#father charlie mayhew icons

[ecnmatic]

GROTESQUERIE (2024) The Bender - 1.03 dir. Ryan Murphy.

[chavezicons]

nicholas alexander chavez as father charlie mayhew in 'grotesquerie', S01E03 (2024)

[editfandom]

GROTESQUERIE, SEASON 1 | Nicholas Alexander Chavez as Father Charlie Mayhew

[greengoblinswifey]

Temple— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— they always say “your body is a temple” and boy is nicholas’ body a temple you love to climb and worship.

warnings— PURE SMUT. fingering, hand job, oral(m receiving), unprotected sex, mirror play, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink, body worship, ass slapping, choking, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating, rough sex, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— ovulating and wrote this based on these pictures because he looks so good, ugh, i NEED him. (not prof read)

You were wandering the aisles of your favorite boutique, surrounded by the chatter of other shoppers. Just as you picked up a cute dress, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting a simple text, but what you saw made your breath hitch and your pussy throb.

Nicholas had sent you a picture of himself shirtless, standing in his bathroom with the light cascading down his chiseled abs, his hair slightly damp and tousled and then one with the hat you gifted him on. He looked incredible, his physique had transformed since you first started dating for his new roles, becoming more defined and muscular, and it left you utterly speechless.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as heat pooled in your core. God, he looks good. You remembered when you first met him, he was charming and sweet, and you loved him just as he was then. But this new version of him? It ignited something deep within you. It was as if every sculpted muscle was begging for your attention, and all you could think about was how much you needed him inside you, pounding you.

The dress you were holding suddenly felt heavier as you clutched it tighter, trying to maintain your composure in the middle of the store. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you could feel the flush creeping up your cheeks. How was it possible for someone to look that good? You found yourself blushing, desperately trying to focus on the price tags in front of you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of him.

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep it casual. “Wow, what are you trying to do to me?” You hit send, your heart racing with anticipation. He was always playful, but this felt different, this felt more personal, more intimate.

As you made your way to the cash register, you could still see him in your mind, his body the definition of perfection. You swiped his card without a second thought, the thrill of using his money adding to your excitement. If only he were here right now. You imagined him behind you, his hands resting on your hips, whispering sweet nothings as you paid.

Your thoughts swirled with desire, longing to feel his warmth against your skin, to wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. His body was a temple, you thought, it was a holy site you craved to explore.

With a final glance at the dress in your hands, you decided to head home, your mind set on what would happen once you got there. You needed him, and you could already envision the fire igniting between you two as soon as you walked through the door.

As you rushed through the front door, adrenaline surged through you. You barely took the time to drop your shopping bags before you heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning off.

You quietly made your way down the hallway, the steam still lingering in the air, and as you approached the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of him stepping out, droplets of water glistening on his perfectly chiseled body. Nicholas looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light, every curve and contour accentuated.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized, your breath catching in your throat. This was everything you’d imagined and more. He dried himself off with a towel, completely unaware of your presence, and for a moment, you relished the view, every single inch of him was a work of art.

But you were done watching. The heat radiating from your core was too strong to ignore, and all rational thoughts slipped away. Without a second thought, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving yourself bare and vulnerable in the dim light.

The chill of the air contrasted sharply with the heat building inside you, but it only fueled your desire further. You stepped into the bathroom, your heart pounding, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes widened in surprise and hunger.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You stepped closer, the space between you two disappearing as the urgency of the moment enveloped you.

“Hey baby— oh shit.”

His towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, and in that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, raw, exposed, and yearning for each other.

“Oh god, I need you so bad,” you whined, your body pressed against his as you desperately kissed him all over his chest and tipped to meet his cheeks and lips.

Nicholas pulled you close, laughter in his eyes as he felt your warmth enveloping him. “What’s gotten into you, pretty baby?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you felt the heat radiating off his body. “Look at you,” you replied, your voice breathless. “Walking around here looking like this, sending me pictures of you shirtless… God, what do you expect?”

With a mischievous smile, you moved behind him, admiring his tall, muscular frame in the mirror. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt under your touch. He threw his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored him.

The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body responded to your every caress. His thick, long cock was painfully hard now , and you could sense the need in him building, mirroring your own.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him gently as you both stared into the mirror. The sight was mesmerizing, his face contorting with pleasure, the way he fell apart under your touch, completely lost in the moment.

As you continued, you watched him unravel, utterly captivated by how hot he was, how perfectly he fit into your desires.

“Look at yourself daddy, I’m making you feel so good, you look so fucking sexy,” you panted, speeding up your movements.

You bit your lip as you felt him jump and throb in your hands, everything he did made you feral. Then, with a shudder and a low moan, you felt the warmth spill onto your hand, a testament to the electric connection between you two.

“Open your eyes,” you demanded. They fluttered open and he watched in the mirror as you sucked his cum from off your fingers before lifting them up to his lips making him taste what was left of himself. He hummed in content, the sound going straight to your pussy but you would deal with that problem soon.

“No,” you said, determination lacing your voice as you looked up at him. “I need to give you more. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you.”

Slowly, you sank to your knees, eyes locked onto his as you let your tongue glide over his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. You trailed your tongue down to his abs, worshipping every ridge and contour. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “So sexy, Daddy.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the effect you had on him, his body responding to your every move. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock again, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Look at how big you are,” you praised, your voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect in my hands.” You leaned closer, giving him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of him, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure at how good he tasted. “Mm, you taste amazing daddy.”

With that, you took him into your mouth, feeling him fill you completely. The sounds of his pleasure willed you on, and you began to move, sending him to the back of your throat, lost in the rhythm of worshipping him. “You taste so good,” you whispered between breaths, and Nicholas groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You continued, letting his praises wash over you, and as you felt him hold your head down and cum down your throat, it was like fireworks exploded around you. You savored the moment, knowing you had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling bold. With your fingers, you gathered the rest of his release from his hard cock and brought it to your mouth. You took it in, savoring the taste, and smeared it and your saliva over his chiseled abs. You couldn’t resist the urge to lick it all off, your body shuddering with each stroke of your tongue.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, y’know that?” he said, watching you with a mix of awe and desire. “I appreciate that, baby. But now, it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He positioned you in front of him, hoisting one of your feet up onto the counter, giving him a better angle. “Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, and you complied eagerly, watching as he spat into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it happily, feeling the rush of satisfaction.

Nicholas trailed his finger down your body, stopping at your soaking wet pussy. As he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, your body arching toward him instinctively. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he instructed, his voice thick with lust. “Look how beautiful you are.”

You glanced up, eyes locking with your reflection. The sight of you, flushed and breathless, sent a thrill through you. Nicholas’ finger worked expertly inside you, curling just right, and the pleasure began to build. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come apart like this,” he praised, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched you surrender to the waves of ecstasy. “Let me see you feel good.”

With each movement of his fingers, the pleasure surged higher, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. “Daddy,” your moans filling the room as you finally reached your release, trembling under his touch.

“That’s it, I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he cooed, rubbing your clit fast as your body jolted and slowly came down from your high.

Nicholas trailed kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, his lips warm against your skin. “Look in the mirror, baby,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. You obeyed, your heart racing as you met your own gaze, feeling every kiss ignite your desire.

With a sudden, playful movement, he bent you over the counter, a sharp smack landing on your ass. “You look so sexy like this,” he teased, watching you wiggle your backside against him. You grinned back at him, biting your lip. “You look like a Greek god,” you shot back, and he smirked, pride flashing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, holding your neck gently but firmly, bringing you back against his chest. You arched into him, feeling his hard cock tease against you as he slipped inside, filling you completely.

He began to pound into you roughly, his grip on your neck ensuring you were locked onto his gaze in the mirror. “Keep those eyes on me,” he commanded, and when you felt the urge to close them, he shook you slightly. “Look at yourself!”

“Daddy, you feel so good,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building inside you.

“Tell me more,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how fucking hot I am.”

You nodded, breathless, “You’re so hot, so beautiful. I love your body, daddy. I love how you look as you pound into me.”

“Such a dirty slut,” he teased, reveling in the sight of you enjoying every second. He rubbed your clit, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Look at yourself being fucked.”

With a loud moan, you surrendered to the man behind, your release washing over you as you cried out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Nicholas smirked, a glint in his eye. “I’m not done with you yet,” he declared, hoisting you up effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs. He turned you sideways, positioning you perfectly so you could watch him slam into you.

“Worship me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly making you throb.

You felt a surge of excitement course through you, and you nodded, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re everything, Nicholas. So strong, so perfect,” you whispered, your heart racing at the power he held over you, “you’re so fucking beautiful, your body is a work of art.”

With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you completely. “That’s it, baby. You know how to treat me right,” he growled, his tone playful yet commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

You leaned forward, kissing him passionately, your hands roaming over his chiseled chest and arms. “I need you,” you breathed between kisses. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough daddy.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see you cum again.”

You gasped as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. “Daddy!” you cried out, feeling yourself on the edge once more. “I’m so close!”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, watching as the ecstasy took over. “Worship your man, baby.”

With one final thrust, you felt the familiar rush of pleasure envelop you as you climaxed, a wave of satisfaction washing over you. “Nicholas!” you cried, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the moment as he held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of it all but still not releasing.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he laid your body down on the counter just a little, your legs wrapped tightly around him as he pounded into you once more. The world flipped upside down as you caught your reflection in the mirror, his tall frame hovering above you. The sight of him, muscles glistening and face twisted in pleasure, made your head spin.

“Who’s your daddy?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, his hand firm around your neck, exerting just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

“You,” you gasped, barely able to catch your breath. “You look like a god, so so h-handsome.”

The feeling of being so close to him made you dizzy, and his relentless thrusts only intensified the sensation. “I’m gonna fill you up and breed you like a bitch,” he growled, and your body responded to his words, craving more.

“Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as you gasped for air, but the urgency in your tone said everything. “I want it. I want you. I want your cum inside me!”

He smirked, the heat of his breath against your skin sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Since you think I’m so perfect, we’re gonna make the most perfect little babies,” he teased, pounding harder, deeper. You could feel the tension building as he brought you closer to the edge once more.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, each pulse of his hot cum sending waves of ecstasy coursing through both of you. You felt him tremble against you as he held your neck tightly, ensuring you were looking at yourselves in the mirror.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He scooped you up into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder like a baby, ironic, considering what just happened. He brought a towel to clean you up, laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re so perfect, princess.”

You cuddled into him, tracing circles on his pecs as you kissed his chest, savoring the warmth and safety of his embrace. In that moment, everything felt right, the world outside forgotten as you enjoyed the afterglow of what you had just shared.

[goldfades]

PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE

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for this request

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Evening service is in an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───

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

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

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

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

And then, there was Father Charlie.

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

But it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

And it always did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charlie, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a battle you were losing, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because, in truth, he had never seemed happier.

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

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

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

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

And then you saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was playing with fire, and so were you.

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

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

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

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

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

The worst part? No one else noticed a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[femmemonologue]

my casting vote if there’s a new American Psycho

[iconsfinder]

[marrziy]

tem queda em padre?

Só nos fictícios 👄

[inspirationfandream]

MOODBOARD ICONS: Which is your Smalltown Boy 🩵

[sin-deciric]

Sister Megan & Father Charlie matching

(like or reblog if you used it 💖)

[allebasimaianunes]

god (is a) circle ✞ father charlie mayhew & megan duval

one-short ✞ eng. ver. angst & forbidden desire.

it's also on ao3, if u prefer read there :)

i don't fear god, but i fear being rotting myself (inspo playlist)

author's notes: my dear readers, this one-chapter story was born while i was listening to my songs, mixed with a desire to explore possibilities within the characters of grotesquerie - in this case father charlie mayhew & megan duval. with that, i started writing "god is a circle", not only as a tribute to these iconic characters but also to practice my own writing skills, exploring the work of developing dialogues and actions in a story to the fullest. inspired mainly by the song god is a circle, by the singer yves tumor, this story, which has more than 10k words, talks about pasts, fears, beliefs and descriptions.

for those who want to read it, i wish you a great read! constructive criticism and comments are always very welcome <3

words count: 10310 words

✞

"SometimesIt feels like

There's places in my mind that I can't go

There's people in my life I still don't know, yeah

Wander 'round I just feel like a ghost in a well"

(God Is a Circle, Yves Tumor)

✞

The house reeked of death.

