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Could you possibly do a Nicholas Chavez smut that involves recording you guys doing it thank you smsm much love
warnings— praise kink, oral(m&f receiving), degrading kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, ass slapping, creampie, breeding kink.
hope you enjoy, like and reblog <3
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿
You could hear the water running as you picked up the small digital camera, a mischievous idea forming in your mind. Slipping quietly into the bathroom, you saw Nicholas through the fogged glass, water cascading down his skin. He looked sexy, his body warm and slick from the shower, unaware of your presence until he caught sight of you and the camera in your hand.
Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “What are you up to?”
You pressed ‘record,’ angling the camera at him as he finished rinsing off. “I thought maybe we'd make memories,” you teased, watching his expression shift from surprise to intrigue.
He stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel, and you kept the camera on him, following every movement as he ran the towel over his damp skin. “So, we’re making amateur porn now?” he joked, grinning.
You shrugged playfully. “Maybe. I mean, we never watch porn, why not make our own?”
He chuckled, a bit of excitement in his eyes. “I like that idea. Always thought it’d be something to look back on, our little moments.”
“Then you’re on board?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you recorded his soft, yet intensely curious gaze.
“Absolutely,” he replied, stepping closer. “Let’s capture every second.”
Once you were in the bedroom, you aimed the camera toward him, focusing on every detail—the hard lines of his abs, the toned muscles in his arms, the way his skin caught the low light. You couldn’t hold back a smile. “God, you’re so hot,” you murmured, letting the words slip out without a second thought. His face lit up with a grin, one that was both flattered and a bit cocky.
Nicholas took a few steps closer, closing the distance between you, and gently took the camera from your hands. “Here,” he said, setting it on the TV stand so it angled perfectly toward the bed. “Now we’ll have the best view of you.”
You felt your cheeks warm at his words, but he just leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. The two of you fell back onto the bed, bodies pressed close. His hands found their way to your hips, and your gaze drifted toward the camera, noticing the small red light recording. He smirked, catching where you were looking.
“Bet you look hot on there,” he whispered, his voice low. Then he pulled back, a spark in his eyes. “Actually, I have an idea.”
Curious, you tilted your head as he went to grab the camera again. He handed it to you, guiding your hand until you were holding it just above you. His gaze held a mischievous glint as he settled himself between your legs, giving you a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.
“Hold it steady,” he said, his voice warm with a hint of a challenge. His eyes flickered between you and the lens. “Want you to see just how good you look.”
You could barely focus on holding the camera as his mouth attached to your clit, his movements slow, deliberate. He glanced up, catching your eyes and giving you a smile that sent shivers down your spine. You tried to keep the camera steady, but each look he gave you made it harder to concentrate, each gentle touch feeling somehow magnified through the lens.
“Think you’re gonna be able to keep it still?” he teased, looking up at you with a grin.
You gave a soft laugh, your breath hitching. "I’ll try."
Nicholas’ eyes flicked to the camera, then back to you. “Good, because I want you to watch.”
Watching Nicholas through the lens, you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken. He looked incredible, every muscle flexing, his gaze entirely focused on you. When he glanced up, his eyes filled with a dark intensity, he murmured, “Tell me how good it feels.”
Your voice came out breathy, almost a whisper. “It feels amazing, you’re amazing daddy.”
He leaned down, pressing his lips along your collarbone, and then you felt his fingers slip inside, gentle but confident. Your reaction was immediate, a moan that you didn’t even realize was so loud until you saw him smirk, eyes flicking to the camera for a second. “Can’t wait to hear these sounds on playback,” he murmured, a glint of satisfaction in his voice.
When you finally reached your release, he held you close, trailing soft kisses over your shoulders and up to your jaw. “You did so good for me baby,” he whispered, brushing a few strands of your braids from your face. His voice was soothing, grounding you.
He glanced at the camera, then back to you with that mischievous smile. “Now it’s my turn to hold this.” He picked up the camera, positioning it to capture everything. “Get on your knees for daddy,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing authority.
You moved into position, looking up at the lens with wide, needy eyes that made him groan softly. “Just like that,” he murmured, his fingers slipping into the braids framing your face as he recorded.
You took his thick cock into your mouth, and he let out a pleased sigh, running his fingers through your braids, guiding you gently. “Such a good girl for daddy,” he breathed, voice dropping to a near whisper. His gaze shifted between you and the camera, clearly savoring every second.
As things reached a peak, he pulled back, his breaths heavy. “Look into the camera for me,” he said, his thumb gently tilting your chin. You looked up, meeting the lens with a soft smile as he murmured, “So hot, you’re perfect.” You stuck your tongue out as he came all over your face, the camera capturing your best angles. He moaned in contempt as you licked your lips and the tips of his cock, amazement swelling inside him.
He lowered the camera, the appreciation in his eyes clear as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss.
Nicholas looked at you, his eyes dark with intensity. “I want you to ride daddy’s dick, sweetheart,” he murmured, settling himself back against the headboard. You moved to straddle him, feeling the warmth and closeness between you as you positioned yourself. He adjusted the camera, making sure it captured the two of you perfectly.
As you lowered yourself, his hands found your waist, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just like that baby, so good,” he praised softly. His gaze flicked to the camera for a second before landing back on you. “Look at you. So beautiful—you love this, don’t you?”
You felt his hands slide lower, gripping you tighter to guide your movements. With a small grin, he gave you a gentle slap on the ass, urging you to pick up the pace. “Faster slut,” he whispered. Your rhythm grew more intense as he admired you, glancing back at the camera with a proud smile. “See how perfect she is?” he murmured, almost to himself.
He moved with you until he set the camera back on the table, making sure it captured your entire bodies moving in synce. His voice was a low encouragement, “Come on, beautiful. Let go for me.”
With his words, you felt yourself relax completely in his arms, letting the orgasm sweep over you. Just as you caught your breath, he carefully moved you onto your back, keeping his focus on you. His eyes met yours, his gaze warm and intent as he leaned closer.
“Tell me,” he murmured, a playful smirk in his eyes as he looked between you and the camera. “Who’s making you feel this good?”
Barely able to speak, you answered softly, “You daddy.”
With a proud, tender smile, he wrapped his arms around you, his hips snapping against you. “You’re such a slut for me baby, only sluts want to be amateur pornstars,” he panted, his thrusts speeding up and making the bed frame slam against the wall.
His words had you on the edge and you wrapped your legs around him, meeting his thrusts and grinding against his pelvis. “See, what did I tell you? You’re such a slut, sweetheart.”
Nicholas' hands found your neck, his grip firm as he held you close. “Come on, beautiful, let go for daddy, right on my cock,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride and encouragement. Your body responded, a wave spurting from your pussy as you gasped his name.
His hands moved to cradle your face, and with a gentle yet intense look, he said, “My turn.” Carefully, he shifted you onto your stomach, his hands warm and steady on your hips. As he leaned closer, his breath brushed against your ear, and he whispered, “Just like this baby.”
The closeness, the trust, everything between you felt powerful. He pulled you back to him by your neck, his arms wrapped securely around it.
“I’m gonna cum baby,” he began, his hips slamming against your ass, “and I’m gonna do it inside you. I’m gonna get you pregnant, get this sexy fucking body swollen with my babies. This is gonna be our baby making tape and we’re gonna look back at it one day and know this is how we made our baby.”
Lost in the warmth and intensity of his words and presence, you felt safe as he held you close, thrusting into your squelching heat. The recording light blinked softly in the background, capturing the moment. With a groan of your name, you felt him still inside you, filling you up to the brim. Nicholas chuckled softly, looking over at the camera with a playful grin. “Guess that’s a wrap, folks,” he teased, making you both laugh as he clicked the stop button.
Settling back into the bed, you rested in his arms, his presence comforting and steady as he held you close. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his fingers gently tracing along your back as you began to drift to sleep, feeling completely at ease in the warmth of his embrace.
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MILLION DOLLAR MAN. ━ father charlie mayhew ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✿ ⋆˚⊹
∙ a/n. took ages but it's based on this thought of mine & a lana del rey song (loosely) ♡ this shit is really kinky & not for everyone, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! i'm sorry...
∙ warnings. PURE FILTH. i mean it. corpses, death, all that grotesquerie stuff... slight masochism!? charlie and reader are equally mentally ill... really. blood kink, blasphemy, charlie refers to himself as "god", praise, oral (f&m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, knife play, whipping, crying, blood once again. ∙ wc. 3534
❝ 𝕿hat's... beautiful", you smiled, staring at Charlie's work; twelve corpses ━ homeless people, to be exact ━ positioned to resemble The Last Supper.
You couldn't help but smirk at the sight; the man Charlie put in the middle was positioned in a way that represented Jesus. You knew him; he had asked you for money many times, claiming he was hungry ━ you had suspected he spent every penny on meth, though.
You believed Charlie wholeheartedly when he claimed that all he did was for greater good. You weren't scared nor worried ━ if anything, you admired him and his dedication to everything he believed in. You watched him stand in the middle of the abandoned Church, admiring his own work; the image making your heart beat faster. He was covered in blood of his victims, and you should feel ashamed for the heat pooling low in your stomach ━ but you didn't.
Your careful steps echoed in the air as you walked over to Charlie, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, covering your little dress with blood in the process.
A rush of adrenaline filled your chest as you hummed, Charlie's touch gentle and soft ━ as you looked at the blasphemous image in front of you, you wondered how'd he get that way. He never talked about his past; saying that all he needed was now, in front of him, clear as day.
"Look at our masterpiece, Angel", his low voice cut through the air like a knife ━ and in the moment you realised that maybe he was worth cutting yourself for.
"Our? I barely did anything", you chuckled, his presence behind you comforting; he was so big, muscular, making you feel safe; how ironic, you thought, looking at the image in front of you.
Charlie's crimson hand lingered on your neck, before he grabbed your chin, making you turn your head towards him.
"You're here, with me", he whispered, his words meaningful, familiar spark in his eyes; the very one that made you fall in love with him. Charlie's thumb rubbed against your lower lip, smearing the blood all over it, adoration overcoming his features as he looked at you. "And it's enough".
