I want you to look at me when I cum inside this pussy and breed you.”
You stared into his brown eyes, his cock slamming against your cervix before you felt his hot load fill you up. He moaned as you clenched around him, practically milking him of all he had.
“Good girl, take my cum,” he praised.
As soon as he was satisfied, he pulled out of you, his cum slowly oozing from your pussy. He took a few wipes from a cabinet, carefully cleaning you up before his eyes met yours.
“Same time, tomorrow.”
#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x black reader#dr charlie mayhew x reader#dr charlie mayhew x patient reader#dr charlie mayhew#father charlie grotesquerie#father charlie smut#nicholas chavez fanfiction#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x reader smut#nicholas chavez imagine#nicholas chavez fic#doctor charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x black reader#charlie mayhew x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader smut#charlie mayhew smut#father charlie x reader#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x y/n#nicholas chavez x y/n#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x you#nicholas chavez x fem!reader#nicholas chavez x female reader#grotesquerie smut#grotesquerie
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† 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.
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#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓#dividers by pommecita#charlie mayhew#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew smut#charlie mayhew x y/n#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez smut#grotesquerie
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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.”
♡︎༻🌸༺♡︎
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#friends#mutuals#art#wattpad#writing#original story#fanfic#fantasy#moodboard#nicholas chavez imagines#nicholas chavez fanfics#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew x y/n#grotesquerie
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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”.
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PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE
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─ 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."
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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. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.
AO3 LINK ONE
© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.
PREVIEW
Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.
"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.
"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.
Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.
This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.
You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.
Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.
“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”
The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?
“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.
“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?
Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.
“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.
"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.
“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.
“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.
“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.
“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.
“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.
“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.
"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.
“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.
“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.
#doctor charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x y/n#charlie mayhew x reader#female reader#angst#suspense thriller#suspense romance#lois tryon#megan duval#grotesquerie fx#grotesquerie fanfic#charlie mayhew fanfic#charlie mayhew#nicholas alexander chavez#doctor charlie mayhew x reader#doctor charlie mayhew x y/n#charlie mayhew x female reader#Spotify#charlie mayhew smut#nicholas alexander chevez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x y/n
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✞ 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. ✞
#thinking bout turning this into a lil AU ?🤨#grotesquerie#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#father charlie mayhew#father mayhew#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#Charlie Mayhew thoughts#charlie mayhew x y/n#father Charlie Mayhew x reader#divider by @strangergraphics
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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.
#father charlie mayhew#father charlie x reader#father charlie grotesquerie#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew x y/n#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#father Charlie#grotesquerie#imagine#fanfiction#fanfic
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omg can you write hcs of nic or Charlie being protective? think casual dominance,,,,😋😋 need him so bad
save me, charlie 🤲🏽
tags/warnings: 18+
type: casual dom! father charlie mayhew x sub! female reader headcanons
author’s note: full disclosure, i had to do a lot of research into what “casual dominance” meant so i hope you like this but ALSO what a fascinating concept — dominance exerted in a matter of fact way, truly mind blowing to me!! sorry if this short but please enjoy!!!
🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽🤲🏽
causal dom! charlie who always picks out what he wants you to wear to mass; truthfully, he picks out everything you wear. If you're not dressed to his liking, he'll offhandedly ask you to join him in his study after the service and ask you to undress. You’ll stand in front of desk naked while he prepares for the mass, glancing up at you every so often but not saying anything. When he’s done preparing, he’ll ask you to come around the desk, sit on his lap and say, "You’ll do better. Won't you?" When you nod, he rewards you with a faint smile. "Good girl. Now go fix it."
casual dom! charlie who, no matter where you are—whether it’s a quiet corner at a dinner party, the hallway outside a gathering, or even just the kitchen at home—Charlie will wrap his hand in your hair, his fingertips grazing your scalp in a way that sends shivers down your spine (this is why he always requires you to wear your hair out). He knows exactly how to tug, just enough to make you wince, his grip both firm and intentional. It’s not always about discipline; sometimes, it’s his way of grounding you, of pulling your focus entirely to him. His voice, low and commanding, follows the movement: “Eyes on me.” When his grip softens, his fingers threading gently through your hair, it’s his way of showing that he’s in control but still cares. “There you go,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of satisfaction and reassurance, as if to say he’s proud of the way you respond to him.