Something rotting, embedded in the peeling wooden floorboards, emanating through the cracks in the flaking paint on the walls. Mosquitoes buzzed around the mold that thrived in the damp corners. It was all so dismal—the fragile light of that beautiful Sunday seemed to lose its strength inside the dead house.

Piles of leftovers from the previous night's dinner still cluttered the table—yellowed porcelain plates with streaks of pasty tomato sauce, bits of ground meat now being devoured by flies, dirty napkins folded in disarray, and a melted candle tossed amid the picturesque chaos. A bottle of wine stood in the corner, its cork poorly inserted, while irregular wine stains traced paths across the aged yellow lace tablecloth.

Charlie inhaled the sour, nauseating air, a pang of regret creeping in for agreeing to be there. Yet his empathetic heart and sense of duty overpowered his hesitation when, after last week's morning Mass, the old woman had tapped him on the shoulder, pulled him aside, and shared a sorrowful tale that struck a tender chord in his soul. A modern-day prodigal son story: a young man who left home, returned seeking forgiveness, only to resent his roots, rebel, and abandon everyone again. It was a story of pain, separation, and loss.

Her husband, burdened by resentment, had succumbed to illness. Her grandson, discontent with their simple life, had vanished into the world. And her beloved granddaughter, stripped of her passions, now teetered on the edge of death. Alone, the seemingly sweet woman pleaded with Charlie to bear her burdens, visit her home, and deliver the last rites to her ailing granddaughter, who seemed afflicted by some mysterious illness.

At the time, it hadn’t even crossed the young priest’s mind to ask if the granddaughter had seen a doctor or was receiving professional care. All he had done was sigh deeply, unloading the weight of the world from his shoulders, look into the elderly woman's eyes, lightly grip her shoulder, and promise he would visit soon.

A week had passed, and he had nearly forgotten about the visit until seeing her at the parish again. Her words and his sense of honor pushed the memory to the forefront of his mind. After the service, he offered to take her home, seizing the opportunity to fulfill his promise.

He grabbed his black leather case, which contained everything needed for the last rites: holy oil and water, his Bible, and a set of thin white candles he liked to gift families as a symbol of what he called "faith's endurance." These candles were meant to encourage the family—or the sick individual, if capable—to pray for six days, seeking forgiveness and healing, with the seventh day serving as a moment of peace and relief.

The bag also held a rosary, a small towel, pamphlets with the Hail Mary and the Lord's Prayer on the back, and a box of mint candies he liked to chew when idle.

The ride to her home was quiet, save for the gentle hum of his black Chevrolet Vega’s engine. The old woman murmured what Charlie assumed was a prayer, making the journey down the highway rather... peculiar. The only notable thing she mentioned was that she had to rise early and leave her granddaughter alone to catch a bus to church.

This information filled Charlie with questions and curiosity about her situation. However, he simply nodded, focusing on the road ahead: vast fields, farms, cornfields, and abandoned windmills framed by tall trees along the roadside.

Her house was located off a dirt path branching from the main road. The narrow lane, overgrown with tall grass, led them to an old, medium-sized property that seemed to be an abandoned farm. Behind the two-story wooden house stood a large barn. A massive, twisted tree loomed beside the house, casting a shadowy embrace over it.

Despite the bright sun above, the property seemed to radiate its own darkness.

They walked to the entrance, and through the double doors with transparent screens, Charlie caught a glimpse of the house’s state.

Now, standing in that peculiar room steeped in rancid odors of vinegar, greasy decay, tomato sauce, and sour wine, he couldn't help but notice how clean the old woman herself appeared. From the moment she had first approached him, she exuded the scent of a fresh bath: clean, warm skin, shampoo, and a trace of powdery perfume.

Her cold, wrinkled hand grasped his free hand and gently tugged him toward the staircase ahead.

"Follow me, Father," she urged.

Allowing himself to be led, Charlie's long legs hesitantly climbed the creaking wooden steps beneath his black leather boots. They ascended twelve steps in total before reaching the second floor, which was a rectangular hallway with three doors on either side and one in the middle. Above the staircase was a closed window, and the walls were adorned with striped wallpaper in muted amber.

"The middle room is hers..."

"Aren't you coming with me?" Charlie asked as the woman turned on her heels, preparing to descend. She raised her weary eyes to meet his, a mix of fear and faint irony flickering in her gaze. Smiling faintly, the lines around her lips deepened as she whispered, "This moment belongs to you and Micaella."

Shrugging, she descended the stairs, leaving Charlie startled by her response. He sighed deeply, turning back to face the door where the sick woman lay.

Micaella.

Now there was a name to associate with the ailing figure.

Slowly, he approached the door and instinctively tapped three times. No response. Silence. He knocked again, pressing his ear against the wood to hear beyond it—still nothing.

His hand grasped the heavy, cold wrought iron doorknob, turning it to the left. Through the slight opening, he glimpsed part of the room: floral wallpaper in a burnt pink hue, a beige wooden window closed tightly, and white floral curtains parted, allowing pale yellow sunlight to stream through the frosted glass and cast a faint glow on the floor.

Opening the door fully, Charlie's keen eyes scanned the room, landing on the canopy bed at its center. Translucent fabric formed a tent around the figure resting within.

To the right of the bed stood a dark wooden nightstand with ornate, baroque-style carved legs. It held a glass water jug, a half-full glass, a mug with a partially melted candle, and a small wooden box in the corner. To the left was a wardrobe, a chair, and another window slightly ajar, through which the enormous tree's branches scratched softly against the glass.

Charlie cleared his throat to draw the woman’s attention, but there was no movement.

With caution, he moved to the isolated chair in the corner, bringing it to the right side of the bed. Through a small gap in the canopy, he caught sight of her. The first thing he noticed was her outstretched arm, pale and thin, her delicate fingers nearly skeletal.

Her white nightgown’s sleeve, adorned with lace and tied with a pink silk ribbon, clung to her forearm. As his gaze climbed upward, he noted the stark pallor of her exposed skin, a deep collarbone, red and purple blotches along her arms, and a trembling hand resting on her chest.

Around her neck hung a string of small pearls, no larger than peas, with a silver crucifix at the end.

Charlie’s eyes finally reached her face. Her parched lips, sunken cheeks, and damp forehead framed by her disheveled hair seemed to belong to a living Pietà. Her wide, distant pupils stared back at him with haunting opacity, framed by dark circles beneath her eyes.

“Micaella?”

Her silence was deafening. He raised his eyebrows at her lack of response, offering a gentle smile before turning toward the tightly shut window. With a firm tug, he managed to open it.

"The fresh air will help cool you down!" He turned toward her, breathing in the air that swept into the room through the window, lightly swaying the curtains around him. Everything was observed by Micaella's gaze, which showed no reaction. Charlie placed his hands on his hips, walking toward her. "Do you mind if I open this a little?" He pointed to the fabric covering her bed. Micaella shook her head after a long pause. Charlie took it as a positive gesture from her, maintaining the good humor that suddenly seemed like a good attempt. He opened the fabric a bit to let the natural light and fresh air bathe Micaella's body better and dispel the chilling sense of suffocation he felt just by looking at her bed.

He took his briefcase off the chair and sat down on it.

"I’m Father Charlie Mayhew. Your grandmother invited me to be…" He looked at her suddenly. Despite her inexpressive face, she stared at him deeply, listening to every word. He cleared his throat, carefully choosing his words. "…to see you, bless you, perhaps talk…"

"I know you."

"Sorry? What did you say, Micaella?" Caught off guard, the woman’s voice sounded like a rasping whisper. Micaella finally moved—life ran through her entire body—as she propped herself up on her elbows, leaning slightly against three pillows supporting her frail frame. She pointed to the glass of water, indicating for Charlie to grab it, which he did with deep perplexity.

The touch of her fingers sent something shivering through his entire body—a chilling wave, a staring abyss, death hovering close. Micaella drank the water with the thirst of someone who hadn’t had a sip in days. Drops trickled down the sides of her mouth, dripping onto her chest and the blanket covering her legs. She handed him back the glass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, showing a timid smile. Charlie took the glass, placing it back carefully.

"I’ve been to a few of your masses. Some months ago… My grandmother adores you!"

"Oh," the man’s cheeks flushed, suddenly warming his face. "I’m deeply flattered, but we should only adore God, Our Lord!" He clasped his hands, smiling broadly, trying to bring some light humor into the room. Micaella looked him up and down, nodding slightly, her hands now resting in her lap. Then, she asked,

"What brings you here again, Father?"

"I came at your grandmother’s invitation. To talk to you, pray for your condition, bless you…"

"Extreme unction, is that it?"

Charlie stopped smiling, caught off guard by the young woman. He could lie—it was obvious he could open his mouth and weave comforting falsehoods. But imagining himself in her shoes—a young person, facing near-death, bedridden in a stifling room in the middle of nowhere with only his grandmother—his heart would break if a strange priest arrived and plainly said he was there to administer last rites, casting an uncertain vote between recovery and death.

But lying went against his principles, everything he had learned during his years as a seminarian. It clashed with his personal beliefs, which upheld truth as one of the main tools of evangelization. It was hard to remain steadfast when confronted with such a delicate situation… Poor creature of God! Unspoiled purity, battered by the affliction of the flesh.

He reflected while pondering the best response. As he opened his mouth to answer, his lips forming the words, Micaella interrupted him.

"I know it’s extreme unction, Father. There’s no need to avoid the obvious."

Charlie looked at her, startled, surprised by her candor. She continued, her cloudy eyes shifting toward the closed door as if seeing beyond it.

"I heard them last night during dinner… They nearly shouted that I’m lost, without direction, without God in my heart, and that’s why I’ve been cursed. God punished me with this affliction of the flesh, rotting without apparent reason, like an apple fallen from the orchard, left to the ground, at the mercy of fate."

Tears welled up in her eyes, small rivers born of intrinsic pain. "They yelled for me to hear that I’m going to die, that this sin born within me can never be ripped out," she said, placing her hands over her chest, near her heart. "Even though I’ve tried to rip it out myself, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I could ever do… My death was foretold from the moment I was born. My grandmother, as much as she loves me and tries to protect me from the world, knows my existence is as finite as hers. I fear for her because I don’t know if she could bear to bury someone she loves so much again.

"And they kept laughing and dancing and celebrating. Until they barged into my room, dragged me from my bed, and forced me to dance and drink wine to celebrate life. Their lives. And my death. My death, Father Charlie, my death!" Her lips trembled, and even though her eyes poured heavy rivers and her skeletal figure seemed to scream agony, her voice remained eerily calm, a perfect line of sound that pierced Charlie's soul. He sat frozen in his chair, simply listening.

"They want me dead because I am the black sheep of the family, the bad omen, the harbinger of misfortune, the apocalypse, the seven-headed dragon come to torment them. I am evil, death, the Antichrist… to them. So last night, I was forced to dance atop my own coffin and drink sacred blood before I die. Die from this illness that came out of nowhere, consuming me, making me weak, fragile, sensitive, saturating the house with death and everyone with a gloomy humor. Do you feel strange, Charlie? Do you feel strange being here now?"

Overwhelmed by Micaella's angelic face contorted in pain and resentment, her smooth brow furrowed, her tearful eyes glistening with bitterness, and her lips curled into a desolate smile, an invisible hand gripped the core of his soul and pulled him closer to her. He lost reason for a few seconds before swallowing incoherent words and a cry that emerged from his depths. He became strangely aware of his body in a way he never had before. He noticed that the room smelled of honey, incense, and fresh wine, mingled with the sweetened scent of Micaella’s sweat and the aroma of myrrh and argan oil. Her breath was incredibly fresh, her entire body trembled, shivering as her words prickled him entirely.

His head buzzed, spinning in circles of morbid thoughts and the words Micaella had said to him.

Did he feel strange?

"No."

The simple, monosyllabic answer seemed to catch the woman off guard. She leaned back, pulling his soul, now connected to hers, along with her. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if trying to see beyond the cemented wall. He murmured,

"God is watching us now, Father."

"I believe He is," Charlie replied.

"That wasn’t a question, Charlie," her sharp gaze pierced through him. "It’s a statement. God is watching us, always speculating about our lives, but absent enough not to save me. Isn’t that selfish, Charlie?"

"I believe we’re crossing the boundaries of a healthy conversation, Micaella. Look, I came here to bring you inspiration and to bless you for healing," Charlie said, hurriedly opening his suitcase with a click, rummaging through his belongings, and pulling out a small bottle of anointing oil and his Bible.