You turned to face him fully, taking his thumb into your mouth slowly; Charlie's eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his digit, lapping at the blood, the taste making your head spin. You held onto his forearm, and he pulled you closer, grabbing a fistful of your hair, his sick need matching your own.
Before you knew it, you were pressed flush against the wall with Charlie's lips on yours ━ tongues meeting in a chaotic dance, rolling over each other messily.
"I'd follow you anywhere", you breathed out when he moved down to nib at your neck. He let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your throat in the most delicious way. "Anywhere".
"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?", you chanted, your knees cushioned by the padded kneeler. Charlie hummed softly; your words filled the air like the most beautiful song.
A mix of incense and Charlie's strong cologne reached your nostrils, somewhat comforting and calming as you felt his presence behind you.
"Beautiful", he muttered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Your heart fluttered at the praise as you shifted, the sheer dress you wore rising up your thighs with the movement. "Go on".
"The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?", your eyes opened, lashes fluttering at the sight of Charlie; he towered over your kneeling form, looking down at you with a hint of awe and adoration in his features. You eyed his chest, covered only by a see-through, white gown ━ he looked like an angel, which, in your eyes, he was.
"And who is your Lord?", Charlie's hand was now in your hair, forcing you to meet his hard, demanding gaze. You meant it when you answered: "You. It's you, Charlie. You're the only God I want to worship".
He expected these words to leave your mouth, but he could never tire of hearing them. You spoke with such confidence, not a trace of regret or fear in your voice, and his his cock twitched at the sight; you were so obedient, so good to him.
Charlie offered you a hand, which you gladly accepted, getting up from the kneeler. Your legs shook slightly as he pulled you close, one of his hands on your face, the other grabbing your hip. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the gesture gentle and loving, his eyes scanning over your face.
"You've been so good for me", he whispered, and you leaned into his touch, pressing your body even closer to his; it simply was never enough. "I love you".
His lips pressed against yours, deliberately and slowly, as if you had all the time in the world. His smell lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Charlie bit your bottom lip, drawing blood in process, lapping at the crimson liquid greedily, careful not to miss a drop. You whined, and Charlie was quick to lift you up in his arms, walking over to the altar.
You tried to deepen the kiss, but Charlie had other plans, dropping you on a wooden chair; the very one he sat in during masses and preaches.
"Greed is a sin", he whispered in a serious tone, brushing his lips against yours for the last time, before he fell to his knees before you. "Patience, my Angel".
You watched with wide eyes and heaving chest as Charlie spread your legs as wide as he could, lifting your dress ━ he gazed up at you, caressing the soft skin of your thighs with his big hands. You shivered when he tugged at the waistband of your lacy thong, and your hips rose up immediately, allowing him to pull it down your legs.
The cold air hitting your ━ now exposed ━ pussy made you gasp, as you clutched the edges of the chair tightly. Charlie chuckled darkly, watching the way your little hole clenched in anticipation.
He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing soft kisses around your pussy, giving you a sneak peek of what was about to come.
"You're mine to worship", he bit back a moan at the taste of your soft skin, and he didn't even get to the best part yet. "Mine to love", he met your gaze, and you nodded mindlessly, getting lost in his dark irises. "Mine to fuck".
As soon as the words left his mouth, he licked a deliberate stripe from your opening to your clit. Your head fell back, the rush of sitting on the specific chair while having his mouth on you made you feel so powerful. Charlie's tongue moved with purpose, circling around your clit slowly, before sucking it into his mouth. Your breaths came out in shallow gasps, the occasional groans leaving his mouth vibrating against your core, causing you to shake in his grasp.
"Charlie, fuck", you moaned, tugging at his hair, knowing how much he liked it. His eyes fluttered shut as he teased your entrance with the very tip of his tongue, lapping at the arousal that continued to drip out of you. "God, I'm━ I'm sorry, I'm gonna cum", you cried out; the endless flicks of his tongue, the groans leaving his mouth, the sight of his beautiful face between your legs ━ it became too much, fire pooled in your lower abdomen, ready to explode any second now.
Your loud cry echoed across the empty church as you came, and Charlie's eyes snapped open to watch as your face twisted in pleasure, a mixture of curses and shallow gasps leaving your mouth, and he swore he could cum from the sight alone.
He lapped at your pussy, eager to taste every single drop you had to offer. You twitched in overstimulation, slowly coming down from your high, sighing in relief when Charlie moved to kiss your inner thighs lovingly.
Not even five minutes later, you were already in Charlie's room, bloody clothes laying all over the floor; the memory of your latest crime, how you stood by his side the whole time ━ it made Charlie even needier.
You run your hands over his biceps at which desperate groan left his mouth ━ then he was quick to take the butt-less leather chaps and gown off his body before pushing you onto the bed.
Sick smile appeared on Charlie's mouth as he grabbed the metal-covered whip, along with a knife from his drawer; a rush of adrenaline run down your spine at the sight.
You took a second to admire his well-trained body as his back faced you, his muscles clenching as he moved around the room to get everything he needed. You were already breathless, and when he started moving towards you, his gaze predatory and dangerous, you were shaking. Not an ounce of fear in your body as he placed the items on the bedside table, his cock bobbing in the air as he walked; your mouth watered at the sight and his size that never failed to amaze you.
"Get on the floor". The harshness of his voice was enough for you to obey, sinking down on your knees right in front of him. "Worship your man. Let's see if you can handle me", he teased, knowing that in fact, you could, even if you struggled and choked. He challenged you, but you just smiled, knowing that the tables would turn soon enough.
"You know I can, Father", his cock twitched at the nickname ━ before he could respond, you were already grabbing his thighs, face to face with his giant cock, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. He hummed, satisfied, running a hand through your hair, tugging at it, forcing you to open your mouth a little wider. You smirked up at him before obeying, taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue and pressing it against the underside. You hollowed your cheeks, beginning to bob your head, taking more and more of him in the process, getting used to his size slowly but surely.
"Fuck, you have the dirtiest little mouth", Charlie groaned, watching you, beginning to thrust into your mouth as he grew needier. You struggled as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes falling open to look at him. His head fell back, chest heaving with uneven breaths, and you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you to him, still. You quickly replaced your mouth with your hands, wrapping them around his shaft, jerking him off. Your tongue darted out to lap at his balls, massive and full of cum, and a satisfied moan left your mouth; you loved pleasuring him almost as much as he loved seeing you on your knees for him.
Shameless groan left Charlie's mouth, your small hands around him and your mouth on his balls driving him crazy. "I need to feel you. Now".
Your eyes fell open and you moved to take him in your mouth again, causing Charlie to hiss, taking a mental note to punish you for disobeying him later. Yet he couldn't pull away, not now ━ not when your mouth felt so good, so warm and welcoming. He thrusted his hips lazily, and you stopped your movements, letting him take the lead.
"You fucking love it, don't you? You love choking on my dick. You love letting me use your mouth however I please", he panted, feeling himself getting close, the obscene sounds leaving your mouth only spurring him on further. You tried to nod, which was nearly impossible with the speed in which he was fucking your throat.
"I'm gonna cum. Fuck, swallow it, swallow it all", he hissed, head falling back; your nails digged into his thighs, soft moan leaving your occupied mouth, and that seemed to be his last straw.
His cock twitched, and spurts of his hot cum finally painted your tongue and the back of your throat.
He pulled off your mouth with a swift movement, and you swallowed every single drop, the taste making you whimper, as you tried to catch your breath.
"Good fucking girl. Show me", he grabbed your chin, pressing his thumb against your lower lip; you obeyed, chest heaving with uneven breaths and throat sore, as you sticked your tongue out. His eyes darkened, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, before he forced you to stand up, only to practically throw you on the bed like a doll.
Charlie grabbed the knife from a nightstand; your eyes widened and your legs closed, a spark of excitement running down your spine.
Charlie spread your legs, kneeling in between them; knife forgotten for just a second as he tugged at your dress, determined to get it off your body. It was thrown on the floor in an instant, and he was already lining himself up with your entrance.
You moaned in unison when his tip stretched you out ━ smug smile adorning his face at the visible impatience building within you.
"You're so tight", he rasped, pressing your thigh against the mattress. You cried out when he buried himself inside of you fully in one, swift movement. Your walls struggled to adjust to his size, and you tried to catch your breath. "So warm. My God. You really are an Angel, aren't you?", Charlie muttered, grabbing the knife while beginning to thrust into you ━ and your pussy clenched at the sight.
Then he pressed the flat side of the knife against your skin; the coldness on your burning skin made you gasp. The feeling of Charlie's thick cock fucking into you over and over again, combined with the thrill of being completely at his mercy making you gush.
"You have no idea how badly I want to cut my name into your skin", he groaned, pressing the blade into your skin lightly. You gripped at the sheets and your head fell back. The sound of your skin slamming together filled the room, along with your cries, and Charlie's loud breathing.
"Do it", you begged, and Charlie's hand wrapped around your throat, cutting your airflow in an instant.
You should be scared; he was the one having all the control, and, most importantly, he held the knife against your skin. Yet, in your sick mind, there was no room for fear ━ not when he slammed into you as if his life depended on it, mumbling incoherent praises right above you.
The truth was, you had all the power over him; he sacrificed everything for you, only for you.
So when the blade pressed into the skin on your chest, cutting through it, some blood flowing out of the wound ━ all you did was moan, feeling your orgasm taking over you slowly ━ and Charlie's hand left your throat, letting you take a deep breath.
"I'm going to cum", you cried out, the sharp sting of where he cut a big C into your skin leaving you whimpering.
Your blood covered his chest and stomach as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours, running the flat side of his knife over your cheek. The pain combined with pleasure of his restless thrusts sent you spiralling, and your back arched into the air as you soaked his cock.
"Good fucking girl. Come on, give me everything you got", he talked you through the waves of pleasure, sick smile on his face as he watched you cry from overstimulation. You took a second to calm down, enjoying the way he was balls deep inside you, pressing wet kisses down your neck. His hips grinded against yours involuntarily when he reached the bloody C carved out on your chest; he greedily licked at the wound, groaning at the taste.
