#father reader

[theamberfist]

The Common Enemy | Dad Alastor

Familial! Alastor is Reader's Adopted Dad from life

Description: When you bring home your new partner (platonic or romantic), neither your dad, nor your son are enthusiastic about it. So for the evening, they decide to put their hatred for each other aside and unite against their common enemy.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder, death, violence) (manipulation) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's adopted child) (Reader is an adult) (Reader has an adopted son)

❀ This oneshot is based on the I'm a Grandpa! Headcannons I wrote a bit ago. I recommend reading them before this but you don't have to! ❀

❀ Reader has a partner in this; they are written as gender neutral and can be platonic or romantic! ❀

Words: 6,497

Alastor never thought he and Amon would ever agree on anything; aside from the fact that they hated each other, of course.

The young boy had been a complete nuisance to him since the day they'd met, but because you seemed to love him so much, he'd had to constantly play nice with the child and act like the doting 'grandfather' you expected him to be.

How he hated being called that. 

The Radio Demon himself had adopted you when you were very young. He'd had his own reasons at the time (mainly entertainment value and the avoidance of suspicion being a single dad would bring him), but he'd always been an attentive and loving father to you, despite being a cannibal serial killer underneath it all.

Since you'd grown after his death, it seemed you'd chosen to follow in his footsteps and take in a child of your own; a choice he wished he could have prevented you from making. Not only that, but you seemed to expect Alastor to love the boy! 

Amon was a disaster of a child. Where you had been well-behaved, kind, and polite, he growled at people like a feral cat and only ever answered to you. But on top of that, he hid his more violent tendencies so you'd think he was a better-behaved kid than he actually was; masking it all behind a sweet smile and a deep love for his parent.

It almost reminded Alastor of himself when he was younger, which was what he hated about it. 

There was no room in the Radio Demon's heart (if he had one) for anything but his love for his child, entertainment, and the radio itself; and it seemed Amon felt much the same way about his parent as well.

Which meant the two of them were constantly competing for your attention, whether you knew it or not. Sometimes you would be tending to Amon; making him food or supervising him as he played or tucking him into bed, and your father would suddenly barge into the room claiming he had 'urgent news' or that whatever he needed your help with simply could not wait another second as he pulled you away from your son; not forgetting to smirk triumphantly at the child from behind your back as the two of you left.

Conversely, there had been plenty of times where you'd been enjoying tea with Alastor, listening to his radio broadcast, or exchanging gossip, and Amon had come running into the room claiming to be gravely injured and in need of your help, or that he'd had a nightmare or something else had occurred that needed your attention. Seeing that evil smirk reflected back at him by the child as the two of you would leave hand-in-hand always made Alastor grit his teeth.

More recently, though, a third party had surfaced that was now beginning to demand your attention more often than not; putting both grandfather and grandson on edge. 

You had gotten a partner. Alastor wasn't sure when it had happened, considering he made it his job to oversee most of what you did in hell, even if he wasn't technically present (the power to manipulate shadows while remaining mostly undetected only seemed to become more useful now that his child was in hell with him). He wasn't able to get any answers out of Amon either, as expected, but it seemed that the boy was just as confused as him about how this could have occurred. 

Nevertheless, you had a partner now. You'd broken the news to them both at dinner one night, not even realizing how the news sent them both silently spiraling in their seats. 

Your father had pretended to be mostly unbothered, asking when that had happened. You'd explained that it was new; that you and your partner had only decided to call one another that recently after having hung out a few times. Amon seemed to choke on his food at that and you gently patted his back as Alastor nodded, calmly congratulating you while being sincere about none of it. 

And now, a day later, you would be bringing your partner to dinner to meet the 'two most important people in your life.' Alastor also despised being called that. As your father; the very man that had raised you, shouldn't he have been the most important person in your life? It shouldn't have mattered that you'd now taken in this...parasite!

At present, both he and Amon stood in the living room of the home you all shared, waiting for you to come through the doors with your new partner. Based on the boy's tense muscles, Alastor gathered he hadn't been put in this situation before, meaning this was, indeed, the first serious partner you'd had. 

And, with any luck, they would also be the last. 

Neither of them seemed willing to take a seat as they waited, remaining with their eyes fixed on the door. Alastor knew you were about a block away from the house right now thanks to his shadows, but as for the kind of person you'd be bringing home, he would have to wait until you arrived to find out. 