He felt Micaella’s cold hand envelop his, the soft flesh overlaying his warmth, cold and hot blending together. Startled, he lifted his gaze to realize she had leaned closer to him, her body tilting forward.

"Charlie, I don’t want to talk to the priest. I want to talk to you, Charlie."

"Micaella—"

"Please," she interrupted, her body now pushing further forward, her legs moving out of their tucked position. A desperate plea marked her face. "Please. I beg you! I’m tired of justifying myself to doctors, nurses, psychiatrists, priests… I just need someone to talk to before I die."

Charlie sighed, exhaling a weight that compressed his lungs. If he stripped himself of his role as a priest there, in the middle of nowhere, next to a terminally ill woman, no one would ever know… Well, at least this conversation would stay between them, the floral-patterned walls, and the Omniscient Divine.

And God would not punish him if, for once in his life, he set aside his clerical persona and exposed the side he kept hidden, whether in flawed thoughts or moments of deep silence and darkness in his room. It would be a relief to speak, just as Charlie Mayhew, without the burden of "Father" before his name. It would allow him to share his bottled-up feelings and human fears that, as a pastor, he was never supposed to express to his followers. It would be something Micaella would take to her grave—just as he would. A secret lost six feet under.

God will not judge me for being honest and weak just this once. Sometimes, misery and ignorance are divine blessings.

Nodding in agreement, Charlie gave his answer, leaving the woman relieved. She released his hand, and he felt a strange emptiness as she pulled away, settling back against her pillows. Charlie placed the Bible and the small bottle on the nightstand.

"You haven’t completely given up on anointing me, have you?" she asked.

"Let’s make a deal," Charlie said, pulling his chair closer to the bed until his long legs pressed against its wooden frame. He looked at her seriously. "We’ll talk about whatever you want, without masks or pretense—just me as Charlie and you as Micaella. Then, when we’re done, I’ll give you the last rites, and you’ll be healed."

"Deal. Though I’m certain that nothing in this world can heal me."

"How can you be so sure, Micaella? Your lack of faith intrigues me."

"Because… well… we’ve tried everything. Everything. Even alternative treatments. My grandmother spent a small fortune, almost ruining our family’s inheritance. And nothing worked. As I told you, this is inside me in such a way that only death will be able to remove it. Eradicate it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I must be honest—your prayers won’t heal me either."

"Miracles exist, Micaella," he retorted, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair, raising both eyebrows at the woman, who smiled challengingly.

Charlie saw a vibrant spark ignite within her, and it stirred in him a pleasurable sense of fulfillment. The more he could make her feel comfortable and alive, the better he felt about himself, with a sense of accomplishment.

"I doubt it."

"Then you doubt me."

"What do you mean?" Her curiosity lit up her face, and she sat up fully in bed, all ears for Charlie, who shook his head, holding back a laugh.

"I am a miracle. A living miracle, if you will!" Opening his arms with a pompous smile on his face, his expression lit up, igniting something warm in Micaella’s chest as she watched him, intrigued. Taking her sudden silence as a cue to continue, Charlie said:

"It all begins before I was even born. My dear mother married very young. I believe she was much younger than you… How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. I’ll turn twenty-five in July."

"Exactly! She was much younger than that, around sixteen years old. Then she got pregnant with me—this was twenty-five years ago as well. She was a very young girl living in the middle of nowhere with my father, a rough, ignorant man of little faith. It was a miserable, difficult life. A very complicated pregnancy, almost without medical care, isolated from her family, stuck in an unhappy marriage. Then I came into this world. On a spring night," he said with a nostalgic smile, almost with pride in his birth, "after a very, very long labor. And then I was born. But I was born with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, suffocating myself." Charlie placed both hands lightly around his neck. "My mother told me I was already purple. She was desperate, lost. The midwife they had called with great difficulty had to act quickly to revive me while my father called an ambulance. Imagine how long it took for help to arrive. So, my mother began to pray. She got down on her knees, even after just giving birth, and prayed. Prayed with all her faith, her soul, and every fiber of her being… And God heard her."

His voice was now a whisper, his gaze dark and serious, captivating Micaella entirely. She barely blinked, completely drawn into the abyss of the priest’s eyes. Charlie smiled.

"He heard her, and when she least expected it, she heard a faint cry from the other room. She knew then that I had survived—that I, her son, her firstborn, had survived. A miracle!"

"Did she make any kind of vow?"

The sudden question snapped Charlie out of his flow of thoughts. He blinked seven times before fully focusing on Micaella’s face, her raised eyebrows emphasizing her curiosity. His voice came out confused:

"What do you mean? A vow?"

"Yes, a promise! Like, in exchange for your life, maybe she never cut her hair again, stopped drinking alcohol… Or maybe even promised you to the seminary, essentially placing you in this position forever?"

"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently. Reaffirming again, "Definitely not."

"Then what made you want to become a priest?"

"Are you trying to steer this conversation away again—"

"No, Charlie, I understood what you meant with this touching story about birth and suffocation. Fine, miracles might exist, but you have no idea of the gravity of my case, and I hope you don’t want to know either. I’m just curious about what led you to the cassock…” Her eyes traveled down his face, taking in every detail of his features: the broad forehead, the scar that creased his skin, the thin, upturned nose, the slightly full lips, the square jawline and chin, the trace of freshly shaved stubble on his upper lip and chin, the smooth neck where his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he spoke, the black shirt collar, the white plastic clerical collar signaling his profession.

From the size of his torso and the way his pants clung to his legs, Micaella deduced that Father Charlie Mayhew was a robust man. His hands were large, with long and slender fingers, trimmed and clean nails. They were soft to the touch, like a warm ball of yarn. He carried a woody incense scent that reminded her of the damp tree bark beside her window, a nearly earthy and comforting smell, mixed with clean clothes, lavender soap, and a freshness coming from his breath that seemed like a sweet mint candy. She lingered, disturbingly observing every detail of him, from the deep dark eyes resembling tilled earth to the way the veins wove across his jugular and the backs of his hands like a map’s lines connecting points, more absorbed by him than by what he had to say, with that husky, soft voice caressing an unknown spot within her. Yet it was pleasant enough for her to feel comfortable.

The man shifted in the chair, furrowing his brow, organizing his thoughts. He wetted his lips as if it would help the words come out better, crossed his legs, clasped his hands on his knee, and finally broke his silence:

“Well… I just felt it was my calling. Something natural to me, a summons that came from the depths of my soul as something I should fulfill. An innate path to follow. God is that path.” The conviction pouring from his voice made his chest swell with pride; he harbored a certain vanity when it came to his designation, his vocation, which he deemed predestined.

Micaella wetted her lips with her tongue, drawing her thin knees up to her chest, causing her nightgown’s hem to ride up slightly, bunching at the edges of her thighs, revealing a hand’s width of smooth, pristine skin with a strange pallor. Her feet were thin, bony, and her toenails were cut close to the line of flesh—details devoured by Charlie’s eyes before he slowly returned to look at her long face, a question forming an interrogation on his lips before she asked:

“If God is the path, then why choose the most winding one?”

“Winding…? What do you mean by that?” Curious about the word choice, the man leaned forward, hands clasped on his lap, an interjection creased between his brows, pulling at the scar on his forehead. She smiled with pride behind her teeth of grayish enamel, as if the color had faded gradually, from the inside out:

“Charlie, priests take vows of chastity. They have a series of rules to follow… Restriction, penance, prayers, and more prayers. The pursuit of chastity and eternal virtues… Doesn’t that tire you? Especially being so young?”

“Hmn.”

It was the first response he managed to formulate from the depths of his throat, pausing to sit upright in the chair, his hands loosening as he relaxed. He scratched his chin with his thumb, analyzing the way the wallpaper was old and peeling at the edges of the doorframe, searching for an honest answer to her question. He returned his gaze to the woman, seated with the bare minimum of life she clung to for continuing that idle conversation. He smiled with pressed lips, sweet memories flashing in his mind like an old film being rewound.

His voice carried a vague and distant tone as his gaze wandered into Micaella’s:

“I must have been thirteen or fourteen years old when I fell in love for the first time. I always judged romantic love because, deep down, I knew that with the vocation I was to pursue in my life, I couldn’t even consider nurturing these kinds of carnal feelings for someone… But it was such an overwhelming passion, something that went beyond myself, spiraling out of control, and I became obsessed with this person. Deeply. I spent twelve months chasing them like a madman, because I had never experienced such feelings, so to me, at that age, losing sight of them meant I would never again have that explosion of good feelings I cultivated for them. Twelve months obsessed, because I only know how to love this way: with all the depth of myself. And it hurt. How it hurt… Spending vacations away, as it was someone from school, having to listen to my classmates sharing summer stories where half had lost their virginity and the other half had tried some hallucinogen at a music festival… And there I was, in the middle of nowhere, like you” — he pointed to her, wetted his lips again, sighed deeply, trying to contain the past within him: “I spent the whole summer on the farm with my parents. On the one hand, it was good because I learned to value moments of loneliness and solitude, to stay centered on my purpose, to pray and be grateful for the daily bread God allowed us to make… To be close to my parents. But it was obvious that the temptation to go to the big city and enjoy myself like most of my classmates and meet that special person again spoke louder. And I believed that staying away from everyone that summer would help… When I returned to school, the feelings were worse. Sharper, heavier, more… Turbulent.” He blinked. The memories that hit his mind danced between scenes of a teenage Charlie smiling at classmates mocking his “overly country style” and moments when he cried hidden in the school bathroom.

He looked to the side where the water jug was still half full, and the glass had a finger of liquid, probably warm. Yet he took it, turning to the side, avoiding the woman’s gaze, taken by shame. Through the veil, with a cold gust of wind that lowered it slightly, Charlie felt as if he were in a confessional. His large hand held the glass of water, drinking it in large gulps, savoring the alkaline taste mixed with Micaella’s saliva on the rim. An indirect kiss.

When he finished, he continued holding the glass between his legs, gripping it as if relieving everything compressing his soul.

“I was mocked by my classmates, all because I walked in a "country bumpkin" way, spoke differently, and wore simple clothes. Some even said I smelled like manure. That crushed me. Every night, I prayed to God to take away the mark of who I was. To stop me from screaming in the night, waking up from nightmares to a bed soaked in urine, and, most of all, to make me stop liking the person I was completely in love with. Until one day, things became truly hellish..”' He took a deep breath, filling his chest with the courage he had lacked to confront those memories years ago. “I was fifteen. I remember that clearly. A skinny boy, a kid from the countryside going to the Winter Ball. My mother had arranged with her sister, who lived in town, for me to have a place to stay the weekend so I wouldn’t have to take the intercity bus late at night to get back home. So there I was, alone, in a suit and tie, filled with anxiety... until I saw him arrive with his date, and I was completely devastated. That intimate feeling of loss over someone I never even had.”

"She must have been really beautiful for you to feel so affected," the woman remarked, looking at him through the veil.

Charlie raised his head, which had been lowered, and his eyes locked on hers—a glassy pair revealing the most intimate corners of his soul. His voice came out soft when he answered, “He. He was the most beautiful being I had ever laid eyes on.' He paused, looking deeply into her eyes. ‘Until then.”

Micaella was silent, absorbing the unexpected response, piecing things together. She wanted to make a snide or even derogatory comment about it, but she held back. Charlie was opening up to her in a way no one else ever had, and it would have been foolish to squander such a chance by being an idiot.

The priest summoned a strange courage that arose along with those memories. He stood up and climbed onto the woman’s bed, sitting in front of her, leveling their positions but keeping the hierarchy firmly in his hands. Now face-to-face with her, eye-to-eye, under the veil that fluttered in the fresh breeze pulling gray clouds closer from the horizon, Charlie felt at peace as he unraveled his story.

“I went to cry in the bathroom again, and he came after me again. Concerned, he thought I was upset because I didn’t have a date, which, in part, wasn’t a lie. But what he had no idea about was that the company I longed for was him. His words were always so comforting, like the Biblical Psalms I read seeking solace. His hands were soft and wiped my tears, like the woman who dried Christ’s feet with her hair. His presence was a warm ray of sunshine that made me believe in the goodness of man, in the infinite goodness of God and His Son, our Savior. That night, he was so handsome—an angel! His hair slicked back with gel, a white suit, a serene smile. He was so close to me that I couldn’t resist the temptation.”