casual dom! charlie who insists on watching you when you shower. He doesn’t ask or explain; it’s just something he does. He’ll sit or lean casually outside the glass shower door, his gaze fixed on you—not judging, not stroking himself, just watching. There’s an intensity in his eyes, not lustful but possessive, as if he’s memorizing every curve of your body, every drop of water that slides along your skin. He doesn’t speak, but his presence is palpable, his silent observation a reminder that you’re his—every moment, even the mundane ones, belongs to him. When you glance his way, his expression doesn’t change, though you might catch the faintest curl of his lips, an acknowledgment that he knows you feel his eyes on you. When you finish, he’ll hand you a towel without a word, but the way his fingers linger on yours says everything.
casual dom! charlie who will please you without batting an eye, as if it’s second nature. You’ll be sitting together on the couch, the glow of the TV lighting the room, when he shifts slightly closer. Slowly, but with calculated precision, his hand slips into your panties, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. His touch is deliberate, steady, and maddeningly controlled, his fingers massaging you with just the right amount of pressure. All the while, his eyes stay glued to the TV, his expression calm and collected, as if nothing unusual is happening. When a whimper escapes your lips, he doesn’t stop, but he shushes you with a quiet, “Hush now. I’m trying to watch,” his tone light but with an unmistakable authority. The contrast between his focused attention on the show and the intense, intimate way he’s handling you leaves you breathless, teetering on the edge of both frustration and bliss.
casual dom! charlie who, after mass is done and all the parishioners have gone, stops by the confessional, brushing the curtain. “A word,” he says softly. You know better than to refuse. He waits, his tone low and deliberate. “You’ve been distant lately. Tell me why.” His question is more of an invitation. You fumble through vague answers until he interrupts. “Stop. I want honesty.” His voice dips lower, almost soothing: “We all stray, but discipline brings us back. Discipline is love. Trust in it.” The silence presses on until you speak, a surrender to his authority. When he dismisses you, his voice softens, but the command remains. “Proverbs 3:11-12. Learn it, and reflect on it before we talk again.” The verse lingers in your mind as he dismisses you: ‘Do not despise the Lord’s discipline, and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in.’ His presence stays with you even as you leave—a reminder that he’s always watching, always guiding.
casual dom! charlie who stands before you every night before bed, his figure imposing in the dim light. His voice is low but firm: “Drop to your knees.” The look in his eyes leaves no room for hesitation. You sink down, hands folded, reciting your prayers under his steady gaze. If your words falter, he steps closer, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “You’re not done,” he says calmly. “I’m not pleased yet.” You straighten, your voice steadier as you continue, striving for the reverence he demands. When he finally says, “Good. That’s better,” there’s a subtle warmth in his tone. His hand moves from your shoulder to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in quiet approval. “Go to bed now,” he says, his voice both commanding and comforting, leaving you feeling chastened yet cherished.
casual dom! charlie who insists on treating the body as a temple, not out of vanity, but reverence. So when he invites you to watch his virtual spin class—invites only in the sense that there’s no real room to say no—you know it’s more than just exercise. You do the exercise along with him and afterwards over dinner — dinner that he cooked and portioned out for you down to the glass of wine you had with it — you discuss it. In great detail, he wants to know how you felt doing it, what was your heart rate, did you enjoy is music selection — everything. But more importantly he’ll remind you that “Your body is a gift. This isn’t punishment—it’s gratitude. Remember that.”
casual dom! charlie who fixates on routine care for yourself in his presence. Every Sunday morning, before mass, he’ll sit you with your vanity and apply your skincare and body care products. “Discipline begins with the smallest acts,” he says as his rough but soft hands glides serums and moisturizers over your skin, his voice soothing yet firm. “Be still. This is part of your worship.”
#lavender baby#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#father charlie grotesquerie#father charlie x reader#father charlie smut#nicholas chavez x reader#charlie mayhew x y/n
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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.