He glanced at Amon again, who had gotten himself dressed up and presentable for dinner on his own. When asked, though, Alastor would of course claim he'd helped the boy like he was supposed to have done. Thankfully, your son looked much more presentable than he had the day Alastor met him. 

The Radio Demon silently sighed as he recalled how you and him had reunited in hell. After so long apart, it would have been a completely lovely moment, had the child not been there to ruin it. 

..........

You and Amon had been walking down one of hell's many streets. Apparently, he wasn't very enthusiastic to meet whoever you'd been looking for because he dragged behind you slightly as he walked. Still, he remained silent and didn't complain so you let him get away with it; glancing back every few seconds to make sure he was still alright and following behind you, not that the kid would ever have dreamed of allowing himself to get separated from his parent. 

At the time, Alastor had already managed to locate you through one of his shadows, and with the knowledge that you really were in hell now, had begun casually making his way in your direction as if he, too, was on a simple stroll. 

That was when he'd finally gotten within your earshot and, knowing you would recognize his voice, turned to the nearest demon to ask them for directions he didn't actually need. 

The second you heard him speak, you'd recognized him as your papa from when you were alive and had nearly teared up as you gazed at him. In turn, the Radio Demon's eyes had landed on you as his smile softened into something more genuine. 

"Papa...?" You called, stopping in your tracks. Amon stopped too but kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to interact with whoever you were talking to. He was content just to trail after his parent like a lost puppy and prevent any harm from coming to them with his own hellish powers, it seemed. 

Immediately, Alastor had appeared beside you and pulled you into a hug as you finally let the tears spill out of your eyes. "Finally, my little one, I've found you." He said softly as you leaned into the hug. Just like when you were alive, it seemed you were the only person the Radio Demon was so comfortable touching, and he held you close to him as he took in the fact that he really did have his child back after all this time. "How I've missed you..."

The moment was promptly interrupted, though, when he noticed the little boy standing directly behind you. Upon noticing his sudden silence, Amon had looked up to meet Alastor's eyes. Not only that, but he'd glared as if the Radio Demon had done something wrong by hugging his own child (Of course, Alastor didn't deny that he had done plenty of wrong things but this was certainly not one of them).

Seeing Amon like that immediately made rage bubble within the overlord and without a second thought, he'd created a tentacle that appeared from the ground and grabbed the little boy, pulling him away from you.

A random child following his own kid around had to have bad intentions, after all, so in his mind, he'd been protecting you.

You, of course, realized what was happening almost immediately and called out to Alastor. "Dad!" You shouted as you pulled away from the Radio Demon and turned back to your child, who was currently dangling upside down in the clutches of a black tentacle-thing. Amon, however, seemed less than concerned as he swung over the ground, simply snapping his fingers to create a black hole behind the two of you. It started sucking in everything nearby, aside from you, and Alastor's smile seemed to only get angrier as he was slowly pulled further and further from you now.

"Amon, what did I tell you about using your power in public?" You said as you placed both hands on your hips and turned back to the boy. The black tentacle holding him only seemed to tighten its grip now though; as if trying to squeeze the life out of him. Behind you, Alastor was having to grip a crack in the sidewalk to keep form being sucked into your son's pit of death, which only made his own power that much more violent as Amon was raised higher in the air; probably to then be dropped back to the ground again.

"Dad!" You called, but it fell on deaf ears, "Amon!" Neither one of them made another move or even looked at you and finally, your patience began to wear thin. Taking a step between the two of them so your body now blocked their views of one another, you put out both your hands. "Both of you; cut it out!" Your voice boomed and this time it was finally enough to make them both stop; freezing as their powers ceased. Amon fell to the floor now that there was no tentacle holding him up but was relatively unharmed. You sighed in exasperation.

Gesturing for your son to come over and stand by your side- which he promptly did- you turned back to the Radio Demon. "Dad," you spoke in a calmer tone now, "This is Amon; I adopted him when I was still alive." Alastor's eyes widened at that but you just turned back to the little boy.

"Amon, this is your grandpa." 

"This is the guy you told me about?" The kid asked with a tone of slight disgust. At the moment, Alastor's own disdain wasn't being hidden very well either and you sighed.

"Yes; we're all family now." You made a point to look at your dad as you said that; who rolled his eyes but didn't protest. He was aware a good few years had passed since his death, and that you'd been left all alone since then, but a part of him had always hoped he'd never have to deal with you bringing in...extra family members like this. What was next; a pet dog? A spouse? 