You whimpered, letting him clean you of your own blood, before you gained enough strength to push him back against the bed, sinking down on his cock.
Charlie's eyes widened ━ he was partially surprised at your sudden dominance; he wouldn't let you do it often; but this time, it just felt right.
You lifted yourself enough to reach the whip from the nightstand. Charlie understood; he understood immediately, sitting up, as you sink down on his thick cock yet again. Some more blood flowed down your body, and he was unable to look away, his eyes almost pleading.
"How many?", you asked casually, although your voice was strangled, your cunt spasming around him in anticipation.
But there was no answer from him. So, smiling wildly, you swinged and whipped his back; the metal cutting through his skin.
Charlie cried out, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. The pain left him trembling, and you were quick to press a soft kiss against his lips. Charlie responded immediately, whimpering into your mouth, his hips snapping upward to meet yours.
"I asked you a question", you whispered, tugging on his hair.
"I... Five. Angel━ J-Just move", he pleaded, and you smiled sweetly; the contrast between the delicious roll of your hips and the whip cutting through his skin yet again made him lightheaded, and he only imagined how much blood flowed from the wounds.
"You're doing so good for me", you praised, beginning to ride him in an inhuman speed, switching between grinding your hips down and bouncing on his big cock. The stretch made you moan, and Charlie was unable to speak, feeling as if he could cum any second now.
Third whip and he was begging you to stop, yet you knew that's not what he wanted. His eyes pleading and wide, and before he knew it, he was cumming inside of you, biting on your shoulder, a desperate cry leaving his mouth.
"Good boy", and you bounced faster, trying to distract him from the pain as you lashed him for the fourth time. "Doin' so good for me. You need to take this. It's your penance". And he was nodding, knowing you were right ━ and he was ready to take any kind of punishment if it meant he could be with you.
After the fifth and last whip, Charlie fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He was paralysed ━ more from the pleasure and overstimulation than pain. You let the whip fall on the floor, giving him a minute to breathe.
But Charlie was needy ━ no, he was desperate to feel you trembling under him. A squeal left your mouth when he lifted you off him, pressing your upper half flush against the bed. You arched your back, dizzy from pleasure and need ━ your hips grinding into the air in search of his cock again.
Charlie plunged into you again with one, swift movement, feeling as if he could cum again just at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously.
You were a whimpering mess when he started thrusting into you in an inhuman speed ━ and you were almost convinced that you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep he was.
"Say my name", he demanded, tugging on your hair, yanking your head back to rest against his chest. The change of angle caused you to gasp, and you did exactly what he asked: screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room and corridor. "You're taking me so good", he stilled for a moment, letting you buck back into him, enjoying the way your ass bounced with every movement.
Charlie, unable to control himself, spanked your ass, obsessed with the way your skin got red, the crimson handprints contrasting with your pale skin.
He let you fuck yourself on his cock, a creamy ring appearing at the base ━ his cum leaking out of your used hole with every sway of your hips. You clenched, holding onto his thighs for balance, and Charlie let go of your hair only to tilt your head towards him.
Your clouded eyes met his, and Charlie smiled lovingly, pressing his lips against yours ━ sweetly and gently.
"Cum for me, Angel", he whispered as you grinded your hips down, almost passing out from the intense pleasure. Your skin felt hot, legs ready to give out any second now.
Charlie sensed it immediately, and he helped you by thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway, a satisfied moan leaving both of you.
It wasn't long until he came inside of you, filling you to the brim for the second time. His orgasm triggered your own. Charlie caressed your sides until you stopped shaking, whispering soft praises into your ear.
A few minutes later you were cleaning Charlie's back, muttering occasional "sorry" when he hissed in pain.
"I'm taking you on a trip tomorrow", he said softly, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your delicate hands taking care of his back. You nodded, not pressing any further.
As long as you were with him, nothing else mattered.
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boyfriend!nicholas chavez headcanons
cw: nsfw, fluff, kissing, smut, p in v, all that
sfw:
nicholas is the type of boyfriend that notices the small things around you that make you happy. whether it be which hoodie you like most of his, or the way your face lights up when you take that first sip of coffee in the morning. THIS MAN REMEMBERS IT ALL. he notices it, and then quietly stores it in his mind.
he knows how much you like taking a picture of sunsets/whenever the sky is pretty, so whenever he's not around you, he takes a picture of the sky himself and then texts it to you, just so that you don't miss out.
this man is obsessed with ANY kind of physical contact with you. his hand is sliding up and down your thigh during family dinners, or he's holding your hand and rubbing circles onto it with his thumb while you guys watch your favourite rom com and cuddle in a cozy blanket.
nic loves it when you do skincare with him. you're sitting on the bathroom counter, legs dangling, while he stands between your legs, closing his eyes and grinning while you put a face mask on his already-perfect skin.
after a long day of filming, all he wants is to lie in your arms, y'alls favourite sitcom playing slowly in the background, you peppering kisses on his head and playing with his hair while he slowly tells you how his day was, after hearing yours. his face is buried in your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, legs entangled.
he's absolutely obsessed with saying "i love you" to you whenever he can and spoiling you with all sorts of stuff. his love language is definitely words of affirmation and physical touch.
nsfw:
nicholas LOVES to fuck you in his clothes. maybe it's because how good you look in them. how you can never fill out his tshirt- because he is so much bigger compared to you- and how easy it is to pull his clothes off of you.
this man is an EATER. have you seen the orange video?? that is exactly how he eats you out. he can NEVER get enough of your pussy. he makes you cum again, and again, and again until you're a withering mess. "come on, baby. give me one more. i know you can."
he fucks you oh so deep and oh so slow. he hits all the right angles, while holding up your legs with his big, strong hands and praises you while he's fucking you absolutely senseless, WHILE MAINTAINING EYE CONTACT.
nic LOVES it when you sit on his face. he loves feeling your clit on his pretty little nose, his fingers wrapping themselves around your thighs, as he guides you up and down his face. "who needs oxygen when i have YOU?"
he is absolutely infatuated with the way you say his name when you're cumming, and the way your face contorts into pure pleasure while you do so. that's why missionary will always be his favourite sex position. he loves to see you.
a/n: first post??? lmk if you want a part 2?? lol idk
#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez fanfiction#nicholas chavez imagine#nicholas chavez headcanons#father charlie mayhew#father charlie x reader#charlie mayhew#dr charlie mayhew#cooper koch#grotesquerie
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Y/n
Liked by: Sabrina carpenter, real_cooper, Billie.eilish, Nicholas.a.chavez, 245k others
Y/n: guys he’s leaving me 😭😭😭 it’s for a big role and I’m so proud of my stinka but still!
Nicholas.a.chavez: baby 🥺🥺 I already cried too much this morning. Plus you’re doing shows again
- y/n: hush and let me mourn.
Real_cooper: don’t worry we’ll keep her company.
- y/n: please come over 🥲
Billie.eilish: I’m coming too. Dibs on the Nicholas’ side.
-Y/n: sheets are washed my love
Nicholas.a.chavez: guys?!? I haven’t even been gone a full day😔
~~~~~~~~~~
Liked by: Nicholas.a.chavez, real_cooper, Billie.eilish, Sabrina carpenter, 332k others.
Y/n: ugh I’ve missed yall so much! Soooo happy to be back on tour 😫 💋
Real_cooper: god you’re so stunning I love you 🥹🖤🤤
- y/n: stop before i cry! I love you so much 🖤
Billie.eilish: that dress is everything 🤤🖤
- y/n: it’ll look better on your floor 😉
Nicholas.a.chavez: CHAT?!?!? Baby wtf 😭😭😭 I leave for two weeks!
- y/n: you saw nothing and aren’t you supposed to be sleep it’s like one am?
-Nicholas.a.chavez: I can’t sleep without you. Makeup is getting mad at the dark circles.
- y/n: Nicky 🥺🥺🥺
Real_cooper: anddddd they’re back
User67: god she’s so hot 🥵
User89: them in the comments is taking me out 💀
~~~~~~~
Liked by: Nicholas.a.chavez, real_cooper, Billie.eilish, Sabrina carpenter, 453k others
Y/n: eeeeee my babies backkkkk!! For now 🙃 but my babies back and he took me on a lil trip 🥹🛥️ yall how do I tell him I can’t swim tho 😟
Nicholas.a.chavez: baby?!?!
- y/n: oops 🫣
Real_cooper: yall are hilarious. Well teach you to swim 🏊
-y/n: pls 😚 im fighting for my life on this boat
User67: parents are back!!!!
User98: please stay safe 😭
Y/n_wife: god they’re so cute!!!
#nicholas chavez au#nicholas chavez x black reader#black reader#nicholas chavez imagine#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x y/n#father charlie mayhew
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NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ as FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW GROTESQUERIE — 1.03
#grotesquerie#grotesquiere fx#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#father charlie mayhew#ryan murphy#tvedit#filmtvedit#filmtvdaily#tvgifs#men#dextermayhews#gif#mine#*
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Father Charlie Mayhew p.links !!
all links are NSFW twitter porn links!! 18+ MDNI
Car sex
Pussy slapping
Bondage/Orgasm Denial
Tied up
Rough sex
Punishment
Shower sex
Making your ass raw
Fucking you through your panties
Creampie
Anal
Thigh fucking
Eating you out (1)
Eating you out (2)
Titty fuck/cumming on your chest
#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#nicholas alexander chavez#father charlie mayhew smut#father charlie mayhew x you#charlie mayhew x reader#grotesquerie#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader
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Lead Us Not Into Temptation
Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader
Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.
♱
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”
The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.
You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…
“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”
Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.
The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?
“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”
You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.
Father Mayhew.
“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”
It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.
“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”
You swiped your tongue between your lips.
“...will never be accepted.”
You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you.
Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.
You struggled to swallow.
“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”
You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.
“It’s…discouraging.”
You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.
…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.
He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.
You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.
Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.
“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”
You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.
“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”
His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.
“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”
At that, you did smile.
You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.
You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.
It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.