#grotesquerie#charlie mayhew#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew x y/n#charlie mayhew smut#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#dark romance#fic#fanfiction#Spotify
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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.
#fanfic#oneshot#imagine#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x y/n#x reader#grotesquerie#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew x y/n
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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.
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 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.”
#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x black reader#nicholas chavez fanfiction#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez x reader smut#nicholas chavez fic#nicholas chavez imagine#nicholas chavez fluff#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x female reader#nicholas chavez x fem!reader#nicholas chavez blurb#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader smut#father charlie grotesquerie#father charlie x reader#father charlie smut#dr charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew smut#dr charlie mayhew x reader#grotesquerie smut#charlie mayhew x y/n#nicholas chavez x you#nicholas chavez x y/n#f
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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.”
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#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew smut#charlie mayhew x y/n#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez#Nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez x y/n
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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.”
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Charlie Mayhew: Father
Charlie x y/n:
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LOVE IS THE ONE THING THAT CANNOT BE TAINTED BY FEAR OR DOUBT──FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW (part 2)
part one!!
for this request!!
─ summary | a week after megan caught you and father charlie, higher-ranking members of the church summon both of you for a stern warning. they threaten severe consequences—not just losing your positions, but eternal damnation—if you don't end your affair, and though you try to stay composed, charlie's anger flares as he refuses to accept their condemnation
─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!mother!reader
─ word count | 5.3k
─ warnings | pretty angsty + dramatic but has a happy ending, forbidden love, descriptions of having a big family. also wanted to put out there that this in no way shape or form trying to depict the church as something bad, every church is different and this is just fictional and very self-indulgent.
─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! this was super self indulgent and i swear i say that every time but it's true. the happy ending was sorta like... my happy ending LMAO but i just wanted them to end up together. this was super fast paced (ik... 5k words and """fast paced""") but if u read it, you'll know what i mean.
ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!
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Father Charlie’s face is pale, his eyes wide with fear as the weight of what just happened begins to settle between you. The churchyard, once a sanctuary, now feels like a trap. You stand there, unable to move, your heart pounding in your ears.
“Megan—” you try to call out, your voice catching in your throat, but she’s already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the church.
Father Charlie turns to you, his hand trembling as he runs it through his hair. “This… this can’t get out. It’ll ruin everything,” he says, his voice breaking under the pressure. He paces, eyes darting toward the church doors as if expecting Megan to reappear any moment with a crowd of witnesses.
Your chest tightens. You know what’s at stake—the life you’ve both built within the church, the delicate balance of your roles, the unspoken rules you’ve crossed. There’s no undoing what’s been done.
“I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off, stepping closer, his hands gripping your arms with desperate intensity.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice urgent. “I should have never let it get this far. But Megan… she can’t know. No one can know.”
You nod, but the truth gnaws at you. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment of weakness. The kiss—the feelings behind it—have been building for longer than you want to admit. And now that the barrier has been broken, there’s no pretending you can go back to how things were.
“What if she tells?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
Father Charlie’s eyes meet yours, his face full of guilt and something else, something darker—a simmering fear. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything.”
The way he says it makes your stomach twist. You’ve never seen him like this, so cornered, so desperate. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve unleashed something in him that can’t be controlled.
“I have to fix this,” he mutters more to himself than to you, already starting to move toward the church, determination in his stride. “Go home. Don’t come back until I say it’s safe.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s no room for discussion. The weight of your guilt, mingled with fear, presses heavy on your chest as you turn and leave, knowing that the fragile world you both clung to is about to shatter.
As you walk away from the church, the echoes of the kiss linger on your lips, but now they taste bitter—haunted by the knowledge that you’ve crossed a line you can never uncross. And Megan, with her watchful eyes, has seen it all.
The walk from the church feels impossibly long, every step weighed down by the suffocating pressure of what’s just transpired. The once-bright sky has dimmed into muted shades of twilight, the air thick with impending doom. You can feel the weight of it pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. The churchyard, so familiar and comforting just moments ago, now seems cold, distant—like it’s pushing you away.