"We've been looking for you since we got down here," you went on to explain to the red deer-like demon, "I wanted you to get to meet your grandson." Internally, you'd hoped this meeting would have gone better than it did. After all, you'd always hoped for your dad to be proud of you; especially when it came to things as big as this. Alastor, noticing this, did his best to hide how much he hated the situation.

"I see," he said with a sigh before finally turning to Amon, who still stood by your side. Bending down, the Radio Demon held a hand out to the child. "Then I suppose it is a pleasure to meet you...child." He trailed off as Amon took his hand and shook it; his grip more firm than that of most adults. Neither of them enjoyed the physical contact with one another but so long as you were watching, they had to play along. 

Alastor stood up straight now, turning his back to you so you wouldn't see how he immediately wiped his hand on his jacket. It was at times like this when he missed the days where he used to carry a pack of wet wipes for sanitation, like when you were little. 

"Now, I suppose since you both are new, you haven't seen much of what hell has to offer!" He exclaimed, immediately putting on a cheerful attitude that made Amon's glare worsen, "Allow me to give you a personal tour!" You smiled at that, placing a hand on your son's shoulder. Of course, there were many things you and your father would have to discuss now that you'd been reunited, but for now, you just wanted to enjoy being able to be around him again after having lost that in life. 

"We would love that, dad." Amon had to disagree, but he kept quiet about it, nonetheless. Alastor's grin widened and he immediately took you by the arm, ignoring how the young boy immediately moved around to walk on your other side.

And thus began a feud between grandfather and grandson.

..........

The door to your home opened now and both Alastor and Amon stiffened as you entered, followed by a sinner neither of them recognized. They looked nervous but your smile only widened as you shut the front door behind the two of you. 

"And here they are!" You exclaimed with pride as you gestured to Alastor, then Amon.

"This is my dad and this is my son, Amon." You smiled brightly. The other sin waved awkwardly as the Radio Demon's head tilted in both intrigue and disgust. Amon crossed his arms but gave them a curt nod.

"N-nice to meet you both!" Your partner squeaked as you attempted to ignore the obvious fear in their voice. Of course, you briefed them about your family. Amon, as a sinner child with some extraordinary powers, could be quite intimidating, and Alastor was the feared Radio Demon himself. You'd made sure your partner knew what they were getting into beforehand, but nothing could have prepared them for quite how scary this moment would be. 

"Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Alastor spoke, though his supposed enthusiasm didn't match his tone at all as he did so. The sinner beside you nodded and then Amon spoke up.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance!" He said, displaying all the manners you'd instilled in him over the years. Your smile widened, feeling slightly reassured by their welcomes. Though, you could still sense the growing tension in the air. Deciding not to let it fester, you turned to your partner.

"I still need to finish up making dinner; want to help me?" You asked. They nodded almost too eagerly, wanting nothing more than to be away from the rest of your family. Your dad's eyes narrowed at that.

"Need I remind you, dear, that I am hardly unequipped when it comes to the kitchen?" Alastor called as you began making your way to the door, followed by your partner. "I am more than happy to offer my assistance!"

"Or I can help!" Amon said, eager to prove himself as the more helpful one of the two. 

"That's okay!" You told them with a kind smile, "I think we've got it handled. Why don't you two set the table and we'll meet you in the dining room in a few minutes?" Your partner looked beyond relieved at that, wanting a few minutes alone with you to discuss whether this night really was a good idea. Neither Amon, nor Alastor seemed enthusiastic about their assigned task but they didn't protest either; letting you head off into the kitchen and closing the door behind you. 

Once you were gone, Alastor snapped his fingers, summoning a few of his shadow creatures that then ran off to set the dining room table like you'd requested. Amon ignored his antics, heading for the room himself, but with no intention of actually doing the chore you'd assigned. It wasn't lost on him how the shadow creature set every place at the table beside his own so he got to work preparing his own spot. That way, it wouldn't look like he'd been slacking. 

Alastor came into the dining room too, but rather than helping out at all, he simply pressed his ear to the wall connected to the kitchen in the hopes of hearing your conversation with your partner. Sure, he could have sent a shadow in to listen to you, but then there would be too much risk of you noticing it and getting mad at him; something he would have preferred to prevent right now. 

Once Amon's place at the table had been set, he went over to the opposite corner of the same wall and pressed his ear to it as well.