He stopped suddenly, a gleam in his eyes making Micaella’s heart skip a beat. A faint smile formed on his lips. “I bit the apple. I devoured it hungrily, and he did the same. Everything became one—my spirit... it felt as if it left my body and was embraced by Him... Oh God, how I loved that moment. Until the door burst open and voices came at us, followed by punches, kicks, and horrible words. A pandemonium. My heart was shattered, as was I. I left there with a serious rib fracture, teeth that needed silver prosthetics at the back of my mouth, and this ugly scar on my forehead, like the wounds of Christ. My stigma for being who I am. For my story.”

"Wow. Charlie, that’s really…” Micaella struggled to find the right words. Instead, she squeezed Charlie’s hand gently, offering warmth and kindness.

The priest smiled tenderly, covering her hand with his, caressing it. “It’s okay. I’ve already paid for my past mistakes. I’m at peace with God... And it doesn’t hurt anymore... Not like it did that day or in the years that followed.”

“You.”' she began uncertainly. She stopped, the words on the tip of her tongue, biting her lower lip. Charlie tilted his head, his gaze encouraging her to continue. Micaella finally let it out. “Do you still have contact with him?”

The curious question could have shattered the tender moment between them, but Charlie knew how to separate things. The mention of his first love apparently didn’t faze him as much anymore. With a simple shake of his head, he gave her the blunt reality: no.

Micaella nodded, trying to imagine who that boy could have been—the one this beautiful man had once loved. She pictured him as someone even more handsome than Charlie. Her mind conjured an image etched from a story she’d seen long ago: David and his soulmate Jonathan. She then replaced that image with Charlie Mayhew himself, with his pompadour, tall and sturdy, his penetrating gaze, and the posture of a warrior of faith standing next to a beautiful man dressed in the fashion of the time: shoulder-length hair, bell-bottom trousers, a vest exposing a defined, tanned torso, and the sweet gaze of someone deeply loved.

Strangely, her mind couldn’t help but paint herself into the image of one of David’s favored wives, the mother of wise King Solomon. Healthy and radiant, she imagined herself with an arm wrapped around her husband, naked, bathed in cinnamon oil and damask rose water, just as David had first seen and been enchanted by her. Could Charlie Mayhew ever be enchanted by her?

“But unfortunately, we don’t control our hearts, and I found myself tempted again.”

That sudden confession yanked her out of her waking daydreams. Her eyes landed back on him ...immediately to the man who shook his head repeatedly, as though denying something, before vigorously rubbing his eyebrows.

"It was a huge mistake."

Micaella looked at Charlie, startled by this new revelation that landed in her lap and shattered into a thousand fragments of doubt. That servant of God was surprising her. Charlie, for his part, smiled sheepishly at his own story, fragments of memories tearing through his brain, shredding soft flesh, exposing the rottenness of his past. A decayed gray mass. Rotten—he had once been rotten. He scratched the corner of his chin with his thumb.

"I was in seminary, young and immature. Reckless in my actions, even with everything that had happened to me since the… unfortunate incident." His teeth clenched, a transparent bitterness marked his expression, revealing a disgust for himself. "I was still learning to deal with myself. With the inner beast that always pursued me, always made me its hostage: the beast of temptation. I was serving God, my only refuge, when suddenly I was temporarily transferred to a convent due to structural issues at the seminary where I lived. There, I met a nun. She was five, maybe seven years older than me… Experienced. Very beautiful—her face reminded me of the angels I saw painted in chapels. At first, everything was very polished, very formal between us. She always seemed very willing to assist with my education, saying that as she was a philosophy and catechism teacher for young people in the community, she could help me with my studies. Enamored by her kindness and beauty, I let myself be carried away by her eloquence… And we began to study at night in my improvised room. Always with the door open, with a set time to retire, and formal goodbyes, of course."

He paused, sighed, his right index finger touching the clerical collar that seemed to strangle his neck, tugging it slightly.

"Until that fateful day when she brought us wine. I had never had wine in my life—not the way she wanted us to drink it. I could have simply refused… I could have said no. But I accepted, with open arms. Foolish, fragile, impressionable…" Charlie stopped, his voice gradually diminishing as his eyes settled on Micaella’s face. His dilated pupils nearly consumed the irises in his sockets. "You remind me of her."

That sentence set Micaella ablaze, a flame coursing through her entire body. She felt as though she were burning alive, her blood flowing through her fragile body, revitalizing the decay she felt within herself. Her pupils dilated, her lips moistened, her thin cheeks flushed. She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling in slow movements, warm sweat beading on her forehead. Small details of life on her fresh flesh were devoured by the priest’s nostalgic eyes.

Charlie swallowed the words that recounted obscenities caused by the wine and the dim light of that night. He swallowed the desire for soft flesh between his teeth, nails digging into warm skin, sweat that glued bodies together, and the entire union between creature and Word that happened that night. His memories were a tangle of bodies merging, where the nun’s face—she who led him astray—did not appear clearly to him. Only fragments formed from broken bone in his hand, like Adam’s rib being removed to create Eve. He hurt himself to create his Eve from within.

A sharp pain struck his right rib. A reaction of the flesh to the sin committed. A permanent reminder that haunted him whenever he was tormented by his lack of chastity.

"What happened afterward?" Micaella whispered, resting her hands on her knees, crushing her thighs together, her fingers pressing against her full lips. Charlie tilted his head almost onto his own shoulder, a distant compassion in his voice.

"The bishop found out about the sister’s frequent visits to my quarters at suspicious hours. He set a trap, caught her leaving my room, and…" He raised his head, serious, the image of the old man emerging from the shadows in his mind, his hostile eyes gripping the woman’s arms. Even so, Charlie couldn’t define the man’s face. In his memories, she was a faceless woman, crying and struggling to break free from the man’s grip. His voice turned acidic, contorting his face into a grimace as he spat the words. "Well, it ended everything. I was given a new chance, transferred, and since then, I’ve focused entirely on penitence and mutual surrender to God."

"And her?"

"There is no her."

The curt response yanked Micaella from the fiery state, plunging her back into that cold, empty condition.

Their perpetual silence was interrupted by soft knocks at the door, which then opened slightly to reveal the elderly woman’s white head peeking through. Smiling timidly, she pushed the door open further, holding a large tray in her trembling hands. Charlie shot a serious look at Micaella before jumping out of his chair to help the elderly lady, who smiled gratefully and announced, "It seems the father will be taking a little longer in conversation with Micaella, and it’s already lunchtime, so I thought it wise to bring you both a freshly prepared meal." She looked at the young woman through her veil, emphasizing her words between her teeth. "You must eat, Micaella. There’s no use feeding the soul if the body is neglected! Isn’t that right, Father?"

“Absolutely, Mrs. Silas.”

The man’s gaze fell on the wine bottle. He looked at the woman suspiciously, and she smiled:

“A little wine won’t hurt anyone! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have chores to finish…”

She turned away. Before leaving the room, she paused at the door, hand on the doorknob, casting a sad, weighty look at Micaella, then at Charlie, standing in the middle of the room with the tray in his hands. She smiled wistfully:

“Enjoy! And make yourself at home, Father. You will always be very welcome in our home.”

She left before Charlie could thank her.

"I've never had wine."

Micaella's voice spoke from behind him. Charlie turned to her, his face momentarily confused before softening, trying to recapture the good humor he'd brought with him during the first minutes of their conversation.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, Micaella!"

Charlie served himself warm bread and slightly vinegary but drinkable wine. Micaella watched him warily with her glass, half-filled with the purple alcoholic liquid, observing him drink it eagerly. A desperate thirst seemed to rise from deep within him.

Micaella stood frozen, the glass of wine in her hand. When Charlie finished his long sip, draining half of the wine, his eyes shone with the serenity brought by the drink's taste as he looked at the woman before him. Raising an eyebrow, he asked curiously:

"Aren't you going to drink your wine?"

"I was just wondering… if I drink it, would it be like drinking the blood of Christ?"

"No," Charlie shook his head, a proud smile lighting up his face. This was, by far, one of his favorite topics to debate.

"Then I don’t want to drink this wine!" Micaella stated firmly, extending the glass toward the man before her. The priest responded only with an amused look.

"You wouldn't even drink it if I turned it into His blood?"

The sly question struck something at the center of Micaella's tormented soul. Something awakened within her, a sudden thirst drying her throat. The mere mention of drinking pure, divine blood provoked a spiritual ecstasy in her. Smiling broadly, she nodded affirmatively. Charlie cleared his throat, pulled the tray to the center of the bed, and emptied it of the items atop it to place the two glasses of wine, the wine bottle in the center, and the plate of homemade bread beside them. He knew it wasn't the ideal setting for a divine transmutation, but given the delicate circumstances, performing the ritual seemed like a way to bring the Savior into a home destined to decay.

His voice emerged softly:

"When we talk about transforming wine into blood," he pointed solemnly at the glass, "and bread into flesh, we are not speaking in mere metaphors. This is a reality, something mystical that encapsulates the mysteries of our faith. Indeed, we are consuming Jesus Christ. His body and soul, within our mouths, dissolving on our tongues, with our saliva, becoming one with our flesh. We drink of divinity and chew His infinite forgiveness. We merge our bodies and become one. One body, one spirit. That is the meaning of the Eucharist." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes, holding the piece of bread between his hands. "It is through it that we partake in Jesus Christ, God, everything and everyone. And we become something infinite."

Micaella was enthralled by the priest's words, her chest swelling with grace and passion that burned through her soul, touched by the Word. Charlie had a gift—the way he expressed himself was profoundly captivating for any living being. Listening to him impart his knowledge was an honor.

"Then Jesus Christ took the bread and said: 'Take and eat; this is my body.'" He raised the piece of bread, staring intently at it, murmuring words that were uncertain noises to Micaella's ears. After taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing, he set the bread aside and took Micaella’s glass—still fuller than his—in hand, raising it and proclaiming:

"'Take and drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins…'" He raised the glass higher above them, murmuring again the uncertain words: "'Do this in remembrance of me!'"

With that, he drank the wine.

Drank the blood of Jesus Christ.

He looked at the woman, offering her the glass.

"Drink the blood of Our Savior, my sister."

Surrounded by a unique atmosphere that embraced them between the wine and the cold wind whistling outside, Micaella took the glass, positioning it exactly where the man’s lips had touched, kissing him once more by drinking from him and Jesus, tasting the sweet, slightly vinegary wine sliding down her throat. She felt her body now merging with the two—both Father Charlie and Jesus Christ—becoming part of something far greater than she could ever imagine belonging to. A drop of wine escaped the corner of her mouth, tracing a thin line down to her chin before dripping onto her chest, catching the priest's dark gaze.

In a fervent gesture, Charlie ran his thumb along Micaella's chin, watching the wine stain her skin. Their eyes locked, and though she finished drinking the wine, she was still consuming him. Charlie then took his thumb moistened with the wine that spilled from her lips, pressing it against his own lips, endorsing that divine kiss.

"Let us partake in ourselves, Father,"

Micaella whispered, watching him move away from her.

With slow and heavy steps, his mind lost in reverie, Charlie went to get some air at the open window where the wind made the curtains sway. Micaella lowered her gaze to the Body of Christ bitten by the parish priest, taking its other half, chewing and swallowing it with relish, completing her celestial supper. A feeling of satiety overtook her body, filling the voids in her spirit. Dining with Charlie alone gave her a sense of belonging. Belonging to him. To Him.

Charlie, standing by the window with his hands on his hips, watched the dark clouds heavy with water draw closer above him. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the wind hissed, signaling an approaching storm.

"Damn, I’ll have to wait out the storm."

"Well, at least you're safe," the woman commented, catching Charlie's attention as he looked at her curiously. "With me. With us, here at home." She smiled at him.

The priest returned the smile, nodding in agreement, feeling droplets of water against his body. Outside, a heavy rain began to fall, round drops lashing against the window frame and splashing on him and the floor. With a jerk, he lowered the window pane halfway, stopping the small flood. He crossed the room to close the other window. His steps were meticulously observed by Micaella, whose mind felt light and blank.

When Charlie sat down in the chair once more, grabbing his glass, pulling the cork out of the wine bottle with his teeth, pouring himself a glass—nearly emptying the bottle—and leaving the rest in Micaella's glass, he commented after dropping the cork on the tray:

"Are you feeling well? With the blood in the form of wine?"