You glance back once, just once, and catch sight of Charlie disappearing into the stone walls of the church. His movements are hurried, frantic, and it only makes the knot in your stomach tighten. You know he’s going to confront Megan. You know he’ll do everything in his power to convince her to stay silent, to protect both of you, but the seed of doubt has already taken root. What if she doesn’t listen? What if Megan has already spread word of what she saw?
The fear claws at your insides.
You replay the moment over and over in your mind—the kiss, the way his lips had pressed against yours with a hunger that had long been suppressed, the heat of his body against yours. It was more than a moment of weakness; it was the culmination of everything you had been hiding, everything you’d tried to bury under the weight of duty. You had always known there was something between you and Charlie, but you had told yourself it was nothing, that it could never be anything more than unspoken glances and the occasional brush of hands. But now, the truth is undeniable.
You love him.
And it terrifies you.
As you turn the corner, moving further away from the church and deeper into the quiet streets, you try to suppress the panic building inside you. You force yourself to breathe, slow and steady, even as the thought of what comes next twists and knots in your chest. Megan… she had seen everything. Her eyes, wide with shock and something close to betrayal, flashed in your mind like a warning. She would never understand. She couldn’t. To her, this wasn’t just a mistake or a lapse in judgment—it was blasphemy, a defilement of everything sacred.
You walk faster, as if the distance could somehow cleanse you of what just happened, but the weight of your sins follows you, heavy and unrelenting. By the time you reach your small, modest home, the last of the daylight is gone. The darkness feels fitting, like a cloak draped over the truth you’re so desperate to hide.
You fumble with the key, your hands trembling, and push open the door. Inside, the space feels too small, too confining. The walls close in around you, suffocating in their familiarity. You collapse onto the nearest chair, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what comes next.
You think of Megan again, the way she had slipped away so quickly, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. What had she seen? How much had she heard? Would she go to the elders? To the congregation? Your stomach churns at the thought of everyone knowing, their judgmental eyes stripping you bare, seeing you for what you truly are—a sinner. You can already picture the looks, the whispers that would follow, the way they’d turn on you. And Charlie—God, what would happen to him? His role as a priest, his entire life, would be torn apart if this got out.
You can’t let that happen.
But no matter how much you try to focus, your thoughts keep pulling back to him. To the way he looked at you in those moments after Megan had fled. His face, pale with fear, but his eyes… they had been filled with something more than just panic. There had been a tenderness there, a quiet desperation, as if he had wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words had been lost in the gravity of the situation. And now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, one that neither of you can cross until you know what Megan will do.
The hours stretch on in painful silence. You sit by the window, staring out into the night, your heart heavy with dread. Every sound, every rustle of wind, makes you jump, half-expecting someone to come knocking at your door, to drag you back to the church and expose your sin to the world. But no one comes. The night is as still as your breath, suspended in an unbearable waiting.
You wonder how Charlie is faring. Is he talking to Megan right now? Is he pleading with her, trying to make her understand? Or is it too late—has she already made up her mind? The uncertainty gnaws at you, each minute that passes feeling like an eternity.
The quiet is suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. You freeze, your heart stopping for a beat, your blood running cold. For a moment, you can’t move, can’t breathe. Then, slowly, you rise from the chair, your body moving on instinct. You approach the door with trembling hands, every step echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the house.
When you open it, Charlie stands on the other side.
His face is pale, his eyes dark and sunken, as though he’s aged years in the span of a few hours. His expression is grim, but beneath the weariness, there’s something else—something raw, something desperate. He steps inside without a word, closing the door behind him, and the weight of everything that’s happened settles between you.
“What happened?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. His hands are shaking, and you notice the way he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself. “She’s not going to tell anyone,” he finally says, but his voice is hollow, and you know that’s not the whole story.
You take a step closer, searching his face for answers. “What did you say to her?”
Charlie’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something dark in them—something you haven’t seen before. “I made sure she understood,” he says, but there’s no relief in his voice. No victory. Only guilt.
Your stomach tightens as his words sink in. You want to believe him, to trust that everything will be okay now, but the look in his eyes tells you that nothing will ever be the same. Not between you. Not between him and the church. And certainly not between him and Megan.