Not much could be heard from the kitchen, aside form your occasional laughter and light chatter with the sinner you now seemed so fond of. It made the Radio Demon's blood boil just hearing it, and judging by the clear glare on your son's face, Amon was no fan either. 

"Why do they even need him?" He asked as he crossed his arms and stepped away from the wall now. "We don't need any more surprise family members." It wasn't lost on Alastor how the child glanced his way while stating the last part.

However, having confirmation of the child's dislike toward your partner did give him an idea.

"I couldn't agree more," he replied, sending a look at Amon, whose glare only deepened, "I suppose all we can do, however, is wait and hope they eventually break things off with one another." He gave a shrug before inspecting his nails in disappointment. Just as he'd hoped, that sentence was enough to plant the seed of an idea in your son's head.

"Or speed up the process." Amon said with a mischievous grin now. The Radio Demon made a show of raising his eyebrow at that.

"Why, are you suggesting we break them up ourselves? A scheme, perhaps?" He asked with fake surprise in his tone. Amon just nodded. Alastor pretended to pause for a moment, letting the boy continue.

"I don't like you," he admitted, "And I don't like having a grandpa now, but I like them even less." He tilted his head toward the kitchen, referring to your partner. "So I think we should call a truce; just long enough to get rid of them." Alastor's smile only widened. It seemed this boy really was like a younger version of himself, and right now, he was thankful for that.

"I suppose that would solve both of our problems," he admitted with a hum, "And for the record, I do not enjoy having a grandson now, either." There was another pause before he finally brought to light the question he'd been wanting to ask this whole time. "Alright, then how about we make a deal?" Green smoke appeared on his hand and Amon shielded his eyes form its bright light. 

"I'm not supposed to make deals with anyone," he said carefully, glancing at the wall of the kitchen, where you were. Alastor supposed that, after having that rule drilled into you by him upon reaching hell, you'd passed it down to your son, too. 

"This wouldn't be a deal for your soul," he clarified, "More like an...Agreement. You and I work together to break up their relationship tonight, and the obligation ends there. The catch is that you must be willing to work with me until then, dear grandson." The term of endearment felt more insulting to Amon than anything, but after a moment, he nodded, taking the hand of his grandfather reluctantly. 

"Alright." He replied, and with that, the deal was (quietly) made.

..........

After what felt like an eternity, you and your partner came out of the kitchen, bringing the food you'd prepared into the dining room, where you set it on the table. 

"We saved you a seat!" Amon exclaimed happily, pointing to the chair beside him. There were plenty of spaces at the table, so it wasn't as if he needed to do so, but you did as he said in order to please him anyway. The way they'd set it up, you sat between your son and your father with your partner directly across from you as if they were being interrogated. They chuckled awkwardly upon realizing this but didn't bring it up.

You started passing around the food, allowing your family members to take whatever they wanted and helping Amon serve himself as needed. Meanwhile, the glances exchanged between Alastor and the little boy went unnoticed by you.

"So, what is it you do, my esteemed fellow?" Alastor asked your partner, though his tone held anything but genuine curiosity. They gulped.

"W-well..." They began as you nodded encouragingly, "...I work in technology." That gave the Radio Demon pause and there was a slight static noise before he replied.

"I see." He said, "And what sort of technology do you work with, then?"

"M-mostly television," your partner admitted carefully, "I work for Channel 666, specifically." You could sense the growing tension at that; your dad had never exactly been fond of television. You'd grown accustomed to it, though, especially because Amon had always loved it. Turning to him, you expected a more positive reaction, but instead were met with an unamused ten-year-old. 

"Sounds boring." He said and you nearly choked on your food. The Amon you knew would never have thought that; had something happened to your kid?

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, aside from your occasional contributions. Alastor was more than happy to divulge memories between you and him as he'd raised you, and Amon was always glad to talk about how much he loved his parent, but the second you tried to bring your partner into the conversation, they both promptly shut down.

It was very awkward.

Finally, everyone finished their food and Amon turned to you with an eager expression; as if he'd just remembered something very important. 

"(Preferred Parent Name), remember that drawing I was working on earlier?" He asked as politely as possible as Alastor stared from behind your back. 

"Yes, is it done already?" You asked, excited to see the final result of the project he'd been nurturing for several days already. The boy shook his head but pushed his chair back.