Even if many would not agree.
You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.
It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.
Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…
…because he looked at you different.
It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.
You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.
That is why he watches you, you told yourself.
No other reason.
“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”
The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.
He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you.
“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”
He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation.
He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.
“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.
You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.
“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”
He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.
“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”
He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…
His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.
“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”
You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.
“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”
You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.
No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.
An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.
You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.
No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.
Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.
“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.
He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.
“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.
He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.
Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.
“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”
You couldn’t stop your smile at his words
“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”
You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.
“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”
At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.
“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”
Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.
“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”
Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.
“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”
You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.
“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”
At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.
“Why?”
“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”
His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.
“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”
You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.
“What memories they must have of you…”
You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…
You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?
“Father, I think you should-.”
“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”
You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.
“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements.
You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.
“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”
You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.
“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”
Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.
“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”
You blinked, and a few tears escaped.
“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”
He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.
“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”
You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.
“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”
His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.
“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”
When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.
“We are…and always will be…sinners…”
Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.
Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.
When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.
You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.
The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…
…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.
Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.
You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.
“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”
You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.
“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”
He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.
“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.
The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.
When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.
With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.
“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”
#charlie mayhew#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#father Charlie mayhew x reader#nicholas alexander chavez#grotesquerie#nicholas chavez
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SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]
ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲🇦🇸🇹🇪🇷🇱🇮🇸🇹`·.·★
Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.
Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.
It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?
You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.
He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.
The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.
It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.
The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.
There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.
The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.
He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.
It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.
A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.
You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.
The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.
Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.
He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.
You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.
Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.
Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"
Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.
"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.
He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.
He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.
His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.
He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.
He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.
The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.
His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.
He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.
The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.
As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.
He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.
Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.
You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.
Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.
You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"
He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."
His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.
You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.
Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.
Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.
You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.
Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."
You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.
There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.
You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.
His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.
Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.
His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.
His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."
He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.
Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.
You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.
He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.
Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.
Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.
He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.
You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.
His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.
You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.
Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.
"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.
The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.
Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.
He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.
His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.
You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."
He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.
A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.
Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.
He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.
You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.
The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.
He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.
You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.
Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.
Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.
Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.
A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.
Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.
Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.
Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.
You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.
You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.
The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.
As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.
There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.
All that mattered to him was you.
A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...
#xani-writes: father charlie mayhew fics#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#father charlie x reader#father charlie smut#charlie mayhew#priest x nun#nun reader#smut#x reader#naive girl#reader insert#fem reader#x female reader#female reader#one shot#nicholas alexander chavez#charlie mayhew x reader#father Charlie mayhew x reader#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader#father charlie#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez x reader
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Blame It On The Rain [Nicholas Alexander Chavez x reader]
Word count: 855
Warnings: oral (m! receiving), rough sex, shower sex, once again completely self-indulgent
A/N: the obsession is going strong hehehe
Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.
Your boyfriend lay on your bed, scrolling away on his phone. Such a simple task, but he looks so damn good. You lean against the door frame, shamelessly watching your unsuspecting lover.
"Hey, Nick?" You call out innocently.
"Yes, baby?" He looks up from his phone.
"I'm gonna shower."
He looks at you, confused, “oookay..?”
"Join me.”
The corners of his mouth curled up into a mischievous smile, "you askin or tellin?"
You roll your eyes, “Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes!” you turn on your heels and head towards your bathroom.
”Or what?" He shouts, still in your room.
"Or you're not getting head for a month!" You close the bathroom door behind you.
You hastily drop your pants and turn on the warm shower water. You hear Nicholas fumbling around in your bedroom. and you're not surprised when he practically through the door.
"That was like twenty seconds dude,” You feign disappointment.
Nicholas just shrugs, taking off his shirt in one movement.
"The waters not even warm yet!"
"Don't care!" He pulls you in for a rough kiss, tongues fighting for dominance— not like you'd ever win.
You waste no time untying his sweatpants and pulling them down haphazardly. You go to pull down his underwear but are met with bare skin. You pause and pull away, you giggle as he chases your lips for more, “No underwear? what a slut!" You tease.
"Says the one who lured me in here just to fuck me,” he accuses.
You gasp and wrap your nimble fingers around his half-hard cock. "I didn't call you in here just fuck you!" You defend, running your thumb over his slit— he hisses.
”Why am I here then?” His voice is strained.
You hum, pretending to think deeply about his question. letting go of him you take a step back. He whines at the loss of contact, eyes trained on you as you remove your shirt and underwear.
Now, just as bare as him you step into the water stream. you sigh in delight as the waterfalls around you.
Nicholas steps in behind you, “Baby this water is boiling!”
You chuckle and turn around to change the water temperature for him. With for back facing him he wastes no time landing a loud “thwack” on your bare ass.
“Ow!! Nick what the hell!”
“I'm sorry I couldn't help myself!!”
“I'll remember that,” you warn as you pull him closer to you by his waist. “You're so hot,” you playfully bite his chest.
“So are you~” he runs his fingers into your hair and tugs your face up towards him, capturing you in another breathtaking kiss.
His now fully hard cock pressed in between your torsos. Backing up, he pulls you with him until his back meets the shower wall. You recapture his lips in a searing kiss, your greedy hands roaming and feeling his toned body.
You part briefly for air, the both of you breathing heavily. Nicholas’ eyes are deep with desire as he trails kisses along your jaw down to your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips.
As much as you wanted to lose yourself in the feeling of your boyfriend— you had brought him here for a reason. “Let me take care of you,” you offer— pulling back from his grasp.
He looks at you for a moment— pupils blown out in his eager eyes.
He moans pathetically when you finally sink to your knees. “Use me,” you mutter.
“W-what?”
“I want you,” you wrap your hands around the base of his shaft. “To use me,” you kiss up the sides until you reach the tip.
‘A-Are you sure?? I don't want to hurt you!”
“Nicholas,” you state flatly. “I want you to fuck my face. Now.”
He growls, gripping your hair tightly. This is what you've been waiting for!
“Tongue. out,” he demands, you stick out your tongue obediently.
He slaps his red leaking tip on it with his free hand before he presses you all the way down his shaft. He throws his head back and it thumps against the wall behind him as a moan rips through him.
“fuck—” he curses, as he begins his steady rhythm fucking into your mouth.
You run your manicured nails along his toned thighs, leaving red scratches in their wake.
You can feel his cock twitch deep in your throat.
You look up at him through your eyelashes— you moan at his fucked out state. The vibration sends him over the edge as he pulls out of your mouth. The string of saliva connecting your tongue and his tip is downright pornographic. Hot ropes of white cum fall on your face and tongue as your boyfriend shouts obscenities from above you.
You rise from your position on the bathtub floor. You reach up and pull Nicholas down for one final kiss— He whines as he tastes himself on your lips.
You pull away, dopey grin on both of your faces. “See now— that. Is why I called you here.”
Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)
@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings
#friends#mutuals#art#wattpad#writing#original story#fanfic#fantasy#moodboard#fanfiction#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#smut
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Sins of the Flesh— Father Charlie Mayhew x Nun!Reader
summary— returning to your life of sin, you’re determined to tempt the one man bound by his faith, your hot priest.
warnings— sacrilege, smoking, dubious morality, daddy kink, degradation, praise kink, father/priest kink, face slapping, spitting kink, ass slapping, choking, face fucking, oral, blasphemy, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.
︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿
Growing up, your parents knew there was something off about you, always defying authority, always choosing to do the wrong things, and it was always your way or the high way. You grew up religious, or at least they tried to raise in that way but you were always defiant.
As soon as you were old enough they gave you to the only church that would take you, they thought religion would change you, they thought being a nun make you new as promised.
As soon as you laid eyes on Father Charlie Mayhew, your old ways slowly crept back upon you, reminding you, you were still that depraved little girl. They thought making you become a nun would cause you to forget the worldly life you lived before, smoking, fucking your teachers, your father’s friends, sneaking out, partying, for a moment you even thought so too. But the thoughts ran rampant in your head the moment you laid your eyes on your new priest.
Just like before, you would do anything to get what you wanted, and that included Father Charlie.
You lighted the cigarette between your fingers, watching as the sun set at the back of the church. It was empty, you didn’t know where the other nuns were and frankly you didn’t care. All day you waited in the church for Father Charlie to show up, draped in white thigh high stockings, a short sexy backless black dress showing your ass and the veil covering your head. Tonight was the night you would get your heart’s desire and you knew that desire, desired you too.
The church was silent, save for the soft creak of the door as Father Charlie stepped in. He squinted against the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, his gaze narrowing on the figure sitting at the front pew. At first, he thought his eyes were betraying him. The curve of a bare back gleamed in the candlelight. Surely, no one would dare—
But then you stood.
His breath hitched as his heart slammed against his ribcage. You turned to face him, and he stumbled back a step, nearly dropping the Bible he carried.
There you were.
White thigh-high stockings clung to your legs, the black dress you wore clinging to every curve and showing your ass. It wasn’t just revealing—it was sacrilege. A skimpy, backless thing that barely grazed your thighs, with a mockery of a nun's veil perched on your head. The candlelight danced along your exposed skin as if taunting him, daring him to look.
“Good evening, Father,” you said, voice low, smooth, dangerous.
He swallowed hard, clutching the cross that hung from his neck like a lifeline. “I rebuke you,” he stammered, raising the cross in trembling hands. “I rebuke this- this evil—”
You took a step closer, your heels clicking softly against the stone floor. He froze, the words caught in his throat as you raised a single finger to his lips. The touch silenced him instantly.
“Shh,” you whispered, plucking the cross from his hand and placing it gently on the bench. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he swore the metal burned against your skin, but you didn’t flinch.
“Sister Y/N,” he managed, his voice cracking, “what… what is this? What are you wearing? This—this is not of God!”
You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “Of God?” you echoed, your tone dripping with mockery. “Charlie, I was never of God. This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been. And deep down, you’ve always known that.”
He shook his head fiercely, the words tumbling from his lips in desperation. “Flee from sin, sister! ‘Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.’” His voice trembled, reciting the verse as though it could shield him.