The silence stretches on, thick and heavy with unspoken truths, and you realize that whatever you thought you were protecting has already been lost. The kiss, the secret moments, the connection between you and Charlie—it’s all unraveling, piece by piece, and there’s no going back now.
You don’t know what he did. And you’re not sure you want to.
All you know is that something has shifted between you, and the fragile world you’ve built together is starting to crack.
“I… I couldn’t let her ruin this,” he says, his voice low and almost pleading. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as though he’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”
You swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. There’s a rawness to his words, a vulnerability that you’ve never seen in him before, and it makes the knot in your throat tighten. “Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.
“No,” he says, his voice firmer now, more certain. “You need to hear this. I love you.” The words hang between you, heavy and full of meaning. His eyes search yours, as though he’s terrified of what your response might be, but at the same time, there’s a conviction in him that tells you he’s been holding onto this for far too long.
Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world falls away. The fear, the uncertainty, the guilt—it all fades into the background, and all that’s left is the truth. He loves you.
And God help you, you love him too.
“I love you, too,” you finally say, the words slipping out in a rush, like a dam breaking. The weight of them is staggering, but also freeing, as though admitting it has somehow lifted the burden from your chest.
Charlie’s eyes soften, and in that moment, the darkness, the fear, everything that’s been hanging over you both seems to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, stolen moment.
He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your temple, and finally, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. It’s tender, sweet, and laced with the kind of love that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. For a few precious seconds, you allow yourself to get lost in him—the warmth of his body, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile and precious. There’s no guilt in this kiss, no shame. Just love.
But as sweet as it is, there’s still a bitter edge, the reminder of what’s been lost. The weight of what happened earlier, of Megan’s watchful eyes, lingers like a shadow over your joy. You pull back slightly, your heart aching as you search his face for reassurance.
“What are we going to do?” you ask, the question heavy with fear and uncertainty.
Charlie lets out a soft sigh, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
The simplicity of his words settles over you, warm and comforting, but the reality of the situation isn’t so easily dismissed. You know the risks, the consequences that loom over both of you like a dark cloud, but right now, in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, it feels like you can face anything.
He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring the closeness, the peace that you’ve found in each other, if only for this fleeting moment. “I don’t care what happens,” he whispers. “As long as I have you.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of happiness and sorrow, because you know that this love—the love you’ve both fought so hard to deny—is as beautiful as it is dangerous. The church, the life you’ve built, the faith that has defined you for so long—it all stands in opposition to what you feel for each other. And yet, here you are, standing on the precipice, ready to fall.
“I’m scared,” you admit softly, your voice trembling.
Charlie pulls you tighter against him, his breath warm against your skin. “So am I,” he confesses, his voice breaking just a little. “But I won’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”
You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding solace in the quiet, in the shared heartbeat that thumps in time with your own. For once, it feels like you’re not fighting against the world, but standing together, ready to face whatever comes next.
But the bitterness still lingers, a quiet reminder that nothing about this is simple. The danger hasn’t passed, and Megan’s silence, though promised, may not last forever. You both know that this moment—this love—comes with a cost.
Still, for now, you allow yourself to hold on to the sweetness of it, to the warmth of his embrace, and the knowledge that whatever happens next, you won’t face it alone.
───
The bells toll, echoing through the towering walls of the old church, signaling the end of Sunday Mass. Parishioners, still murmuring prayers under their breath, make their way toward the grand double doors, their heads dipped in reverence. The air is thick with incense, mingling with the faint scent of candle wax, and the murmured conversations of the faithful filter out as they depart.
You stand by the altar, adjusting your habit, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle over you. It had been a week since the kiss—since Megan’s eyes had caught the forbidden moment. You and Father Charlie had been careful, the tension between you palpable but unspoken. There was no room for slip-ups now, not with what was at stake.
But just as you turn to head back toward the sacristy, you notice something that sends a chill through you. A group of clergy—men dressed in higher clerical vestments, their expressions stern and unyielding—are making their way toward the two of you. The archbishop, Father Lucian, leads them, his presence commanding and severe, a man of high standing in the church, second only to the bishop himself. Behind him are two more senior priests, Father Augustine and Monsignor Ramos, known for their strict adherence to church doctrine.