"Hmnnn," Micaella picked up her glass, raising it to the light. "It’s really delicious! I didn’t know Jesus could taste this good!"

Charlie laughed. Micaella looked at him with a proud smile for making him laugh so genuinely.

"My God, what a sin!" she commented, covering her mouth. "But I agree. It’s delightful!"

Both drank from their glasses, smiling. A pleasant silence hovered in the room, which now felt to the man as familiar as his own.

"Charlie—"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in love, reincarnation, and life after death?"

"That's a very specific question. Do you?"

"My beliefs today are yours, Father. Yours."

That word reverberated in Charlie’s mind, like the drops repeatedly tapping against the window sill. A sweet stupor of dominion filled his soul. He liked hearing that. Having someone else’s beliefs in his hands gave him a sense of power and vanity he tried to fight every time he stood before the pulpit. A vain smile escaped as he took another sip of wine before responding:

"Of course I believe. To some degree of credulity... I believe in something."

His eyes were burning embers. His smile was serene. He had full conviction of what he spoke. Micaella wanted more. More of him. She wanted his voice to envelop her, for her soul to be embraced by his ethereal wisdom:

"How would you explain that belief to a layperson, Charlie?"

"Well," he began, scratching his chin with his thumb, searching with his gaze for a point to rest his thoughts. "I’d explain that without love, we’re just empty sacks swirling in the wind. That without belief in resurrection, we don't hold faith in one of the key mysteries between human flesh and soul. And without faith in life after death," his eyes rested on Micaella’s fragile figure, "there’s no justification to keep us aligned with God."

"What do you mean?" she questioned, a sparkle in her eyes fixed on Charlie. "'No justification to keep us aligned with God'?"

"What I mean, Micaella, is that without a creed, we wouldn’t walk the line of human civility. Without a god, we’d just be rationalized animals fighting over a piece of hard, rotten bone. Understand?"

"I understand..." she murmured back, reflective. He could see through those large frightened eyes the moment the gears clicked into place, and everything seemed to smooth out and make sense in her mind.

Charlie glanced over his shoulder, through the glass of the window, at the heavy, cloudy sky, the rain falling and pattering against the old wooden house, the scent of the room becoming fresh and alive, mixed with the smell of earth and grass coming from outside. Trying to figure out what time it was, he sighed, turning to the woman.

The silence between them could have been awkward, but for Micaella, it was pleasant enough to prompt a wide, toothy smile toward Charlie, who was surprised to see that her teeth were not even slightly yellowed. Reflexively, he ran his tongue over his own teeth, recalling the countless times his mother would load him into the family’s old truck and endure hours of driving to the big city just to take him to the dentist, investing considerable money in her son's dental care. According to her—and this was a lesson he carried with him to this day—"healthy teeth are the gateway to a long life!"

He shook his head to dispel his mother’s voice, looked affectionately at Micaella, a little smile on his lips provoking curiosity in the woman.

"What is it?" she asked, smiling at him as well. Charlie shrugged, commenting lightly:

"Nothing... I just feel like I’ve talked a lot about myself and heard nothing about you," he spread his arms. "Which is the main reason I’m here!"

"Oh, Father! There’s not much to say about me..." Suddenly, a sense of shame overtook the woman, who shrank, capturing a thick strand of her curly red hair in her finger, slowly twirling it.

With the same gentle eyes, Charlie raised his hand to lift her chin with his index finger and thumb, leveling their eyes, whispering with enthusiasm:

"That’s already a start, my dear! I’m all ears for you now; tell me anything."

"Anything?" she repeated, feeling her cheeks warm under his light touch and his dark eyes fixed on her.

Charlie widened his smile, nodding, repeating:

"Anything, Micaella."

Micaella saw before her eyes the few memories she truly deemed worthy of sharing. A handful of scenes where she was the protagonist of her own story—like those in the books she always read at the public library during her afternoons in the big city. Most of the time, she saw herself in other people’s lives, classmates invited to dances, or moments when she was merely a shadow in her absent father’s life. It wouldn’t be hard to tell the priest about the moments she took the spotlight and lived something interesting.

Charlie withdrew his touch, leaving her with a sense of emptiness against her skin. But she decided to muster courage and let her voice take the shape of the thoughts wanting to escape:

"I’ve been kissed once," she said, glancing sideways at the priest, who raised his eyebrows, a shadow of a smile on his lips, a genuine curiosity on his face. She continued: "But it wasn’t really a kiss! More like a peck. Something so brief that I didn’t even feel it properly... Unfortunately. But it was almost like a glimpse, a taste of Paradise." She smiled, daydreaming about the almost-kiss.

Strangely, her mind now only projected a scenario where she and Charlie were sealing their lips in a kiss. The man cleared his throat in the background, waking her from her daydreams.

"So you think kissing someone is the same as having 'a taste of Paradise'?" He made air quotes, perplexed by her analogy. Micaella nodded vehemently.

"Well, curious," he said, diverting his eyes from the woman.

"Don’t you think so, Father? Isn’t that what happened in your pri—"

"Not exactly, Micaella," he quickly interrupted the woman. "Unfortunately, I didn’t have my moment of ascension to Paradise... Which is sad for me, seeing as I am a servant of God." He chuckled dryly, making fun of himself. Micaella tried to join him, but she didn’t feel the same amusement; in reality, she felt a great desolation emanating from him.

"And I doubt I’ll ever have another chance to live like any normal person, Charlie. The last time I had a worldly experience, I went with a friend of mine—the only one, actually—to this bowling alley, and it was so much fun!" Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "I swear to God, if there’s one thing I yearn for the most, it’s going somewhere that serves greasy food, has loud, upbeat music, and where I can laugh, dance, and throw heavy balls at those wooden things over and over until my arms can’t take it anymore!"

"That sounds wonderful, Micaella!" Placing a generous, warm hand over the woman’s, Charlie smiled warmly, wanting to convey peace to the young woman. Outside, the storm softened as the sun began its descent on the horizon, signaling that evening was approaching. Euphoric and feeling comforted, another memory surfaced in the gaps of her mind, prompting her to speak again, more emphatically:

"I also have a good memory from when I was younger! It was on a sunny day with my father, when we crossed the city to go to the lake. It was such a nice afternoon; I remember the ducks swimming, the other kids playing, while my dad taught me how to swim. It was one of the only times we ever had something like that..." She shrugged, averting her gaze.

Charlie noticed how sensitive she became when mentioning her father, like an open wound she didn’t like to touch. He glanced over his shoulder toward the window, already realizing the veil of night was covering the sky.

"How time has flown... Wow, that was an interesting conversation, my dear!" he remarked, clasping his hands together under Micaella’s attentive eyes. Smiling sweetly, he stood up, placing his hands on his hips and directing a gentle look toward her.

"Before I leave, I would really like to offer you the anointing, young lady. So I can go in peace, knowing I’ve blessed you."

"All right," she confirmed, serene. She seemed to have accepted her fate, lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting to be anointed by the man who had shared her most intimate secrets on that unusual Sunday. Charlie sighed, took the small bottle of anointing oil—an ochre-yellow, greasy liquid—from his bag, opened it, and let the pleasant scent of olive mixed with myrrh waft through his nostrils. Sliding the tip of his thumb over the neck of the bottle, he tipped it to moisten his finger with the oil, then moved closer to the woman’s body.

Under the light of the room and the angle he was in, he noticed through the fabric the outline of her nipples, the shape of her breasts, and a faint crease between her legs. He immediately averted his gaze, starting to pray in hopes that God would hear him:

“...that this young woman may find Your light, my Lord! May she be healed of all evil, and may her flesh and spirit be purified so that she can find in life the small pleasures You left for us.”'

He made the sign of the cross on her forehead, sliding his thumb over Micaella's smooth, slightly yellowed skin. He was bent over her. Before he could straighten up, the woman’s hand gripped his wrist firmly, holding him in that same position—nose to nose, eyes to eyes, lips to lips. She took a deep breath, enough for her warm, sweet breath to brush against the man’s face, causing him to furrow his brow in utter confusion at her sudden movement.

She then murmured, pleadingly, “Father… Charlie… Could you grant me one last wish?”

“Yes, of course, Micaella,” he whispered back, smiling tensely. The grip on his wrist tightened, forcing him to use his other arm for support, leaving him almost lying on top of her. Micaella closed her eyes to summon the courage for her final words:

“Could you kiss me?”

The simple but dangerous question struck the man like a spear through his chest. Before him lay this bedridden woman, with anointed oil drying on her forehead, her large eyes filled with desire and fear—for both life and death—and her parted lips longing to be touched one last time. Oh, God, grant me discernment, he pleaded silently, closing his eyes. Once more, a whispered request came:

“Please, Charlie. I just want to be kissed by you.”

Charlie brought his free hand to her face, cradling it like a rotten apple—pale yet with flesh tempting in its forbidden poison. He licked his dry lips, swallowed the bitter emotion, and once again lamented to God: Lord, do not let me fall into temptation; give me a sign.

When he felt her hand slide up his arm, reaching his shoulder and then his neck, his skin bristled at the cold touch of her palm, which cradled his jaw. They were so close their breaths and thoughts were already mingling. Their lips were almost touching, their breaths already merging, when Charlie suddenly diverted the kiss to her forehead. A slow, lingering kiss, savoring the taste of her slightly sweaty skin mixed with the anointing oil. In that tender kiss, there was God and her.

He gently pulled away from her touch, looked at her one last time with a serene smile, grabbed his bag, and turned around. At the door, before closing it, he looked at her once more.

“May God heal you, Micaella.”

He left, shutting the door behind him.

✞

Swallowed by the silence of his own room, immersed in darkness and chaotic thoughts, Charlie Mayhew could only think of the angelic face of Micaella in her foreseen death. With a searing pain in his heart, as if a crown of thorns encircled it, burning in the fever of an overwhelming passion, he knelt beside his bed in tears, pressing his palms together to pray once more—for forgiveness and the salvation of that poor creature’s soul.

Confused by the delirium of this immaculate fever, he felt fear.

“I do not fear God,” he whispered to himself in the empty darkness of his being, “but I do fear rotting away entirely.”

✞

“Father Charlie?” Sister Marie appeared at the door of his office on that normal Monday morning. It had been seven days since he visited young Micaella, and there had been no news—no calls, no letters, not even her grandmother’s presence at weekday masses. He looked at the nun holding a piece of paper in her hand and smiled warmly.

“Yes, Eunice, how can I help you?”

“A telegram for you!” She approached, extending the paper with a printed message. He thanked her, waiting for her to leave before reading what had been sent.

His eyes scanned the note carefully:

"Mr. Mayhew,

Your blessing! This is Mrs. Silas, Micaella’s grandmother. I just wanted to thank you for your visit and the anointing! My little girl witnessed the miracle of life and woke up just a few days ago completely healed! Even the doctor is baffled by her sudden recovery, but I know it was because of you and your faith that healed her! Praise be to you, Father, and praise be to God! If you would like to speak with my granddaughter, I’m leaving our phone number here. You are always welcome in our humble home, Father.

Once again, we will be eternally grateful for your mercy and the miracle you worked! May God continue to guide you, young man. Micaella said it was your words that saved her from imminent death.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Silla.

Phone: x-xxx-xxx-xxxx."

Charlie couldn’t believe it. He read it again aloud, feeling his heart race with a joy he hadn’t realized he could feel. He glanced at the office’s landline phone, read the note once more, and picked up the receiver, dialing the number hastily.

Tum… Tum… Tum…

He was about to hang up when the line clicked after a few seconds, followed by static and then a serene voice that startled him:

“Hello, this is Micaella Silas speaking. Who is this?”

“Micaella…”

“Charlie, is that you?”

Silence. She repeated the question again, confused. Charlie sighed before finally letting the words escape his heart:

“Yes, Micaella, it’s me. Now I understand God’s signs… And I no longer need to fear anything.” His eyes lifted to the image of a crucified Jesus Christ in front of him. “Because now I am certain that you will be the miracle that saves me from my own decay.”

END. (...)