You laughed—a soft, dangerous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “No verse, no prayer, no scripture is going to change what I feelwhen I see you, Charlie.”
He flinched at the use of his name, his throat working as he tried to swallow the lump forming there.
“What I feel,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “when I see your hands clutching that cross, when I see the way you look at me right now, Tell me, Father, does your heart race for God? Or is it something else entirely?”
“I—” he began, but the words died on his tongue.
You leaned in, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you, and his knees threatened to buckle. “You can fight it all you want,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “But we both know the truth. Temptation has already won.”
“Shut up, you Jezebel!” Charlie’s voice thundered through the empty church, though his trembling hands betrayed his conviction. “Temptation will never win!”
You only laughed, the sound sultry and mocking. “Really?” you said, running your hands slowly over your breasts, fingers teasing the curve of your waist before sliding down along your hips. His eyes flickered, darting between your hands and your face, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re staring at me, Father. You’re watching. That alone proves you wrong. Temptation already won.”
“No,” he hissed, gripping the Bible tighter as though it could anchor him. But his voice lacked the weight of conviction now, cracking under the pressure of your nearness, your audacity.
You stepped closer, your movements slow, deliberate, the heels of your shoes clicking against the stone floor. “You’re holding that Bible like it’ll save you,” you said, your tone soft but dripping with wicked amusement. “Deep down, you think resisting me will make God go easier on you, don’t you?”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t move when you reached out and plucked the Bible from his hands. He didn’t even flinch when you grabbed the white stole draped over his shoulders and threw it to the floor.
“Enough,” he growled, but his voice was weak, his breath shallow.
“Enough?” you echoed with a smirk before smashing your lips against his.
The kiss was all teeth and desperation, as though both of you had been starving for touch. He resisted for only a moment, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides, before he gave in. His fingers curled around your bare back, trailing lower until they squeezed your ass hard enough to make you gasp against his lips.
“God forgive me,” he whispered against your mouth, though his actions spoke louder.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “You’ve already lost, Father.”
His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the raised chair where he would sit during sermons. He stumbled after you, confusion flashing across his face. “What are you doing—”
You shoved him down into the chair, the power dynamic shifting completely. His eyes widened as you dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands working quickly at his belt. “Stop this—” he began, but the words fell flat as your smirk deepened.
“You can’t even convince yourself anymore, Charlie.”
When you pulled his pants and boxers down, he froze, his jaw tightening. “You’re—filthy,” he growled, though the raw need in his eyes betrayed him.
You grinned, your hands trailing teasingly along his thighs. “And yet, here you are. Letting me suck your cock. Watching me.”
“You’re a disgrace,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he gripped the edge of the chair, trying not to let himself fall completely. But when you took him down your throat, his head fell back against the chair, a groan escaping his lips despite himself.
“Say it again, Father,” you teased, pausing just long enough to look up at him. “Tell me how terrible I am.”
“You’re disgusting,” he spat, his hand finding its way to the back of your head. “You’re nothing but a shameless little whore in a costume.”
“And you’re no better,” you countered, your voice dripping with triumph. “You’re the one holding me here. You’re the one losing control.”
He cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening in your hair after ripping the veil off. “This means nothing.”
You smiled, your voice a soft whisper as you worked. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Father.”
For a moment, the church was silent except for the ragged sound of his breathing and the gagging sounds you made on his cock. You were all doe eyed, staring up at him as you bobbed your head fast, taking him feel in your throat like you were starved.
Charlie’s grip on your curls tightened, his control unraveling with every passing second. His composure shattered as he let out a guttural moan, his body trembling as he gave in completely, letting his cum shoot down your throat. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his face torn between anger and shame.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, your smirk as wicked as ever. “Well, well,” you teased, your voice dripping with mockery. “Are you ashamed, Father? Ashamed you’re nothing but a filthy little man-whore?”
The words barely left your mouth before his hand cracked against your cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the empty church. Your head snapped to the side, your cheek stinging, but instead of backing down, you slowly turned back to him, sticking out your tongue with a defiant grin.
“Again, Daddy,” you said, the name deliberately provocative.
His jaw clenched, his fury rising as he struck you again, harder this time. The sting only made your grin widen as your hands shamelessly cupped your breasts, pushing them together. “That all you’ve got?” you purred, daring him further.
“You’re insufferable,” he growled, his voice thick with frustration. But instead of another slap, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up, pulling you over his lap in one swift motion.
“Hey—” you began, but the words turned into a startled squeal as he shoved you forward, leaving your ass high in the air.
“What are you—”
The first smack landed hard on your exposed skin, cutting off your question and replacing it with a gasp.
“You think you’re in control here?” he muttered, his hand coming down again, leaving a sharp sting that radiated across your skin.
Each spank made you squeal, your hands gripping his thigh as you tried to steady yourself. Your cheeks burned—not just from the spanking but from the sheer humiliation of it. Yet deep down, you knew the truth. Your plan had backfired and in the best way possible.
By the time he finished, your brown skin was bruised and throbbing, your breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and almost taunting as he ran a hand over your sore skin. “A filthy little Jezebel who thought she could win.”
You lifted your head, still defiant even through the haze of embarrassment. “And yet, here we are, Father,” you said, your voice breathless.
He snorted, pulling you up and setting you in the chair where he usually sat, the shift in power unmistakable.
“Let’s see how a slut like you tastes,” he muttered, dropping to his knees before you.
For the first time, the smugness faltered from your expression, replaced with genuine surprise as he pushed your knees apart and leaned forward. His tongue was hot and deliberate, and your gasp quickly turned into a moan as your back arched against the chair.
“Oh, look at you,” he murmured between strokes, his tone switching from harsh to saccharine. “Squirming like the desperate whore you are. Is this what you wanted? To be worshipped like the sinner you are?”
Your hands flew to his hair, tangling in the slicked-back strands as your head tilted back, your breath coming in broken gasps. “You’re pathetic,” you managed, the words breaking through your moans. “A priest on his knees, doing this.”
He groaned against you, the vibrations shooting through your body. “Say whatever you want, Jezebel,” he muttered, his lips brushing against sensitive skin. “You’re mine now.”
Your legs began to tremble, your grip tightening in his hair as he worked you relentlessly, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. “Charlie,” you gasped, your voice rising into a desperate cry. “You’re so—”
But the words dissolved into a scream as release hit you, your body shaking uncontrollably. Your hands fisted in his hair, holding him in place until you finally collapsed against the chair, your body limp.
Charlie pulled back, his lips glistening as he smirked up at you, a mix of pride and defiance in his eyes.
“Well?” he asked, his voice low and smug. “Still think you’re in control?”
You leaned forward, your grin as wicked as ever. “Always,” you purred.
His hand shot out, gripping your throat firmly, cutting off your attempt to take control. His gaze was dark, his breath heavy, but his dominance was clear.
“Enough,” Charlie growled, his voice low and commanding. “This is my show now. You want to play games, little bitch? Let’s see how far you’ll go.”
With a sudden pull, he dropped into the seat, hauling you onto his lap. Before you could react, he positioned you above him, and with one forceful motion, he made you sink down onto him.
Your head fell back with a sharp cry, the sound echoing in the vast emptiness of the church. “Oh, my—”
“Don’t you dare,” he interrupted, his grip tightening on your hips. “You don’t get to call His name like this.”
The stretch was unbearable, a delicious burn that left you gasping, trembling as you tried to adjust. His hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you jolt.
“Move,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Do what you so desperately wanted, sinner.”
You obeyed, slowly lifting yourself before dropping down again, each movement drawing a gasp from your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, and the pace you set was erratic, your body struggling to keep up.
Charlie’s laugh was deep and cruel. “Look at you,” he mocked, his fingers digging into your waist. “Can’t even handle what you started. Struggling already?”
“I can—” you started, but your words turned into a whimper as he thrust up into you, his movements brutal and precise.
“You can’t even lie convincingly,” he said with a smirk, slapping your ass again as he began to move beneath you. “But don’t worry—I’ll make sure you learn what happens to disobedient little brats.”
As his pace increased, the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to hold on, your cries growing louder with each motion. But then, with a sudden crack, the sound of a cross falling from the wall startled you both.
You froze, your chest heaving as you glanced toward it. The heavy wooden symbol lay on the ground, its impact still in the air.
“There’s no going back now,” he said, his tone dark as he pulled your gaze back to him. “Might as well see this through.”
With renewed determination, you began moving again, his hands guiding you as you bounced on him. Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you neared the edge.
“Be a good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come on, Jezebel. Let go for me.”
His words sent you spiraling, and you cried out as the coil in your belly snapped, your release shuddering through you. Your body shook, but he didn’t stop.
Instead, Charlie gripped you tightly and stood, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. You barely had time to catch your breath before he pressed you against the pulpit, the sacred space now a backdrop to his unrelenting desire.
His thrusts were harsh and deliberate, driving you further into the wood. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice like a growl.
You obeyed, your lips parting as he leaned closer. His spit landed on your tongue, and he watched with dark satisfaction as you swallowed without hesitation.
“Good girl,” he said, a cruel smirk on his lips as he kept moving, his pace relentless.
You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging in as you gasped, “You’re pathetic. A priest defiling his own church.”
“And you’re nothing but a filthy little sinner,” he shot back, his voice laced with both anger and satisfaction. “But look at you—begging for it.”
Your body tensed again, the heat building as his movements pushed you closer and closer. With a final, shattering cry, you came undone once more, your legs trembling as you clung to him.
“Daddy,” you panted.
Charlie’s breath was heavy, his face inches from yours as he stilled, a mixture of triumph and shame in his eyes.
“You’ll never win,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
You smirked, your voice soft but dripping with defiance. “I already have.”
You slid off him slowly, your legs shaking as you steadied yourself. Turning to the altar, you leaned forward, arching your back and wiggling your hips with a teasing grin.
“It’s your turn, daddy,” you purred, your voice dripping with mockery. “Don’t Catholics believe in not wasting their seed? Isn’t it—sinful?”
Charlie froze, his jaw tightening as his eyes raked over your form, spread open and shameless against the sacred altar. His fists clenched, but his resolve cracked.