"No," he admitted, "But could you please come pose for it? I need the reference if I'm going to draw you, too!" He was already standing and taking your plate off the table, as well as his own. He deliberately ignored both Alastor and your partner's dishes as he awaited your response. 

"Of course, sweetheart," you grinned, ruffling his hair as you pushed your own chair back and went to stand up, "Maybe we can all come see-" Before you finish your sentence, Amon interrupted.

"No!" He nearly shouted. Behind you, Alastor's smile tightened in a way that told the child to watch his tone when speaking to you. "I...Don't want anyone to see the unfished drawing but you." Amon said, gently taking your hand now. "Please? I promise it won't take long!" 

You still seemed unsure, turning back to your partner, who was shaking their head urgently in the hopes it would prevent you from leaving them all alone with the Radio Demon. Unfortunately for them, though, your dad piped up before they could.

"Why not humor the boy, dear?" He asked with the soft, genuine smile he only ever extended towards you, "After all, I assure you I'm perfectly capable of entertaining our guest in the meantime!" He practically spat the word out but you didn't seem to notice as Amon continued tugging on your hand.

"Alright, alright," you told your son with a chuckle before glancing back at the terrified sinner, "I'll be right back!" You assured them, and then with that you finally disappeared into Amon's room.

Now left alone with your dad, your partner turned to face Alastor again, only to see the Radio Demon already staring them down with a sinister smile. His eyes had turned into radio dials that seemed to be glowing in the now dimly-lit room. 

"Now that we're alone," Alastor spoke as radio static began seeping into his tone, "I believe there is something we must discuss." 

The sinner jumped out of their chair and scrambled back as Alastor seemed to grow, climbing over the table towards them. Black tentacles started growing out of his back and there was a green glow wherever his overlord powers persisted. 

"P-please, I've done nothing wrong!" They tried to shout, only to be silenced as one of the tentacles grabbed them and squeezed around their body. Alastor was towering over them now as he stared into their eyes with his own. 

"What you've done is get involved with a family in which you do not belong." He snarled. His antlers, which had previously been small, had grown off his head now and tapped against the ceiling with how tall he was. "So, if you value your life, here's what you're going to do..."

Before the Radio Demon could finish, though, the sound of a door opening nearby caught his attention and in an instant he'd reverted back to normal, standing over your partner as their shaking body collapsed on the ground. They gasped for breath; unable to take their eyes off him for fear he would kill them if they did. 

"My dear!" Alastor called as he noticed you now coming back from Amon's room, followed by the young boy, "Finished his drawing already, has he?"

"Only the sketch," the child replied calmly. A whole conversation was exchanged between the two of them through their eyes, with the Radio Demon questioning why they hadn't been gone longer and Amon seeming having been unable to keep you distracted much more. "But it will be enough for me to work with when I feel more inspired." 

You glanced at your partner, who was still laying on the floor, and raised an eyebrow. Seeing the realization begin to appear in your eyes, Alastor promptly spoke. "I was just helping this fine fellow off the floor!" He explained as he extended his cane towards the sinner now, "It seems they are quite clumsy." He stared into your partner's eyes, daring them to say anything other than an agreement. Luckily, they seemed to get the message. 

"Thank you..." They managed as they grabbed ahold of the end of your father's cane and allowed him to pull them off the ground. He nodded in response. 

"Well, I'm glad you two are getting along..." You replied, though you were clearly suspicious. You weren't an idiot; you knew how your father was. And though you hoped he would have gotten over some of his overprotective tendencies since you were an adult (and a parent) yourself now, you wouldn't have put it past him to be plotting something.

Before you could think much more about it, though, Alastor spoke up again. 

"While we're on the topic," he began, bringing up a topic you certainly had not been on, "I wanted to show you where I decided to hang that painting; the one you so generously gifted me last week!" He didn't even need to fake an enthusiastic tone at the memory; after all, his own child had gone out of their way to buy him such a nice piece of artwork simply because they'd thought he would like it! He was touched.

"Oh," you said, remembering that he'd mentioned wanting to find a place to hang it up, "I'm sure wherever you picked is great, dad." You glanced at your partner again and Alastor could tell you didn't want to leave them alone a second time, but he wasn't about to back down either. 

"Why, thank you, dear, but this is your home too! I want to make sure you appreciate my interior decoration skills as much as I do!" He exclaimed, "It had slipped my mind before, but now that I recall, it simply cannot wait!" He started heading for the hallway again, gently taking you by the arm. You sighed but didn't protest. 