[chavezicons]

nicholas alexander chavez as father charlie mayhew in 'grotesquerie', S01E04 (2024)

[chavezicons]

nicholas alexander chavez as father charlie mayhew in 'grotesquerie', S01E02 (2024)

[greengoblinswifey]

hii ! could you write a story about like nicholas chavez as a doctor x fem patient smut, I've been trying to find a good story like this but I literally can't 😭😭

much love !!

summary— you’re referred to Dr. Chavez at the hospital due to a misdiagnosis. one of your symptoms include intense, unrelenting arousal and as your doctor, it’s his job to help make you better in any way he can.

warnings— female masturbation, voyeurism, abuse of power, fingering, body worship, oral, degrading kink, praise kink, public sex kinda(hospital), unprotected sex, sir kink, ass slapping, choking(with tie), erotic asphyxiation, use of doctor during sex, slight manipulation if you squint, aftercare.

a/n— i’d love if you guys send requests, reblog and comment☺️

After a recent misdiagnosis left you frustrated and your symptoms worsening, you were referred to Dr. Chavez. Though he seemed slightly irritated about having to “fix someone else's mess,” he introduced himself with a polite but distant professionalism. He stood before you, impeccably dressed in a white coat over a crisp suit and tie, every detail in place. He was calm, collected, and intensely focused as he started going over your symptoms.

When you finally mentioned the most embarrassing one, the constant, nearly unbearable arousal, you noticed his reaction, a slight widening of his eyes, and a pause in his typing. “And, uh, how often would you say this happens?” he asked, his voice steady but his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Constantly doctor,” you admitted, cheeks flushing. “I’m always horny, sometimes it’s painful. Like, I just can’t think straight, or focus on anything else.”

After ordering several tests, he told you they’d need to monitor you at the hospital. This only intensified your frustration, the more time you spent in his presence, the worse your symptoms felt, in particular your constant arousal. You tried to distract yourself by prying into his life, probing the doctor with questions. You noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, which made your mind spin even more.

Hours turned to days, and your symptoms didn’t let up. You felt more tired, the frustration mounting as medical staff came in and out of your room. Privacy was nearly impossible, leaving you with no room to release the growing arousal that only got worse.

One night, after another round of exhausting tests, the hallway was finally quiet. You were alone. You couldn’t help yourself, the relief you craved was all you could think about. Without any other means as your vibrator had long since been forgotten at home, you let your fingers slide down, imagining Dr. Chavez’s calm voice, his firm hands. You closed your eyes, stifling a moan, picturing him standing over you, his gaze intense.

You flipped the sheets off you and hiked up the hospital gown they draped you in. Still not satisfied, you ripped your underwear off and spread your legs, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit then slipping into your sloppy hole. Soft moans filled the room as your head was swarming with thoughts of Dr. Chavez being the one to make you feel good.

Just then, the door clicked open, and there he was, clipboard in hand, looking caught off guard. He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the way you quickly pulled your hand back. He cleared his throat. “I came to check on you,” he said, his tone layered with something more than just professional concern.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “Doctor, I—it's been so hard, I couldn’t help myself.”

For a moment, he lingered there, eyes locked on yours, before he shook himself slightly. “It’s part of my job to ensure you’re comfortable and to help you,” he replied, voice slightly rougher, eyes not quite meeting yours as he jotted something down on the clipboard.

You looked at him, unable to hold back the desperation any longer and you noticed the dent in his pants. “Well help me, doctor,” you whispered, voice thick with need. “Can you do something to make it go away? Please give me something, anything to make it stop.”

He stopped in his tracks, his already intense gaze darkening as he absorbed your words. “Beg,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please, doctor,” you said, voice trembling, willing yourself to keep his attention. “Please help me, I need you to fix me, make me feel better.”

A dark chuckle slipped from him as he locked the door behind him, his fingers throwing off his tie and shrugging off his coat. He then stood right before you, his eyes sweeping over your form.

Without another word, he reached out, his fingertips barely grazing over your thigh as he leaned in close. “Needy, aren’t you?” he murmured with a smirk. His fingers teased, trailing down until they brushed against your pussy, his touch almost unbearably light.

“Please, Dr. Chavez,” you pleaded again, breath catching as his fingers lingered at the edges of your need. “Please, sir.”

His smile only widened as he took in your reaction, and without another moment’s hesitation, he knelt down before you. His hands were firm under your thighs and then his mouth was on your leaking pussy, a loud moan leaving you as he began. His focus was unrelenting, and you couldn’t contain your whimpers, each one drawing him in closer.

Every sound you made seemed to fuel him, his hands gripping you tighter, his touch sending you higher.

“Yes that’s it sir, don’t stop,” you whimpered, your hands going to his hair as you held him close and moved your pussy all over his mouth.

“Mm- you taste so fucking good, so fucking desperate for me aren’t you,” he hummed, in between licks.

He continued, now slipping a finger inside you and sucking on your clit, until, you arched your back off the bed and felt yourself let go, a sensation so intense you squirted and felt your pussy and your whole body quivering from it all.

His eyes met yours, a smirk on his lips. “You were so desperate, weren't you?” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Glad I could help.”

You leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss on his lips, savoring your own delectable taste.

“Hm,” Dr. Chavez paused, his lips still mere inches away from you, “based on my observations, I’ve come to the conclusion that you still need my help. You still need me to make you better, so I have to put my dick inside you sweetheart, I just have to.”

You nodded almost mindlessly, leaning into his touch, his mere presence was intoxicating. Though you got the relief you wanted, having him so close to you brought you back to square one. Your pussy was still leaking.

Breathlessly, he unbuckled his pants, the sight before you making you drool like a dog in heat. He slipped himself out, revealing a long, thick and rock hard cock you would do anything to feel inside you.

“God, look at you,” he said, licking his lips and pumping his cock, “tell me how bad you want me, how bad you want this dick.”

“Please sir, I want you so bad, I need you to fuck me. please help me,” you panted, desperation evident in your voice.

“That’s a good girl, my patients are always so obedient.” He grabbed your hair, bringing you down to his cock’s level and thrusted into your mouth.

“Worship this cock,” he demanded, his voice sounding strained as he tried to contain his moans.

“Fuck, I love your cock doctor, it tastes so good, I- mm, need it so fucking bad,” you said, in between having his dick brush your tonsil. You slurped and moaned as you continuously gagged on the feeling of him being so deep in your throat. Reaching down, you played with your clit, desperate for some sort of relief.

“Hey, hey, no,” Dr. Chavez bellowed, “stop touching yourself. I’m your doctor and I know what’s best, I’ll help you with my dick inside you, those tiny little fingers won’t satisfy you. They won’t make you better.”

You whimpered in response but listened. He was your doctor after all, he knew best. He would never tell you anything that wasn’t accurate.

His moans grew breathy and louder but as soon as you felt his balls tighten, he pulled you off his cock by the hair and in a swift motion, you fell flat on the bed.

“S’gonna be okay sweetheart, my cock inside you is gonna make it all better.”

Just as swiftly, his cock pierced your pussy, slipping inside you and stretching you slowly. The stretch was burning as he groaned and pushed deeper but the feeling was soon replaced by immense pleasure.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking wet, sloppy fucking pussy you’ve got huh,” he moaned, chuckling.

Your face was contorted in pleasure, looking up at your doctor as he pounded into you, the feeling better than anything else you’d ever experienced in your life. Your moans willed him on and his thrusts became more frantic as he felt your pussy grip and tighten around him.

“That’s it baby, this desperate little pussy can’t get enough of her doctor’s cock, gripping me so tight like she doesn’t wanna let me go.” A sob left your lips due to the intensity of it all and soon, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gripping on to him for dear life as you squirted on his cock.

“Good girl, that’s my needy fucking whore, let it all out.”

Small whimpers filled the hospital room as you slowly came down from your high, but you were still needy, your body grinding against him sending even more jolts of pleasure through you.

“M-more, please sir, just one more,” you begged tears in your eyes.

“Jesus Christ baby, you’re a fucking desperate whore aren’t you, God, you just can’t get enough of my cock.”

Your lips quivered and you knew you were being desperate but you didn’t care, all you cared about was your release just one more time. Just once and you’d be okay for the next few days. You needed it quick, the commotion was surely to make a nurse come wandering soon.

“I just— oh,” your sentence was cut short as he easily flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up to him and slipped inside your wet pussy once more. You spread your legs and arched your back, needing him as deep inside you as he could go.

“That’s it baby, spread this fucking pussy.” He slapped your ass harshly and soon you felt something slip around your neck. It was his tie. He slipped the tie around your neck, not enough to restrict your airflow too much, but just enough to have your head spinning and only the thought of his cock in it.

“Take it, take this fucking dick. You were so desperate for it, now you have it.” A small cry left your lips as you felt him repeatedly hit your g spot.

“Oh you fucking love it, you love your doctor’s cock deep inside your wet fucking pussy don’t you, whore,” he inquired, pulling you back to his chest by the tie around your neck.

“Y- yes, I love it sir,” you managed to croak out.

“Good girl, because as long as you’re here and under my care, you’re gonna get this dick every fucking night. Every fucking time you’re needy and desperate my cock is gonna be here to fill this pussy.”

His words sent you over the edge and your body convulsed under his touch as you squirted. He continued fucking you through your high but you couldn’t take anymore. You squirmed away from him, your pussy somehow still gushing and he quickly pulled out, releasing his warm cum all over your back.

“Fucking hell, your pussy is just gushing,” he moaned, as he pumped his cock, milking himself of everything onto your back.

Your body was so weak you could barely form words as you tried to thank him for making you feel better.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s my job to help you.” He shushed you then went to the bathroom, bringing back a cloth to clean you up and get you back into your underwear and fix your gown. He didn’t need anyone coming to check and seeing you in that state.

He kissed your forehead, caressing your body as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“It’s okay baby, go to sleep, your doctor’s gonna always be here to make you feel better.”

[greengoblinswifey]

Breaking Innocence—Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you fall for shy, sweet fratboy!nicholas who’s different from his cocky frat brothers <3

warnings— innocent!nicholas, sub!nicholas, dom!reader, loss of virginity, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, strip tease, dry humping, face sitting, praise kink, fluff.

a/n— this might be an on going au series so requests are open for frat!boy nicholas or him in general <3

You were known around campus, the popular girl everyone seemed to have their eyes on, but you didn’t have time for the typical crowd of college guys. Most of them, especially the frat boys, had a one-track mind, and you’d long since figured out they only saw you as a conquest, something to fuck and be praised for it. You’d shut down every attempt, disinterested in their shallow flirting and relentless pursuit.

Then, one afternoon on campus, you were mid-scroll on your phone, drink in hand, when someone collided with you.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped, not in the mood for another run-in with some cocky frat boy.

“Sorry! I’m really, I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, looking genuinely horrified, and you stopped. The guy in front of you wasn’t like the others. He was tall, muscular, and had this almost awkward sweetness, eyes widening like he was caught doing something wrong. He barely met your gaze, shuffling a bit like he wanted to melt into the ground.

You felt a small grin creep onto your face. “You always this clumsy?” you teased, watching him flush.

“N-no, I just, I didn’t see you there, sorry,” he managed, voice soft but earnest. And then, after a second, he surprised you. “Could I, maybe get your number?” He scratched the back of his neck, his nerves obvious.

Something in you softened. You weren’t used to guys who seemed this genuine, this…different? So you handed him your number, and he looked up at you, a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll, um, text you later.”

As he walked away, your friend leaned over, eyeing you curiously. “That’s Nicholas Chavez,” she whispered. “He’s in Theatre Arts. Heard he wants to be an actor.”

You felt a flicker of intrigue. The shy frat boy wanted to act? Nicholas was already proving to be unlike anyone else around here.

As evening rolled around, you were in your dorm room, putting the final touches on your makeup and slipping into a sexy dress that you knew would turn heads. Your phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: “Hey Y/N! I was wondering…would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I know it's short notice, and totally fine if you can't!”

Then, almost immediately:

Nicholas: “It's Nicholas, by the way…Nicholas Chavez.”

You laughed at his nervousness, finding it unexpectedly charming. Quickly, you typed back, “Sure, I’d love to. I’m on the east side of campus.” He replied instantly, “Great! I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Right on time, you heard a knock. Opening the door, you caught the look in his eyes as they widened, taking in your outfit. "Wow, you look incredible," he said, clearly a little stunned.

You smiled, “Thank you.” Then you noticed the flowers he was holding. “Are those…for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, blushing slightly, “I thought you might like them.”

“I love them, thanks, I’ll go put them in some water.”