“You’re despicable,” he growled, stepping closer. “Arching yourself like that—mocking this holy place.”
“And yet,” you teased, glancing back at him, “here you are.”
The last thread of his control snapped. Dropping to his knees, Charlie grabbed your hips and slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing through the quiet church. “You’re such a filthy little temptress,” he spat, positioning himself behind you.
With one swift motion, he sank into you, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. His grip on your waist was bruising as he set a punishing rhythm, each movement driving you forward against the altar.
“You’re so tight,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“All for you, Father,” you taunted, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk. “If you keep being this filthy priest, maybe I’ll keep being your little sinner and you’ll keep fucking this tight pussy.”
He groaned, his fingers digging into your flesh as you pushed back against him, meeting his every thrust. His words came harsh and degrading, but his voice carried a grudging admiration. “You’re disgusting. Throwing yourself at me like this—like a cheap little whore.”
“And you love it,” you countered, your voice breathy as you moved against him. “Admit it, Charlie, you’ve wanted this. You’ve wanted me.”
“You’re mine,” he snarled, his hands sliding up to grip your waist, pulling you harder against him. “Do you hear me? Mine. My little bitch. And you’re going to cum on my cock again, aren’t you?”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, and your body trembled as the pressure built. With a sharp cry, you lost control, shuddering as your release consumed you. You squirted on your priest and the altar, gasping for breath.
“You’re so sexy,” Charlie groaned, his pace becoming frantic. “So hard to resist, but you’re mine now. Beg for my cum.”
“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Please, daddy, I need it.”
“That’s right,” he growled. “You’re going to take it—all of it. I’ll fill you up until you’re mine completely.”
You let out a breathless laugh, glancing back at him with defiance. “Surely this baby will be the Antichrist,” you quipped, your smirk daring him to lose himself further.
Charlie slammed into you one final time, his grip tightening as he groaned loudly, his release marking the culmination of your forbidden encounter.
The two of you collapsed against the altar, tangled together and panting heavily. For a moment, the only sound in the church was your labored breathing.
“Look at us,” you murmured with a smirk, tracing a finger along his chest. “A priest and his sinner, tangled up on the altar. What would your God say?”
Charlie closed his eyes, his expression torn between satisfaction and shame. “Don’t speak,” he said hoarsely, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
But you only smiled, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.
#father charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x black reader#father charlie mayhew x reader smut#father charlie smut#father charlie grotesquerie#father charlie x reader#charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew smut#charlie mayhew#dr charlie mayhew#grotesquerie smut#grotesquerie#priest kink#blasphemy kink#catholic kink#nicholas chavez fanfiction#nicholas chavez x black reader#nicholas chavez x female reader#nicholas chavez x fem!reader#nicholas chavez x reader smut#nicholas chavez smut#dr charlie mayhew x reader#nicholas chavez fic#nicholas chavez imagine#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x you#nicholas chavez x y/n#nicholas chavez x poc!reader
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it honestly surprises me how quickly internet switches up because what do you MEAN "nicholas has a dark spirit i'm sorry" ?;@;!:@:' 😭 i think you're just mentally ill like???
he is just..... smiling...... and he looks damn good doing it! hope it helps 🤍🤍🤍 (people who hate on him are so fucking ugly I'm sorry)(& i can't relate!)
nicholas if u have a burner here just know we all love u
& everyone can confirm im ur n1 defender these bitches can eat my ass💋💋💋mwah
#nicholas chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas alexander chavez#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew smut#charlie mayhew x reader#alex' yapping sessions ♥︎#father charlie mayhew#nicholas alexander chavez x reader
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and lead us not into temptation...
father charlie mayhew x fem!reader
© caileeflavoured 2024, do not repost, modify or translate!
synopsis: During Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. Father Mayhew, too.
a/n: ahhh, how good it feels so channel my religious trauma into absolute filth again. I was never Catholic so idk how accurate the stuff I said is but I did research and tried my best (really no one cares about Catholic accuracies why are you even stressing about this girl)
warnings: 18+, SMUT, dubcon, little bit of a corruption kink, innocence kink, clueless little church mouse!reader, blasphemous shit tbh, virginity loss, unprotected sex, a priest absolutely abusing his position,
wc: 3.2k
MAIN MASTERLIST | GROTESQUERIE MASTERLIST
They told you that the Sacrament of Confirmation was the most important event of a young girl growing closer to God. They told you it was an honour to attend this spiritual ceremony, that it was the culmination of forming a bond with Christ. They told you that it was high time you were finally sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Father Charlie Mayhew was adamant that you’d finally receive this great gift, having discussed the possibility of a personal Confirmation with your parents after Sunday Mass.
“She’s at an age where it should already have happened,” he told them. “I assume you wish her to get married soon. She ought to finally be strengthened for service to the Body of Christ.”
Your parents trusted Father Mayhew blindly, believing he was a gift sent to earth by the Lord Himself, and quickly agreed. They wouldn’t want their precious daughter to fall into disgrace should a proper suitor be found sooner rather than later.
The priest nodded, visibly satisfied with their consent. “I can arrange it for next week’s Mass, but I would like for your daughter to come see me for a private confession. The Lord has spoken to me in my prayers, and has tasked me with properly preparing the confirmands. It’s a standard practice at my church.”
Only that it wasn’t.
Father Mayhew had spent many hours not praying, not studying the Scripture, not preparing new sermons since he first saw you in all your womanly glory at Mass. Instead, he often found himself in his office, his pants growing uncomfortably tight just at the thought of you attending Mass every Sunday like the faithful girl you are, hanging on his every word.
And when you’d get on your knees during the Eucharistic prayer…
His hand would always find its way to his throbbing length during a quiet moment after Mass, the grip on his cock nearly painful as he worked himself towards the highest of highs. And more often than not he would later find white stains on his liturgical vestments, having to go through several clerical outfits in the span of only a few days.
“Tell her to come see me on Wednesday after general confession hour.”
So your parents sent you on your way, Bible in hand, rosary wrapped around your wrist. You entered the empty church, standing between the pews as you clutched your Bible to your chest.
“Father Mayhew?” A timid call for him echoed through the large building, and soon he appeared.
His chest heaved as he appeared, his robe sitting weirdly on his shoulders as if he had pulled it over his head in a hurry. His hair messy, not slicked back like he usually wore it.
The appearance caught you off guard, to say the least, and made your blood pressure rise.
“Ah, my new confirmand!” He greeted you with an open-arm gesture, then clasped his hands together. “Happy to see you. What an exciting time it must be for you.”
He closed the distance between you, turning to your side and placing his hand on your back as he led you towards the back of the church. “Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.
“I thought I came to confess?” You asked in bewilderment. “Oughtn’t we sit down in the confessional booth for that?”
But he was quick to shut down your confusion. “No. No, no, no. Let’s not stick to such ancient traditions. I’ve come to learn, in my time as a servant of the Lord, that private confessions are best made in the comfort of a priest’s office. Shall we?”
He opened the door to his office, letting you enter first before closing the door behind his back and quickly turning the lock before you would notice.
“Take a seat,” he motioned towards the armchair on the opposite side of his desk as he sat down in his own chair.
He leaned back and observed you with relaxed eyes. His stoic gaze was intimidating to you, your heart thumping against your ribcage the longer he stared.
“Father?”
The sound of your voice ripped him out of his dirty fantasy, his focus returning to the there and then, which, admittedly, didn’t help much when his hard cock ached from the torturing restraint of his pants.
“Right,” he cleared his throat, bending forward hoping it would cover the growing bulge. “Now, I have to admit I wasn’t quite honest with your parents,” he chuckled smugly.
The picture of you furrowing your brows as you slightly cocked your head to the side in a confused gesture made him lose a couple drops of cum into his boxers. How could a young girl be so cluelessly devoted to God. To him. It made him lose his mind, and throw his holy vows overboard.
To hell with abstinence. Some girls just asked for it. And he knew you were one of them.
Gifted by the devil himself, a test of his faith and obedience — the bishop had warned him many years ago that the day would come when he would find himself face to face with temptation — and presented on a silver platter right there in his own church. To him, however, a young, ripe girl like you could only have found her way into his office so he could chase the feeling of his former life.
To remind himself how good it felt to lose himself in the warmth of a tight cunt.
“I understand your parents are hoping to find you a husband soon,” Father Mayhew began. “But Confirmation isn’t the only thing necessary in preparation for marriage. You know, there are certain… other things a young woman must be prepared for before she can fulfil her duties of a devout wife.”
“Father, I don’t—”
His hand shot up, immediately shutting down any doubts or concerns you might try to raise. “Tell me… Have you ever touched yourself? After all, this is some kind of confession here, right? God needs you to be completely honest with me.”
He could sense the warmth rush to your cheeks, the way your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze shifted to the floor.
“A simple yes or no will suffice, sweetheart,” he pressed. “This is crucial for your preparation as a confirmand.” His eyes searched for yours. “You can even nod or shake your head if that’s easier.”
Then, finally, he got a reaction out of you. A timid… shake from left to right. “It’s a sin, Father.”
The change in his demeanour evaded you. The way his eyes turned into slits resembling those of a snake, the way he ever so slightly shifted in his seat as his hand carefully moved to his crotch.
A moment of silence passed in Father Charlie���s office as he let your words sink in. You had been even more clueless than he’d imagined. An enticing temptation, one that he had no choice but to succumb to.
“That is very admirable,” he praised you. “However,” he got up, “as part of this… preparation I need you to be… how should I say this… open to… sexual activities.”
He walked around his desk in a few long strides until he stood in front of you and leaned against the edge of the table, folding in hands in front of his crotch as he crossed his legs. He could feel his cock press against his palms through the fabric of his pants, begging to be freed.
“Why should—” You tried to ask, but his hand was quick to shoot up in a silencing gesture. That’s when you first noticed the bulge in his pants.
With your eyes glued to his crotch, Charlie could barely hold himself back from dragging you across his desk and shoving his cock right into your tight little cunt, no matter if you were ready for him or not.
“Get on your knees,” he said in a plain voice. You obeyed instantly.