Charlie stands frozen for a moment, his usual calm demeanor stiffening as he recognizes the gravity of what’s about to happen. His eyes meet yours briefly, and in that split second, you both know. They know.
Father Lucian stops in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. His face is impassive, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating, filled with judgment and a quiet, simmering disappointment. The silence stretches on, unbearable, until finally, he speaks.
“Father Charles,” Lucian’s voice is deep and resonant, cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Mother Y/N. We need to speak.”
Charlie straightens, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn way, but his eyes flicker with something darker—anger, perhaps, or fear. You step closer to him, your heart hammering in your chest.
“We’ve been made aware of certain… transgressions,” Father Lucian continues, his voice cold, deliberate. “Ones that go against the very foundation of your vows—vows of purity, of dedication to God and His teachings.”
Father Charlie’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, though he doesn’t say anything yet. His silence, however, feels like the calm before a storm.
“We’ve heard unsettling rumors,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice carrying a softer, but no less menacing tone. “Of inappropriate closeness between the two of you. Intimacies that have no place within these sacred walls.”
Your stomach drops, the air around you suddenly feeling too thick, too stifling. The weight of their accusation presses against your chest, suffocating.
Father Augustine steps forward, his eyes sharp with accusation. “You both took vows before God,” he says, his voice unwavering. “To forsake earthly temptations for a higher calling. But what we’ve witnessed… it is not the first time such weakness has crept into the church. We cannot allow it to continue.”
You want to speak, to defend yourself, but your throat tightens, and words fail you. Beside you, Charlie’s breathing grows heavier, his anger barely contained.
“If you do not end this… affair immediately,” Father Lucian says, his voice dropping, “there will be consequences far worse than dismissal. You will not only lose your positions here, but you will face the eternal damnation of your souls. Your actions are not just a violation of church law but of God’s law. Do you understand?”
The implications hit you like a blow—hell. They’re threatening you with eternal punishment.
Father Charlie, who had remained silent until now, suddenly takes a step forward, his voice trembling with anger. “And who are you,” he says, his voice low but dangerous, “to tell us about the state of our souls?”
The senior clergy exchange glances, surprised at his defiance. But Charlie continues, his voice growing stronger. “Yes, we broke our vows. But this—what we feel—it's not some… sinful temptation. It’s love. And I won’t stand here and let you condemn us without knowing what’s in our hearts.”
Father Lucian’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the tension is palpable. “Father Charles, you forget your place,” he says coldly. “This is not a matter of love. It is a matter of duty. Of obedience. You swore your life to God, not to your desires.”
“I didn’t swear my life to a prison,” Charlie snaps, his voice shaking with fury. “I swore my life to serve God, to care for people. But you—you’d rather see us as sinners than as human beings.”
“Father Charles,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice hardening, “you are speaking out of turn.”
“No,” Charlie interrupts, turning to you, his hand reaching for yours without hesitation. “I’m speaking the truth. I won’t let you use God as a weapon to control us.”
Your hand grips his tightly, and despite the cold sweat trickling down your spine, you feel an odd sense of strength radiating from him. The threat of hellfire lingers in the air, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel so terrifying with him standing beside you.
Father Lucian’s gaze hardens, his lips thinning into a severe line. “This is your final warning. End this now, or face the consequences.”
Charlie stares back at him, unwavering. “I’d rather face hell,” he says softly, “than live a lie.”
The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words hanging between you and the clergy like a challenge. They stand, frozen for a moment, taken aback by his refusal. The unspoken threat remains—hell, ruin, the dismantling of everything you’ve both worked for.
But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid. You look at Charlie, his face set in defiance, and something inside you shifts. Maybe this is the beginning of the end, but it’s also the beginning of something else—something true, something worth fighting for.
The silence stretches unbearably in the cold churchyard, the tension thick as a storm building on the horizon. The senior clergy stare at Charlie, their expressions hard, almost disbelieving that he’s standing against them. Father Lucian’s eyes narrow further, but his voice remains steady, with a chilling authority.
“You are not beyond redemption,” he says, the words deliberate, cutting. “But defiance will not save you from the consequences of your actions. Think carefully before you decide to sacrifice everything—your calling, your salvation—for something so… fleeting.”