"Alright." You said before looking back to your partner and son, "Amon, be nice, okay? I'll be right back!" And with that, you disappeared once again. 

Your partner sighed in slight relief. Though they could tell your son didn't like them any more than your dad did, he at least seemed less dangerous than the Radio Demon, they thought.

The boy's immediate glare told them they'd likely thought wrong, though, and he snapped his fingers, immediately creating a black hole behind them that began sucking nothing in except the sinner themselves. A targeted black hole, one could call it. 

"I don't like you." The child told your partner, "I'll make your death look like an accident." He was, of course, very good at doing so. He'd hidden almost all his violent tendencies from you for years, after all, and he wasn't about to let his dear parent find out he would be behind this, either. 

You would definitely ground him for life if you did.

"Please, Amon!" The sinner cried as they held onto the carpet for dear life, "Just tell me what you want! I could be the best second parent you could ask for!" The boy's expression darkened at that and the black hole seemed to only get stronger. 

"I don't want another parent!" He shouted, glad Alastor was using his powers to prevent you from hearing any of this from the other room, "The one I have is perfect! I don't need grandpa, and I don't need you!" His power's increased strength was enough to finally break your partner's grip on the carpet now and they went flying back towards the black hole.

Just before they were engulfed, though, the hallway door opened once again and Amon was forced to make his powers disperse in order to prevent you from seeing the scene. 

"(Preferred Parent Name)," He said with a smile as he turned to you, "How was Grandfather's painting placement?" Alastor's eyes narrowed at the title but he said nothing as he followed you into the room. Unfortunately, he could only make the viewing of a painting take so long, and you two had been back before he'd wished it. 

"Perfect, as expected." You grinned back, then noticed your partner on the floor, "Did you fall again?" 

They were still shaking slightly but they gulped at the sight of Amon's dark glare. "They seem to lack spatial awareness tonight," the boy said with a shrug before stepping forward and offering his hand to the sinner. "Here, please let me help you up." Since his back was turned to you, your son smiled evilly down at your partner and they couldn't bring themselves to accept his offer, even if it would upset you.

Pushing themselves off the floor on their own, they drew in a breath and then turned to you. "Can we talk in private?" Your eyebrows raised at that but you nodded, gesturing for them to follow you into the hallway. They did so, scurrying after you as they eyed Alastor cautiously.

Once the two of you had disappeared, the Radio Demon turned to Amon with a satisfied smile, both of them knowing exactly what this would be about. 

"What is it?" You asked your partner with concern. They took a deep breath, remembering that you'd warned them your family could be eccentric. They'd been prepared for some weirdness but hadn't expected anything like this. 

"I don't think I can do this," they admitted, your face immediately falling at the words. "I can't get along with your family."

"You promised you'd try," you said, feeling very dejected, "I told you who my dad was and you said it didn't matter!"

"That was at the beginning of our relationship!"

"So?" You asked.

"So, I didn't plan for us to be this serious!" Your partner finally replied, "I didn't think I'd end up having to meet your family!" You froze at that. Meanwhile, Alastor and Amon, who had their ears pressed to the hallway door, both exchanged angry glances at the idea of anyone daring speak to you like that. 

"You told me you wanted us to be permanent," you said in as calm a tone as you could manage.

"I do," your partner replied, gently taking both your hands in their own.

"Then...Can you please try to get along with them?" You asked, "They both mean the world to me." Your partner sighed. They'd known this about you since before you two got into a relationship. Your family was too important for you to ever brush them aside, and if they couldn't make that relationship work, they knew there was little chance their relationship with you would either.

"Fine." They said finally, "I'll try." After all, you would be with them for the rest of the evening, wouldn't you? It wasn't like your dad or son would have another chance to try and kill them with you present. 

Outside, Alastor and Amon's smiles both widened creepily. Had your partner simply told you what they'd done, they knew you would have believed it. After all, they had less than perfect reputations when it came to violence. But since they'd chosen to keep quiet about all that, it seemed the game was still on. 

"Thank you." You smiled, pulling the sinner into a warm hug. They took it in for a moment and then you pulled away. "I'm going to go to the restroom, so please try to at least talk to them while I'm gone?"

The second you said that, your partner's face fell. They were so dead. You didn't seem to notice the fear that appeared on their face as you turned and headed for the restroom. They gulped, debating whether to heed your request and face the family members again or stay right here where it was assumably safe until you returned. 