He took the Bible and rosary from your hands and placed them on his desk before standing up right in front of you, your mouth so perfectly aligned with his length. A few quick movements got him rid of his pants and boxers just enough to pull out aching cock, tip glistening with drops of precum.
He watched your eyes go wild in shock, although he silently wished they would have gone wide from excitement and lust. He’d get you there soon enough…
“From now on, I need you to listen to me, sweetheart,” he instructed. “No more questions, no ifs and buts, alright?”
His eyes stayed focused on yours until you nodded, and he pinched your chin with his thumb and index finger as a gesture of approvement. A pleased look on his face and a satisfied smirk on his lips, he then let his thumb graze along your lower lip before pushing it in.
“Open up.” His voice turned rough, strained even, as he pulled your jaw down and forced your mouth open.
He could detect a sliver of fear glistening in your eyes as the tip of his cock met your lip, could sense your wanting to ask what he was doing, but was pleased to see you resist the urge to question his actions.
So he pushed it in. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, feeling your lips instinctively close around him. “Careful with those teeth.”
His hand found the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair to get a good grip and properly guide your movements. He pulled back and pushed back in, this time all the way until he heard and felt you gag around him.
He stopped once he could feel the back of your throat, watching you struggle and start to panic, your hands moving up to the sides of his hips in an attempt to push him back. But, of course, he was too strong for you.
“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “You’re doing so well.”
He started to pick up a pace slow enough to relish the feeling of your mouth and not already waste his seed by shooting it into the back of your throat. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out, watching the string of spit connect his tip to your bottom lip with a grin.
“You see,” he started to explain, “in order to become a full-grown adult, which you will be after your Confirmation, you need to understand certain things. And, as the priest of your church, it is my duty to teach you the necessary lessons to let you go out into world with a clear conscience.”
He watched you intently, gauging your reaction to each and every word of his. You were still kneeling in front of him so he bent down, continuing to observe you at eye level. His breath came in slow, hot bursts as it repeatedly hit your face.
“You understand now why I have to do this, do you?” He asked.
You nodded, albeit hesitantly.
“And you also understand that this is to stay between me and you, and me and you only, right?”
He waited for another nod, and when it wouldn’t come, he raised an eyebrow, his hand gripping your jaw tightly.
“Do you understand?” He repeated with more force.
“Y-yes,” you mumbled.
He let go of your jaw, clicking his tongue in approval. “Good. Now I need you to take your clothes off.”
His patience was starting to run thin, especially with the way he couldn’t find any release from this achingly throbbing tension. “Listen, we don’t have much time, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This body of yours…”
This fucking body I need to desecrate. This body, this… tight virgin cunt.
“This body is a gift from God, wonderful and perfect like all His creations. And…” A mischievous smirk appeared on his face. “It’s not like I have never seen a woman’s body before.”
He watched your shy reaction, and your inhibitions crumble slowly. So he gave you one last push. “I’ll take my clothes off too,” he said, beginning to shed his clerical robes. “That way we’re even.”
Father Charlie watched you with satisfaction as you rid yourself of your clothes item by item. “Yeah, that’s a good girl.”
Once the last of his garments dropped on the ground, he told you to sit back down on the armchair, placing his hands on either side of you as he bent over you. His eyes travelled along your frame, wandering over the hills and valleys of your young, unsullied body.
“I need you to move your hand between your legs,” he said. “Touch yourself.”
This time you did what he said without hesitation. He could see your chest starting to heave, your breath visibly and audibly quickening as your hand slowly glided down your chest until it came into contact with your pure pussy for the first time.
“Fuck…” Charlie breathed, the grip on the armrest tightening as he fought the urge to fist his cock for at least some kind of relief. “Yes, just like that. Now push a finger in.”
You did.
“Does it feel wet? Does it slide in easily?” He asked as he observed how your lips parted at the initial sensation of pleasuring yourself.
You nodded.
“Try pushing in a second finger,” he commanded.
You did, your forehead creasing once it slipped all the way in.
“How does that feel? Tell me.”
“It feels…” You began, but couldn’t quite put it into words.
“Good?” He finished for you.
You nodded again.
“Try curling them upwards, like this,” he gestured a come hither movement with his own fingers for you to mimic.
And you did.
“But Father…” You gulped, “isn’t this… a sin?” You asked as you kept moving your hand.
He shook his head. “How can a natural urge be a sin? The Lord gave it to us.”
“I know, but—” His hand was back on your jaw, his digits pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.
“No ifs and buts, remember?” he reminded you, his gaze sharp.
He quickly glanced at the clock. “You’ve been talking too much. Get up.”
You did as you were told while Charlie pushed the clutter off his desk, his movements rushed. He grabbed you by the back of your thighs, practically slamming you onto the desk and standing between your spread thighs.
So close to that heavenly cunt…
“The reason I’m doing this is because it is my duty as a priest,” he said leaning over you, his hand moving down your neck, over your collarbone, then closer and closer towards your chest.
“You need to know what it will be like to lay with your future husband,” he explained, his length pressing against your dripping core as his lips found your neck.
You reacted to his touches so organically, almost like second nature. Like this wasn’t your first time ever experiencing any kind of sexual activity.
Father Charlie knew he finally had you right where he wanted you. Where he needed you.
“It might hurt,” he mumbled against your neck as his hands cupped your tits, your nipples immediately trapped between his fingers as he pinched and pulled on them. “But that pain is gonna turn into something so much better. I promise.”
His lips travelled down your neck as he pushed you back onto the flat, cold surface of his desk, the temperature a stark contrast to your heated body. His tongue glided along your sternum, first to the left, around your now hardened nipple, then to the right, repeating the same process.
Charlie could hear your laboured breaths slowly but surely transform into hot gasps, soft moans falling from your lips whenever his tongue or fingers would graze the sensitive buds of your breasts. He knew he could take it further without much clueless confusion on your part.
He knew he could finally take you like he had wanted to for so long.
So he pushed into you in one rough motion, not stopping until he could feel the soft tissue of your hymen collapse under the pressure of his cock.
You cried out, your hands instinctively gripping his strong arms, but he was quick to collect both your wrists in one hand and pin them above your head as he grabbed your thigh with the other.
“Shh, shh,” he shut you up as he pulled your leg up and around his waist, allowing himself to fuck you from a different angle that would make it easier for him to fully thrust into your virgin cunt.
And, Lord, what a tight little cunt you had.
His breaths escaped his lungs in ragged grunts as he pushed into you again and again, feeling your tight walls give in more and more to make him fit the longer he kept ramming his cock into you. The desk creaked under the pressure of his body colliding with yours, the wood bending with each new thrust that would allow him to slip further into your silky core.
“Father—” You pleaded, arms unsuccessfully straining against his grip. “It… hurts.”
“Told you. But not much longer,” he said, his voice ragged as he ignored your attempts to make him stop. “Trust me.”
He could feel himself getting there, could feel how difficult it became to keep a steady rhythm. You were squeezing him in the best way possible, and he couldn’t even begin to think about how it would feel to have you milk his every last drop.
His moans echoed off the walls of his small office when he felt you start to relax around him. “Yeah, that’s right,” he grunted, his voice nearly failing him. “Let me hear you.”
His thumb pulled your bottom lip down so your mouth would fall open, letting those sweet, clueless whines escape your throat freely. That was all he took as a confirmation of your starting to enjoy the way he was fucking you.
And that was all he needed to find his most earth shattering release so far. He pulled out quickly, finishing off with a couple more strokes before he shot hot spurts of his cum right onto your newly stretched and glistening cunt.
“Look at me,” he groaned as he rode out his high, his eyes fixed on you, your heaving chest, your skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat, your cunt defiled and disgraced by your priest’s cum.
“Now you’re all set for Confirmation,” he said as he helped you up, then handed you a towel. “Make sure you’re clean before you come back for Sunday Mass. And remember, don’t tell your parents. If you can do that for me, I’ll show you much more if you want me to.”
They told you that during Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. They didn’t tell you Father Mayhew did, too.
#nicholas alexander chavez#father charlie mayhew#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader#father charlie x reader#grotesquerie#father charlie
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꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 bad habit ¡
pairing nicholas chavez x fem¡reader
summary Nicholas grows a habit of biting you, using every given chance to do it. It starts off platonically, the action playful and teasing, until things eventually took a not so platonic turn, leading to a heated moment between the two of you.
contains nsfw content ! making out, biting, hickeys, and uhh interruptions.
a/n heavily inspired by bad habit!!! likes and reblogs are v much appreciated 🫶
word count 2.2k
It started off on set, when you accidentally made a mistake while filming. You chuckled, apologizing to the director, unaware of the man hovering behind you.
Nicholas’ teeth grazed over your shoulder, the sensation like feathers on your skin. The gesture was so subtle, yet so there, sending shivers down your spine. His breath fanned over your exposed flesh, almost as if he was searching for a reaction out of you.
You brushed it off, thinking Nicholas was being playful; did it for the sake of laughs and giggles, but oh boy, were you wrong. After the incident, it only got worse, with him biting you every chance he gets.
Whether it was your arm, legs, neck, shoulders, stomach, everything he laid his touch on, it was getting marked.
He wasn't afraid to do it, growing amused to the flustered reaction he always got in return. You were guilty for taking an odd liking into it, turning into a mess under his touch whenever he’d bite you.
You didn't dare put an end to it, enjoying it as much as he did. It sparked butterflies in your stomach, mind going blank with every slight touch from him.
Sometimes he would linger, merely to see if it gets a reaction out of you, while other times, it was a passing through, type of thing. Everyone on set knew that by now, smiling and nodding whenever Nicholas did it.
It didn't hurt, in fact, it felt good. The reactions you gave were a mere cover up of your attraction towards it. You felt weak for the ones where he’d kiss the spot afterwards, rubbing a comforting thumb to your skin.
You never knew when to expect it. At times, it would be while you guys were filming, he’d do it because he was embarrassed for messing up his line. While sometimes, it would be in private, when it’s only the two of you.