Charlie’s grip tightens around your hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. His next words, however quiet, carry an unshakable resolve. “I’ve already decided. I won’t live a life of half-truths. If that’s what it takes to serve God here, then I’ll find my own way.”
Father Augustine inhales sharply, looking between you and Charlie with something resembling disappointment—or perhaps disdain. “This will not go unpunished,” he mutters, his tone cold and unyielding. “There are consequences for every action, Father Charles. You’ve been warned.”
Without another word, the three clergymen turn on their heels and leave, their footsteps echoing ominously against the stone floor of the church. The weight of their warning lingers, even after they disappear into the distance.
You and Charlie stand there, unmoving, his hand still wrapped tightly around yours. The tension in his body slowly ebbs, though his grip remains firm, as if he’s grounding himself in this moment, in you. The sky above is clear, but there’s a storm brewing, one you can’t ignore any longer.
“Charlie…” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustling of leaves in the courtyard. “What are we going to do?”
He exhales deeply, his shoulders dropping as he turns to face you fully. His eyes search yours, filled with the same mixture of love and uncertainty that’s been building between you since that night in the church. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice softer now, the fire from before replaced with a gentle resignation. “But I know I can’t lose you. Not like this.”
You feel the same pull in your chest, the same conflicted desire that’s been tearing you apart. Everything you’ve built within the church, every vow you’ve taken—it’s all crumbling around you. But Charlie… he’s the one thing that still feels real, the one person you’ve come to rely on, to love in ways you never expected.
“I can’t lose you either,” you admit, your throat tight, emotions swirling in a confusing blur. “But they’re right… If we keep going like this, it won’t just be losing our positions. It’ll be worse.”
Charlie’s gaze darkens for a moment, as if weighing the enormity of it all. He steps closer, lifting his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent motion. “I know the risks,” he says, his voice steady, filled with an unshakable determination. “But the risk of not having you in my life… that’s worse.”
You close your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his hand. His words wrap around your heart, pulling you closer to the edge of something you can’t take back.
───
The decision had been made in a heartbeat, almost too quickly for either of you to process. One moment, you were standing in the courtyard, exchanging quiet promises of love and loyalty; the next, you were both packing your modest belongings in a small room that had been your sanctuary for years.
Charlie’s movements were hurried but deliberate, his usual calm demeanor now laced with an urgency that mirrored your own. You threw robes and personal items into a small bag, your heart pounding as the reality of your situation sank in.
“We can’t stay here,” he had said, his voice shaking with conviction. “Not after that. If we don’t leave now, they’ll find a way to tear us apart.”
You agreed, knowing deep down that the church, once a symbol of comfort and belonging, had become a prison. It wasn’t just Megan’s spying or the warnings from the senior clergy—it was everything. The suffocating weight of the vows, the whispered rumors, the constant feeling of being watched. You couldn’t breathe here anymore.
The room, usually filled with quiet prayer and reflection, was now buzzing with the frantic energy of departure. Charlie stopped for a moment, watching you from across the room. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity you had rarely seen before. He came closer, brushing his hand across your cheek, tilting your chin so that you met his gaze.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “We’re leaving everything behind.”
You nodded, heart pounding, but with a certainty that surprised even you. “I’m sure. I can’t stay here, Charlie. Not without you. Not like this.”
He pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as if savoring the moment, as if holding on to this fragile piece of certainty before everything crumbled.
“We’ll be alright,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find a way. Together.”
You smiled, a bittersweet knot forming in your chest. The thought of leaving everything you’d known was terrifying—but the thought of staying, of pretending, of hiding this love… that was worse.
A knock at the door startled you both, and your heart leapt in your chest. You turned to the door, half expecting to see Father Lucian or another member of the clergy, ready to drag you back into the suffocating confines of the church’s judgment.
But it was Megan.
Her eyes were wide, but there was something softer in her gaze now—something you hadn’t seen before. She hesitated in the doorway, her hand lingering on the knob as she looked between you and Charlie.
“I—I heard,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving?”