As you headed to his car, he opened the door for you, and you settled in. The ride to the restaurant was filled with light conversation, but you caught his shy glances in your direction.

At the restaurant, he was every bit the gentleman, pulling out your chair and making sure you were comfortable. As you sat, you couldn’t help but notice how his nervousness seemed to melt away as you talked about everything from your favorite movies to his passion for acting.

When the check arrived, you reached for your purse. “I can pay my share, seriously.”

He shook his head, insisting with a smile, “No way. I asked you out, so I’m paying.”

After dinner, he drove you back, and as he walked you to your door, he paused, his hands nervously fidgeting. “I really had a great time tonight, I hope we can do it again sometime?”

You surprised yourself, not quite believing the words as they came out. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Nicholas grinned, his excitement clear. “Awesome. I’ll text you later?”

You nodded, and with one last smile, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t felt in a while.

The next day, word spread across campus about Nicholas’ fraternity hosting a big “End of Halloween” party. You were tempted to skip, knowing the frat’s reputation, but when Nicholas texted, personally inviting you, you decided to go, mostly because of him.

Dressed to kill, you arrived at the frat house with your friends. Nicholas was waiting outside, leaning against his car, and his face lit up when he saw you. His hand hovered protectively over your back as he guided you through the crowded party, never letting you out of sight. Once you were settled on a couch, he disappeared to grab drinks from the kitchen.

Just then, Connor, one of the frat’s popular members and a guy you’d briefly entertained in the past, slid up beside you, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he teased. “Thought you ghosted me for no reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, replying, “I cut you off because you’re an asshole…with a not-so-impressive dick size, I might add.” The party nearby burst into laughter, Connor’s face going red as he tried to stammer a comeback.

Before he could say anything else, Nicholas returned, stepping between you and Connor. “Is there a problem here?” Nicholas asked, his voice calm but firm.

Connor sneered. “Oh, so this is the guy you’re fucking now? Figures.” He turned to Nicholas. “Better watch out. She’s just a—”

You cut him off sharply, “I’m a ‘what,’ Connor? A whore? Funny, considering you never even got close.” The party erupted with laughter again as Connor glared, defeated, and stormed off.

Nicholas handed you your drink, clearly impressed. “Thanks for standing up for me,” you said, touching his arm.

His cheeks turned slightly pink. “Anytime,” he replied, flashing a shy smile.

After a few drinks, you felt the alcohol kicking in, and the music pulled you to the dance floor. Grabbing Nicholas by the hand, you started dancing, pressing your body against him and grinding to the beat. He was shy at first, but he reluctantly wrapped his hands around your waist, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

You glanced back at him, laughing. “Loosen up, Nick. We’re just dancing!”

He chuckled, stammering, “I-I know, I just, wasn’t expecting- this.”

But he was smiling, and you could tell he was enjoying every second. You took his hand and slowly guided it over your body, letting him feel the curves along your waist, your hips, and your thighs. Then, you turned to face him, your gaze locking with his as you moved closer. Feeling him rock hard against you, a smirk played on your lips as you pulled his hands up, guiding him to grab your ass firmly. You swayed together to the music, electricity buzzing in every touch.

As someone passed by with drinks, you reached out, grabbed one, and took a sip. The alcohol was strong, sending a rush through you. Without a word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, transferring the drink in a slow, heated kiss. He was taken aback but quickly melted into it, swallowing as the taste mingled between you.

“Didn’t expect that,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You grinned up at him, feeling bold. “Stick around; I’m full of surprises.”

His hand moved back to your waist, drawing you even closer. “I’m counting on it.” He was getting bold too.

He leaned down, his forehead against yours as you both dirty danced to the music blaring over the speakers. It felt like you were the only ones in your own little bubble.

“Do you wanna go back to my dorm?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered, “Y-yes! I mean, sure!” You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him through the party, the noise fading behind you as you made your way to your side of the campus.

“Why are we going there?” he asked, curiosity etched on his face.

You glanced back at him with a mischievous grin. “Shh, you’ll see.”

Once you reached your dorm, you opened the door and gestured for him to sit on the bed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped into the bathroom, you quickly took off your clothes, leaving yourself in just your lingerie. A flutter of nerves washed over you as you contemplated whether you should really go through with this, he was still one of the frat boys after all. With a deep breath, you stepped back out into the room, and his jaw dropped at the sight of you.

“Close your mouth, Nicholas,” you teased, your heart racing.

“Wow, you’re- so- wow. Um, you’re beautiful,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing.

You bit your lip, feeling confident, and stood between his legs. Taking his hands, you guided them across your body, letting him feel the curves beneath your delicate lingerie.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his neck, then tugging at his shirt. “Let’s see what’s under here,” you murmured, pulling it off to reveal his toned chest. You didn’t expect this shy, awkward guy to be a Greek god beneath those clothes.

As he leaned closer, you began making out, feeling the heat build between you. His hands explored your body and the air thickened with anticipation.

You sank to your knees, your hands gliding from his firm chest down his abs. Your lips followed, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made him shiver under your touch. As you reached the waistband of his boxers, you looked up at him, noticing the nervous anticipation in his eyes.

When you gently tugged them down, his face flushed a deep red. He stammered, “Y-you really don’t have to.”

But as you took him in, you felt a thrill. “Shy guys really do surprise you,” you murmured, grinning up at him, which only seemed to make him blush more. He was huge. The biggest you’d ever had, if you were being honest.

As you began, his hands gripped the edge of the bed, and he gasped, “You— you're amazing.” His voice grew breathy, and he looked down, struggling to keep himself together.

When he was close, he tried to pull back. “W-wait, I’m about to—”

You simply held him in place, and his protests dissolved into a moan as you continued sucking and slurping his cum as he released into your mouth. Afterward, he looked down at you in awe. “You really didn’t have to, but wow, you’re amazing.”

You smiled and leaned up, and he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your lips, surprising both of you with the intensity. He cupped your cheeks, tongue sucking on yours as he hummed, tasting himself in your mouth.

You nudged him back gently, stepping away with a sly smile. Slowly, you began to slip out of your lingerie, giving him a strip tease as he watched, entranced, his breath hitching. His gaze roamed over you, and you could see the effect you had on him, his entire body tensing and his dick hard and leaking as you played with yourself, then finally turned and bent over, offering him a full view.

Pushing him down onto the bed, you grinned at the way he looked up at you. “I want you to- sit on my face,” he said, his voice barely a whisper but full of confidence.

“Are you sure?” you teased, hovering over him.

“Sit,” he insisted, guiding you down until you were close enough, and then he pulled you fully down, his mouth on you with a hunger you hadn’t expected. His tongue explored with an intensity that left you gasping, his hands gripping your hips as he delved deeper. “Just like that, I wanna taste every part of you,” he murmured between breaths, and the sound of his voice sent you over the edge. You couldn’t hold back, your body responding fully, and you leaned into him, gripping his hair as he drew everything out of you and you squirted.

Catching your breath, you looked down at him, amazed. “You- you’re the first to make me squirt like that,” you said softly.

He smiled, a hint of pride flashing across his face. But then he hesitated. “I, uh- I should probably tell you… I’m a virgin.”

You smiled, taking his hand in yours. “Hey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said gently. “It’s actually… kind of sweet.” You ran your fingers over his jaw. “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

He looked away, then back up at you, and nodded.

“Use your words, Nicholas,” you teased.

“I want you to take my virginity,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

As you straddled him, you both took in a sharp breath. The connection between you was powerful, both of you feeling it as you moved closer, slowly sinking down until his cock filled you completely. The feeling left you both gripping each other, your breaths mingling as you adjusted, the feeling almost overwhelming but perfect.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re so big, stretching me so good,” you gasped.

Nicholas' hands moved to your hips, guiding you as he leaned in, his mouth tracing a warm path to your collarbone before lowering to your hard brown nipples. His lips wrapped around them, sending shivers through your whole body as he took his time, savoring each kiss, each movement. You began to ride him slowly, letting every inch of his dick fill you as you took in the moment, enjoying how he reacted to each shift of your hips, his moans becoming more and more uninhibited.

As the rhythm built, you started moving faster, grinding against him, feeling the heat between you both reaching its peak. “I’m- I’m so close,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Me too,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I want you to,” you reassured him, pulling him close. Moments later, he cried out, your name on his lips, his hands gripping you tightly as you both reached that final, perfect high together.

Breathing heavily, you both lay back for a moment, catching your breath. But as you glanced over, you noticed he was still just as eager, his cock hard. You lay down, opening your arms to him with a soft smile, and he shifted to take his place above you. His movements were careful but passionate, each thrust deep and unhurried, as he leaned in close, your legs wrapping around him as you whispered, “Tell me how good it feels sweetie.”

“So good,” he answered between breaths. “You feel incredible.”

His voice sent a rush of warmth through you, and you pulled him closer, murmuring, “Tell me how much you love my pussy.”

“I love it,” he admitted, his eyes locked on yours, his voice sincere, “I love your pussy.”

As you both reached that final peak, everything else faded away, leaving only the closeness between you. When it was over, he collapsed beside you, a soft smile on his face. “That was amazing,” he said, his voice full of gratitude.

You reached over, your fingers tracing gentle running through his hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you murmured, and when he looked up, his eyes shy, he quietly asked, “Can you hold me?”

“Of course,” you replied, pulling him close as his head rested on your chest, your fingers running softly through his hair. There, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, feeling the connection between you deepen with every moment and he soon fell asleep on your chest. His soft, cute snores filling the room.

[greengoblinswifey]

When I Met you in that Hotel Room- Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you meet Nicholas Chavez during a solo vacation at a hotel pool. your flirtation quickly escalates into a passionate night together in his hotel room.

warnings— explicit content. unprotected sex, daddy kink, degrading kink, praise kink, ass slapping, possessive!nicholas, reader has a clit piercing, creampie, cockwarming, rough sex, oral(f receiving)

You had been enjoying the peace and quiet of your solo vacation. It was your second day at the hotel, a much needed break from everything at home. That night, after a day of exploring, you decided a swim was exactly what you needed before heading to bed. Wearing nothing but your bikini, you grabbed a towel and made your way to the pool.

As you walked through the hotel hallways, you stopped to take a selfie. The lighting was perfect, and the glow in the hallway made your caramel skin look radiant. You snapped the picture and sent it off to your little sister. She’d be thrilled to see you finally taking some time for yourself. Moments later, you felt your phone buzz in your hand, but before you could check it, you noticed a guy walking in the same direction as you.

He wasn’t bad-looking, in fact, he was really attractive, and you noticed he was glancing at you. He was tall, with brown eyes, and as you caught his gaze, you could tell he was checking you out. It wasn’t creepy, though. He seemed, intrigued. His eyes trailed over your body in your bikini, but he wasn’t being sleazy about it. You chuckled to yourself, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Not to be that creepy guy at the hotel, but you’re really beautiful,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice deep and smooth.

“Well, you’re a little less creepy now that you’ve said that,” you teased back, trying to play it cool even though his compliment made your heart race a bit.

You both realized you were heading the same way and fell into step together. As you approached the elevator, you noticed how close he was standing to you, the air between you buzzing with an odd, electric tension. He was definitely throwing glances your way, and as the elevator doors closed behind you, it felt impossible to ignore.

You stared at the floor, trying to keep your cool. To break the awkward silence, you glanced at your phone, where a flurry of messages from your sister had come through. You furrowed your brow, confused as to why she had texted you so frantically.

Sis, OMG, do you know who that is?!

That’s Nicholas Chavez!!!

PLEASE ask for a picture!

You frowned, not immediately recognizing the name. Who was Nicholas Chavez? Before you could piece it together, another message from your sister came through with a TikTok link. You clicked it, and to your shock, it was an edit, a fan video of the man standing right next to you. The very same Nicholas Chavez. And oh my God, he was an actor? A famous one, apparently.

Your eyes widened, but you forced yourself to stay composed. You didn’t want to freak out or fangirl. In fact, you hadn’t even heard of him until just now. Instead of saying anything, you put your phone away and focused on the present moment.

When you arrived at the pool, you dropped your towel on a nearby chair and took off your robe, revealing your bikini-clad body. As you stepped toward the water, you heard a sharp intake of breath behind you. You turned to see Nicholas, Nicholas Chavez, you reminded yourself, standing still, his eyes fixed on you. He was clearly trying hard not to stare, but his gaze kept drifting over your figure.