However, it was strictly platonic. Nicholas made himself clear; sure, he’d flirt with you every now and then, but that was only to mess with you, knowing how easily flustered you were.
That swiftly took a turn, though.
You were currently in Nicholas’ van, practicing your lines for the next scene. The boy made himself comfortable on the couch, admiring as you walked back and forth.
Nick’s giggles erupted through your ears, causing you to perk up. You glimpsed over in his direction, puzzlement washing over your face.
“What?” You questioned, inching closer to the brunet.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, glancing up at you now that you were towering over him.
“Oh.” Your lips formed into a pout, grumbling before returning your attention back to the script. “Okay.”
You moved away, yelping when you got yanked back to your position, impossibly closer now. Your gaze shifted to Nicholas’ arms, observing as he sneaked them around your waist, embracing you in a hug.
“What’s gotten into you?” You snickered, feeling his breath fan over the sliver of skin around your stomach.
“You’re so warm.” He whispered, one of his hands trailing down to your hip.
You tensed, sensing a change in his tone. It was extremely rare for Nicholas to get this clingy, unless he was tired. From what you’ve seen thus far, that was totally not the case.
Nicholas nuzzled into your stomach, a satisfied hum escaping his throat. You snorted, reading over your lines while you let him do his thing.
His fingers toyed with the hem of your top, causing you to freeze in your spot. That was… new. You don't recall him ever doing that, not even when you’re both messing around.
“Is everything okay?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear.
He stuck to humming, letting his fingers trail further underneath your shirt. You almost gasped at the sensation, lips parting to exhale instead. The script in your hand was long forgotten now, as you tossed it on the couch next to Nicholas.
“Nick.” You whispered, hesitating before your hands found their way around his shoulder.
“You know…” he trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head back, merely to catch sight of you. “You’re really pretty.”
“Thank you.” You replied, teasing visible in your voice. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Yeah?” He smirked, his nails digging into your side.
You audibly gasped at the action, the idea of your hips bruising due to Nicholas’ touch driving you over the edge. One of your hands trailed to the back of his neck, the tip of your fingers toying with his hair.
He inched his face closer to your stomach, all that while maintaining eye contact with you. He mouthed at your skin, touch lingering as he waited for a reaction out of you.
Your lips parted with pleasure, jolting when you felt his teeth grazing over your stomach, biting you before you knew it.
There it was, the tingling sensation it striked through your body. You shuddered under his touch, feeling your knees grow weak. A moan escaped your throat when he repeated the action, accidentally tugging his hair in the process.
Nick groaned in response, eyes forcing shut at the sensation. Pleasure fell upon his face, squeezing anything he could lay his hands on.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, littering kisses to your stomach. “Has anyone ever told you how breathtaking you are?”
You moaned at the statement, arching your back into the touch. Nick’s hand trailed down to your ass, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of your shorts.
You forced your eyes shut at the action, unable to control the moan escaping your throat. You were a flustered mess under his touch, wincing whenever he nibbled too hard on your skin.
The thought of getting marked by Nicholas drove you mental, it has your mind hazing up, leaving you wanting more.
“I–” you stammed, hushed words filling the air. “What about filmin’?”
“We have time.” He muttered, pulling you down by your sides.
Your body collided with Nick’s as you fell into his lap. He adjusted your position, making sure you were comfortable in the process. Nicholas groaned in your ear, throwing his head back when you accidently brushed over his crotch.
Your face heated, feeling his hardon through the thin fabric of clothes. You awkwardly hovered over his lap, unaware of your next move.
Fuck, Nicholas was hard, and it was because of you. Your mind went fuzzy all over, head filling with a million questions, yet none at the same time.
Nicholas pushed you down, not hesitating to collide your lips in a kiss. He captured your bottom lip between his teeth, the action seeping tension through the air.
He leisurely pulled back, pulling at your lip with his teeth, nibbling on it before he moved away. Your mouth remained parted, letting your forehead rest against his.
“You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” He whispered, stealing a kiss from the corner of your lips. “Fuck, you're so…”
You couldn't control your hips as you grinded down, a hiss erupting through your ears in the process. You felt Nicholas twitch through his pants, the gesture a great impact on him.
He looked out of it. His eyes hazed up, barely able to hold contact with yours as he fluttered them shut.
“You’re so fucking pretty, doll.” He praised, voice muffled as he peppered kisses along your jaw. “I'm obsessed with you, everythin’ about you drives me mental.”
“Nick.” You said through a breath, voice slightly shaky.
An audible gasp escaped your throat as he slipped a hand underneath your shirt, fingers instantly finding your chest. He gave your boob a squeeze, while he traced open mouthed kisses to the other one through the fabric of your shirt.
You leaned your head back, grinding down as a whine muffled its way out of your mouth. Nick was incredible with his mouth, he knew exactly how to please a woman, and how to make her feral in all the right places.
You felt heat release from your body, the room growing hot with every move you committed to. This was all you’ve ever wanted. You wanted to get a taste of Nicholas so bad, so fucking bad it was starting to get a bit concerning.
And with the whole biting thing? Yeah, that was your last straw.
You yelped when his teeth grazed over your nipple, the action causing goosebumps to breakout across your chest. You attempted to pull away from the touch, quickly interrupted by the hand on your back as it brought you closer, if that was even possible.
The distance between you guys was extinct now, the only thing blocking you being the thin layers of clothes.
“I need you…” Nick groaned, nipping at your skin.
He buried his face in your neck, his heavy breaths the only thing seeping through the silent void. His tone was so suggestive, needy, keen and in need of you. How’s one able to resist when someone as desperate as Nicholas exists?
“I’m all yours.” You licked your lips, cupping Nicholas’ face.
You withdrew his face from your neck, breath hitching when you caught sight of how much of a mess he was. In fact, he might’ve been more affected than you were.
You connected your lips in another kiss, tilting your head to get a better angle of his mouth. A satisfied hum erupted through your ears, causing you to smile through the kiss.
Nicholas toyed with the strap of your top, pushing it down your arm, followed with the other one eventually after. The action peaked interest through your chest, causing you to pull back with amusement.
“Here?”
“Mhm.” He hummed, “I’ll be quick.”
He nipped and sucked at your neck, finger tugging down your top, exposing your chest to the air. You shivered, hissing when Nicholas grazed his teeth over the flesh, trailing his mouth all the way down to your breasts.
His mouth salivated at the sight, pausing to admire how perfect your boobs were. His gaze shifted back to you, as you stared at him with a shy smile across your lips.
“I didn't think you could get any perfect.” He pecked your mouth, a smirk forming on his lips.
“You’ve seen nothing.” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.
You applied pressure around the back of his head, pushing him down on your chest. Nicholas accepted with content, gliding his tongue over your now hard nipple.
You nipped at his hair, arching into the touch. It felt amazing, hot spit coating your cold skin. It was absolutely heavenly, no words could describe it.
He kneaded your other boob with his hand, the sensation spiraling you over the edge.
He traced open mouth kisses to your collarbones, sucking on the bony flesh around your shoulder.
“Nick…” you muttered through a gasp, “That will leave a mark.”
“Good.” He exhaled through his mouth, tone cocky. “Let everyone know you’re mine.”
“My god.” You mumbled, voice barely audible.
You pushed him back on the couch, already missing the warmth of his tongue on your body. He chased after your touch, earning a chuckle out of you as your hand covered his mouth.
“Stay.” You ordered, voice seductive.
You teasingly toyed with the hem of your shirt, leisurely tucking it up to reveal the whole of your stomach. The fabric pooled just beneath your chest, creating a thick material.
However, that was long forgotten as you tugged it over your head, getting it off your body. And Nicholas couldn't help but groan as he moved forward, laying his touch wherever his hands landed.
Your fingers found their way around his shirt, delicately unbuttoning it until it revealed his whole chest. Your mouth watered at the sight, removing the shirt with a bit of help from the boy.
Your digits traced over the lines of his abs, gulping when you noticed how muscular he was beneath all the clothes he wore. His eyes followed your hand as it came to a halt around his pants, fingers teasingly fidgeting with the button.
“Get it off of me already.” He hissed, thrusting up into you.
The collision made you gasp, his hardon brushing against your ass. Your fingers dug into his skin, grinding down on him to chase after your pleasure.
“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, mouth gaping with desire.
You clumsily unbuttoned his pants, freezing in your spot when you heard a knock on the door. Your eyes widened in shock, attention shifting back to Nicholas, who was just as shocked as you were.
The crew member called out your name, causing you to perk up. “You’re up in five minutes, make sure you’re ready.”
Right, you guys were on set.
You were swift to get up, throwing your shirt over your head. You stole a glimpse at Nicholas, who hopelessly stared at you, disappointment visible on his face.
You smiled, endeared by how sulky he was, as he looked adorable while doing it. You moved over, ruffling your hair into place before you connected your lips with his.
Although he was upset, he happily returned the gesture, chasing after your lips when you moved away.
“Sorry about that.” Your gaze shifted down to his lap, noticing the hardon in his pants. “I’ll help you out later.”
“Yeah?” He smirked, no longer sulky. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“Mhm, you definitely should.”
#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x y/n#nicholas chavez x you#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#nicholas chavez fluff#nicholas chavez smut
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- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.
god loves you, but not enough to save you
cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov
do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |
kinktober 2024
“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.
You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.
“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.
You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.
His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.
His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.
Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.
The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.
He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.
“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.
When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.
The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.
Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.
You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.
As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.
His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.
“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.
He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.
Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?
He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.
“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.
He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.
To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.
He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.
You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.
#kinktober#kinktober 2024#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#nicholas chavez x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader#charlie mayhew#charlie mayhew x reader#nicholas alexander chavez smut#nicholas chavez smut#father charlie mayhew smut#grotesquerie x reader#grotesquerie smut#priest kink#⚰️.deaddove#dead dove do not eat#tw flogging#just in case#tw whipping#ryan murphy
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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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fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
#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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please, ruin my life
#nicholas chavez#father charlie grotesquerie#father charlie x reader#father charlie mayhew#nicholas chavez x reader#nicholas alexander chavez#monsters#grotesquerie
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