Their choice seemed to be made for them, though, when the door to the hallway slid open and an inky black tentacle moved toward them. They wanted to scream, but before they could, it grabbed them and squeezed once again, dragging them back into the living room where it closed the hallway door behind it. 

There, both Alastor and Amon stood with sinister smiles as they watched the tentacle hold your partner up. Amon snapped his fingers again and another black hole appeared; this time directly below where the sinner was dangling. They let out a cry of fear, only for it to be cut off by the pressure of the black tentacle. 

"We tried to warn you to get lost." Amon said as he crossed his arms in supposed disapproval, "Now you have to pay for it."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Alastor added as his eyes became radio dials once again. With that, the tentacle let go of your partner and they were dropped into the black hole. They screamed as the bottom half of their body was enveloped by it and they were about to fall all the way through when the door to the hallway opened once again and everything returned to normal with your partner panting on the floor. 

"(Preferred Parent name)!" Amon called as he ran over and hugged you for no apparent reason. You smiled and wrapped your arms around him before looking up at Alastor and your partner. 

"Everything alright?" You asked. The Radio Demon was about to reply but the sinner spoke before he could get the chance. 

"No!" They shouted, "Everything is most certainly not alright!" They stood from where they'd been laying on the ground; still panting heavily. "I can't take it anymore! I've been nothing but cordial to these...Monsters! And they still hate me! I'm done!" They stomped towards the front door as your eyes widened.

Again, Alastor felt they'd missed the big point of him and your son having tried to kill them but it only worked in favor of his plan so he supposed he could let that slide. 

"What do you mean?" You asked, following after your partner as you let go of Amon. 

"We're done!" They finally shouted, turning back to you, "Don't contact me again; all of you are insane!" They gestured to the three of you before turning and slamming the front door behind them. You froze for a few seconds as they left.

After a moment, though, the tears you'd felt coming on finally fell and you sunk to your knees. Immediately seeing their opportunity, Alastor and Amon moved in to hug you; one of them on either of your sides. 

"It's okay, (Preferred Parent Name)," the little boy comforted as he leaned into your right shoulder, "They seemed like a meanie anyway!" You chuckled through your sobs at that. Leave it to your kid to always notice those red flags before you did.

"The boy is right, darling," Alastor added, "And you still have your family here to support you! When you feel a bit better, I'll make your favorite recipe, hm?" You sniffled at that before nodding. 

"Thanks, dad." You said softly as you leaned into your father's embrace. Amon leaned into yours too and you held him in a similar way to how you would a giant stuffed animal. "You two are the best...I guess that's why you're my two favorites, huh?"

For once, neither of them felt anger at having to share that title. You closed your eyes as you wiped some of the tears form your cheeks and Amon exchanged a glance with the Radio Demon, who seemed surprisingly content. Like before, no words were needed between them to convey what they wanted to say, and after a minute, Alastor nodded down at the boy approvingly.

It would likely be the last time he ever did so, and soon they would go back to their usual dynamic, but at least for tonight, you'd managed to bring the two of them together. It seemed having a grandson wasn't the worst thing; Alastor realized.

If nothing else, the little boy had proved himself quite useful in the face of a challenge like today, and he could appreciate that.

He still hated being called 'grandpa,' though. 

[reticent-writer]

CouldI was looking at your other account and I liked the headcanons of the father figure(kny)and I wanted to ask for one. the father who is someone more sentimental but his face is stoic. It's like you see him from afar and you feel that he's rude until you talk to him and he talks to you very happy and with a big smile. Thank u for this

An: for the fathers I go with their occupation from other fics.

Mitsuri's ff is a Baker. Giyuu and Rengoku's is a retired hashira. Shinobu's is a doctor. Obanai, muichirou, sanemi and tengen are people from their past.

Some of them takes place during the training arc

Demon slayer masterlist

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Tengen thinks that your intimidating aura is flashy

Makio is similar to Tengen but she wised you had the attitude to match your face

Suma makes you laugh a lot and doesn't understand how anyone can even think you could be rude

Hina thinks you're the sweetest man she's met

Hashira training is harsh and Tengen was working the young slayers to the bone. You were helping Hina, Makio and Suma cook/distribute the food.

As you made your way around passing out food, the chatter died down. You didn't notice but what you did notice was Tanjiro talking in a group.