You smirked at his reaction and chuckled softly. “See something you like?” you teased, your confidence boosted by the way he was looking at you.

Nicholas flushed a little and quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before finally taking off his shirt. And holy shit, he was hiding all that muscle under there? Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, your heart racing. His body was even better than the TikTok edits had let on. You could feel the heat between your legs growing at the sight, and you mentally cursed yourself. Not now, you thought, trying to get a grip.

You both slipped into the pool, swimming to opposite ends. The cool water did nothing to calm the heat between your thighs. As you floated there in silence, Nicholas spoke up.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicholas. I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying softly across the water.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, his voice sounding sincere as he moved a little closer, cutting the distance between you.

You smiled softly, feeling a strange connection beginning to form between you two. There was something about him, beyond the fact that he was famous, that was pulling you in. The chemistry, it was all there, simmering beneath the surface.

The water felt cool against your skin, but the heat between you and Nicholas was undeniable. You stood there, trading glances, eyes locked, neither of you willing to break the tension. He moved closer, his body cutting through the water with an effortless grace. You could feel your heart beating faster with every step he took toward you.

When he finally reached you, his hand gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel the heat rising in your chest. His gaze dropped down to your lips, and instinctively, your eyes flickered to his.

God, kiss me already, you screamed internally, your breath catching in your throat. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, but he stopped himself. You could feel his breath against your skin, and the tension was nearly unbearable.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice husky, filled with restraint.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. But before he could make the move, you grabbed the waistband of his swim trunks, pulling him in, your back pressing against the pool wall. The space between you vanished as his lips found yours, slow and deliberate. The kiss was deep, full of need but laced with patience, as if he wanted to savor every second.

You let out a soft moan against his mouth, and that sound seemed to do it. His body pressed into yours, wet skin sliding together as you reached up to grip his hair, pulling him in closer. The kiss intensified, deeper, hungrier, as you devoured each other. His lips moved against yours in perfect sync, the taste of chlorine and desire mixing together. You couldn’t get enough.

Nicholas groaned as your bodies molded together, your hands tangling in his damp hair, and you tugged him closer, wanting more, needing more. His hands found your waist, gripping tightly as he pushed his hips against yours, leaving you breathless.

Finally, you both pulled away, gasping for air, eyes searching each other. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

"Do you want to come up to my room?" he asked, his voice low, filled with urgency.

You hesitated for just a moment, your pulse racing as the weight of his words settled over you. But the way he looked at you, the way his lips were still swollen from your kiss, made it impossible to say no.

“God yes,” you whispered, nodding.

Without another word, you both grabbed your towels, hurriedly drying yourselves off as you made your way to the elevator. The air between you buzzed with excitement, anticipation simmering. You could barely keep your hands off each other as you rushed inside.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Nicholas had you up against the wall. His hands were on either side of your head as he kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that sent a surge of heat through your body. You groaned into his mouth, and he responded by slipping his hands under your ass, lifting you effortlessly. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, locking your ankles behind his back.

You could feel the hardness of his bulge pressing between your legs as he pinned you to the wall, his body grinding against yours. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses, and you let out a breathless moan as you tilted your head back, giving him more access. His hands gripped your ass tighter, pulling you closer as you rolled your hips against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through your swimsuit.

“Fuck,” Nicholas groaned against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You grinned, tugging at his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you teased, your voice breathy as you ground against him harder.

His hips bucked against yours, and you could feel the rough fabric of his swim trunks pressing against your core, and it only made you want him more.

“I’m gonna do a lot more than that,” he growled, his lips crashing against yours once more, leaving you dizzy with need.

The elevator dinged, signaling that you had reached your floor. He didn’t even wait for the doors to open fully before he carried you out, still kissing you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were breathless, panting against his mouth as he carried you down the hall to his room. The door clicked open, and you both stumbled inside, the tension only growing with every second.

He set you down just long enough to rip off his swim trunks. The sight of him, of his sculpted, wet body, made your knees weak, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress a groan. His hands were back on you in an instant, pulling you to him as he kissed you hard, backing you up toward the bed.

Nicholas gazed at you, his eyes dark with desire as he pulled your bikini top aside. His hands gently caressed your breasts, and he let out a soft groan. “Your tits are perfect, your whole body is perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, feeling your cheeks flush from both his words and the heat radiating between your bodies. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a laugh bubbling from your throat as the tension momentarily lightened. He chuckled softly with you, but it quickly faded into another passionate kiss.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, sucking and biting as he left marks on your skin. Each graze of his teeth sent shivers through your body, and your moans grew louder when he reached your breasts, his mouth closing around one of your nipples. The sensation made you arch into him, hands gripping his hair as you held him against you.

Nicholas wasn’t done. His kisses traveled lower, leaving a trail as he moved down your stomach. His lips brushed over your navel piercing, and then lower still, to your bikini bottoms. You bit your lip, anticipation building as you watched him.

He pulled the straps of your bikini bottom down with deliberate slowness, revealing more of you. The moment his eyes landed on your clit piercing, his breath hitched audibly. He looked up at you, eyes blazing with lust.

“Fuck,” he swore, licking his lips. “Like I said, you’re so beautiful, so fucking sexy.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “After tonight, no one’s gonna see that pretty pussy,” he paused, his fingers brushing over your clit piercing, sending a spark of pleasure through you, “or that fucking clit piercing. Only I will.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a wave of arousal through you, and you bit your lip, already dripping with need. His words were enough to make your body pulse with desire, but you had no time to react before his mouth was on you.

He wasted no time, his lips pressing against your core, tongue darting out to taste you. The moment his tongue flicked over your clit, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through your body. He worked you with expert precision, alternating between long, slow licks and fast, teasing flicks of his tongue over your piercing. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every second.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer as you bucked your hips against his face. “Oh fuck, daddy,” you moaned without thinking, and the moment the word left your lips, he groaned into your pussy.

His tongue worked even faster, and he pulled back just long enough to look up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal. “You little slut,” he growled, eyes dark with lust. “Calling me daddy, making a stranger eat your pussy? You like that, don’t you?”

You whimpered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. “Yes, oh, fuck, yes,” you panted, not even caring how desperate you sounded.

He grinned, the smug look on his face making your heart race. “Good girl,” he purred, before diving back in. His tongue circled your clit relentlessly, and your moans grew louder as you felt the pressure building inside you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved, and all you could do was writhe beneath him, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Fuck, daddy, m’ so close,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper.

He growled again, and the vibrations sent you over the edge. With one final flick of his tongue, the tension snapped, and you came undone beneath him, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

“Cum for me, baby,” Nicholas whispered against your pussy, and you cried out as your orgasm rippled through you, your thighs shaking as he worked you through it.

As your breathing slowly evened out, he pulled back, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I told you… only I get to see that,” he murmured, his voice full of possessive satisfaction.

You lay there, panting, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. But even in your blissed-out state, you managed to smirk up at him.

“Maybe, daddy,” you teased, “if you’re lucky.”

Nicholas smirked at you, eyes dark with lust. “Oh, if I’m lucky?” he echoed, his voice dripping with dominance. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “If I’m fucking lucky? No, I said no one else gets to see you like this.”

His hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, ruin every other man for you,” he growled. “Ruin you for every other man.”

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper as his eyes raked over you. “I’d let you suck my cock like the whore you are, make you swallow every drop of my cum, have it simmer inside you,” His fingers lightly brushed over your trembling body. “But I need that sexy little pussy first.”

You watched as he reached to grab a condom, but you quickly stopped him, breathless. “I’m on the pill,” you whispered, biting your lip. His reaction was immediate.

His grin widened, eyes gleaming with excitement as he tossed the condom aside. “Fuck yes,” he growled, and before you could react, his hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing too hard, but enough to make your pulse race. He dragged his tongue up the side of your face, groaning like a man possessed. “I’m gonna fuck you raw, baby. You’re mine.”

You shivered as he positioned himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes widened when you looked down, suddenly realizing just how big he was. You hesitated, a flicker of nervousness crossing your face. He noticed and paused, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle against yours. “It’ll fit, baby,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I’ll take care of you.”

Before you could respond, he thrust the tip inside you, and the feeling had your back arching instantly, a loud scream escaping your lips. The stretch was overwhelming, filling you in ways you hadn’t imagined.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothed, his voice deep and husky as he kissed along your neck. “It’s okay, you can take daddy’s cock. Be a good slut and take it for me.”

You nodded quickly, your breath shaky as your legs trembled. His hands gripped your thighs, pinning your legs behind your head, spreading you wide for him. The position gave him deeper access, and you gasped as he slid further inside, filling you completely. His cock throbbed inside you, every inch making you feel deliciously full.

He didn’t stop there. With a low groan, he started to move, thrusting deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. His hand moved down between your legs, fingers expertly rubbing your clit, the piercing catching the pads of his fingers. The combination of his cock and the relentless stimulation of your clit was almost too much.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, his hips moving faster. “This pussy was made for me, only me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this.”

You moaned loudly, your body trembling beneath him as the pressure built inside you. “Daddy!” you gasped, your hands gripping his arms tightly.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his thumb brushing over your piercing again, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Cum for me. Be a good slut and cum for daddy.”

Your legs shook violently, and you felt the tight knot in your core finally unravel. With a loud cry, you came hard around his cock, your pussy clenching tight as waves of pleasure washed over you. He groaned loudly, thrusting deeper into you, riding out your orgasm as you trembled beneath him.

“Good girl,” he muttered, watching your body convulse from pleasure, his fingers still teasing your oversensitive clit. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Nicholas kissed your neck again, his lips trailing down your skin, sending shivers all over. Without warning, he lifted you properly, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. With one powerful thrust, he slammed you onto his thick cock, the sudden stretch making you gasp loudly.

“Oh my god,” you moaned breathlessly.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your ear. “Not God, baby. Me,” he growled, gripping you tighter. “Your daddy. I’m the one fucking this pussy. My pussy.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer, as he held you there, trembling. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you out, filling you to the brim. Slowly at first, he started moving, lifting you up and slamming you back down on his cock. Every powerful thrust made your body jolt, your voice growing louder with each movement.

“Daddy,” you screamed, grinding against him, desperate for more. His thrusts grew faster, more intense, and you felt yourself nearing that familiar edge, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“Fuck, yes, grind on me, baby,” he panted, slamming you harder onto his cock. Your body responded, and before you could even speak, the pressure inside you erupted. You screamed, your entire body shaking as you squirted all over him, your juices splashing down his abs and dripping down his legs.

He groaned in pleasure, looking down at you with a grin. “Such a good girl,” he rasped. “Such a dirty little slut, squirting from a stranger fucking you.”

Your breath was still shaky, but he wasn’t done. He placed you down on the bed, but before you could even arch your back, he grabbed your legs. Your body hovered off the bed, only your upper half resting against the mattress, and he positioned himself behind you. Without hesitation, he thrust deep inside, slamming into you relentlessly.

You screamed in pleasure, feeling him reach so deep inside you, your moans echoing through the room. “Does daddy’s dick feel good?” he growled, slapping your ass roughly, his grip on your hips tight.

“Yes, daddy! Fuck me harder,” you begged, your voice barely coherent through the pleasure.

He responded with even deeper, rougher thrusts, his cock hitting all the right spots. You moaned louder, overwhelmed by the intense sensation, your body rocking with each thrust. When he slapped your ass again, you couldn’t hold back, and your body exploded once more, creaming all over his cock as another orgasm tore through you.

He groaned, his pace faltering as he followed right behind you, his thrusts becoming erratic. You felt the warmth of his cum filling you up, spilling deep inside, making you tremble in pleasure as your body relaxed.

Nicholas collapsed onto the bed, pulling you on top of him, your bodies still connected as he cockwarmed you. His hands gently cupped your tear-streaked cheeks, his lips brushing over them. “You did so good, baby,” he whispered, his voice soft now. “You’re so beautiful.”

You let out a soft hum, snuggling into his chest, feeling completely blissed out. He shifted, smiling. “I should clean you up,” he offered, his hand brushing gently over your back.

You shook your head, sighing contently. “I just want to cuddle.”

He laughed softly, pulling you closer. “Alright, baby. But we’re getting up early,” he said with a smile, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “I want to do this right. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through your chest, the perfect end to a wild night. You soon drifted off in his arms but not before snapping the picture your sister asked for. You had to turn on DND to silence the frantic messages she sent as soon as she saw the picture.