Charlie tensed beside you, but you took a step forward, your heart racing. “Megan… I know what you saw. I know what you think, but—”
She shook her head, cutting you off. “No. It’s not that. I—” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath, glancing at Charlie before continuing. “I’m not here to stop you. I just… I just wanted to say I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand why you’re doing this.”
You blinked, taken aback. Megan, the one who had spied on you, who had been so suspicious of your every move, was standing here, offering understanding. It felt surreal.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” she added softly. “But if you’re really leaving, you need to go now. They’ll come looking for you.”
Charlie’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. You felt a rush of gratitude toward Megan, despite everything that had happened between you. Her warning, her silence—it was an unexpected act of kindness.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words feeling heavy with meaning.
She nodded once, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
You turned to Charlie, your breath catching in your throat. “It’s time.”
He nodded, his jaw set, determination burning in his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Together, you walked out of the room, leaving behind the life you had known, the vows you had once believed in, and the future you had thought was certain. The church, once towering and holy, now felt like a distant memory as you stepped into the world beyond its gates.
You didn’t know what would come next—where you would go or what you would do—but with Charlie by your side, the fear didn’t seem quite as overwhelming. You had each other. And for now, that was enough.
EPILOGUE
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow across the rolling hills and fields that stretched beyond your front porch. The house you now called home sat nestled against a small grove of trees, a place you’d never imagined, yet somehow felt destined to find.
A soft breeze rustled through the open windows, carrying with it the distant laughter of children playing in the yard. You smiled, leaning against the wooden railing as you watched them—a picture of the life you had once dreamed of, now fully realized.
Two little girls, their dark curls bouncing in the breeze, were chasing after their younger brother, their giggles filling the air. They were so full of energy, so full of life. The kind of life you had longed for back when everything felt so suffocating, back when the idea of having a family seemed distant and impossible.
Behind you, the front door creaked open, and Charlie stepped out, two mugs of tea in his hands. His face, though older and more weathered now, still held that same softness that had always drawn you to him. He passed you a cup and wrapped an arm around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched the scene unfold before you.
You smiled, leaning into him, your heart swelling with contentment. This was the dream you had once shared with him, whispered between kisses when the future seemed so uncertain. But now, here it was—tangible, real. Your two daughters, as spirited and wild as you had imagined, and your son, a bundle of mischief with Charlie’s inquisitive nature.
You stood there in comfortable silence, watching as your eldest, a curious seven-year-old, tried to corral her younger siblings with all the seriousness of someone far beyond her years. The younger girl, barely five, kept bursting into fits of giggles, while your three-year-old son—always a handful—tumbled into the grass, quickly distracted by the dogs.
It was a far cry from the life you had left behind, from the cold stone walls of the church and the whispers of judgment. You had built this life together—away from the suffocating expectations, the prying eyes, and the fear. Out here, in this open space, you were free to be who you truly were, without shame, without fear of punishment.
Charlie turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your cheek. “You’re happy?”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt. “I am,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “I really am.”
He smiled, his eyes softening in the way they always did when he looked at you—filled with a love that had only grown stronger over the years. You still had your moments of doubt, of course—those nights when the past crept in, when the memory of everything you’d left behind tugged at your mind. But then you would look at him, at the children you had brought into the world, and it would all disappear.
Charlie pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as the children’s laughter echoed through the evening air. The weight of the past had faded into something distant, something that didn’t define you anymore.
This was your future now—a family, a home filled with love and laughter. You had chosen this life, together, and it was better than any dream you had ever dared to hope for.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, your eldest daughter ran up to you, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Mama! Look what we found!”
She held up a small flower she had picked from the yard, and you crouched down to examine it, your heart swelling with pride at her joy over such a simple thing.
“It’s beautiful,” you told her, smoothing back a stray curl from her face.
She beamed, darting off again to join her siblings, and you stood back up, feeling Charlie’s presence beside you, steady and strong.
“Two daughters, a son, and two dogs,” he repeated softly, his voice filled with that same awe he always carried when he talked about your family. “You’ve always had the best dreams.”
You leaned into him, your fingers intertwined, as the last light of the day faded. “And you’ve always made them come true.”
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