His eyes beamed when they met yours. You walked over making the boys shiver away from you.

"L/n is nice to see you again."

"You to Tanjiro." You gave him a soft smile, "Would you like some more."

"Yes, please." He offered his bowl.

"Y/n yours supposed to be working not talking." Tengen called out to you. You ignored him and turned to the trainies aroudn you.

"Did you boys eat your fill?"

They all nodded and you said your goodbyes. as you were walking away you heard the boys quietly bumbard Tanjiro with questions.

"How are you not scared of him?

"You talk so causally with him, I'm jelous."

"How'd you get him to smile?"

You laughed to yourself.

--------------------------

I can see Kyojuro practicing smiling with you so that, in his words, it becomes natural

Ubuyashiki jokes about you getting your unfriendly vibes from being around Shinjuro

Senjuro doesn't think you're intimidating but he's bias

You Senjuro and Kyojuro were at the market buying things for dinner. It's always nice to get out of the house every once in a while and the villagers are very kind, especially since the Rengoku family is known slayers.

On this particular outing a group of kids (5 or 6 of them) were playing around the food booths. As Senjuro was picking out ripe fruit you watched as one of the smaller kids stopped playing and went to the closest stand, coincidentally the one you were at, and attempt to grab as much as they could.

You stopped them by grabbing anything and leaned down to their height.

"You and your friends have a nice distraction but stealing isn't okay so how about we pay for this huh." You tried to smile like Kyojuro taught you but it made you the kid cry instead.

You were flushed as you tried to get the kid to calm down, their friends came to see what was the problem but when you turned to them with a helpless expression they cautiously apporached you.

You look at the crying child, "There no need to cry." You turn to the group of kids, "and there's no need to steal. Grab whatever you need and I'll pay for it."

At that you and the group of kids went stall to stall buying enough food for them and their families.

One the walk back to the house.

"I think you handled that well. I mean only one kid cried." Kyojuro patted your back.

"ONLY ONE?"

"Its better than all of them crying right?"Senjuro chimed in.

You sighed, "I guess."

--------------------------

Obanai thinks you have a screw loose

You can act tuff and scary but you're literally a golden retriever

Obanai had just gotten back from eating out with Mitsuri to find you passed out, bleeding from the head while Kakushi fussed over you.

He rushed over to find out what happened but when he saw the look on your face he wanted to walk away.

You had a stupidly wide smile on your face as you held onto a broken tree branch.

"I don't know what happened I went to go make tea when I heard a thud. I'm so sorry Mr. Obanani." They cried but Obanai ignored them.

"What did you do." He questioned.

"I saw that a bird had fallen out of its nest so I put it back but on my way down the branch broke." You confessed still smilling like an idiot.

"Take him to Shinobu." He sighed as he looked up at the tree you fell from to see the mama bird staring back at him.

--------------------------

I honestly find Sanemi to be nice but in a brutally honest mean way ya know?

Genya likes having you around, especially when Sanemi is around

--------------------------

Mui doesn't say much about but he would compare you to a sting-ray

You are pretty to look at and harmless as long as no one hits are one nerve that only he can

"Oh Mui, be nice to them they look exhausted." You said, "Just cause Tanjiro isn't here doesn't mean you can bully them." It was the end of the day and the trainers were washing up.

"Its training, They'll be fine if they're strong enough."

You sighed and patted Mui on the back before checking on the trainees.

"Are you boys okay?"

"We're fine, sir."

"Are you sure?"

It looked like a few of them wanted to say something but they decided to keep their mouth shut.

"Then I guess none of you would like these sweets courtesy of the love hashira." You gestured to a cart full of treats. In an instant, they surrounded the cart and ate their fill.

--------------------------

twins

that's all I have to say

Giyuu was being followed by Tanjiro all day. You were asleep when he burst in your room asking for help.

"Y/n please help me." He shook you awake. You yawn and rolled over, clinging to sleep.

"Good morning, L/n." An enthusiastic voice called from your door causing you to shoot up. Looking over to Giyuu you mouthed 'he's still here' before getting up and opening your door.

"Good morning, forgive me for my appearance I didn't expect you here again." You blocked his view of your room with his body.

"You seem tired, sorry for bothering you."

"Oh, you're never a bother. Here for Giyuu?" You smiled.

"Yeah but I haven't seen him yet."

"Why don't you wait in the front I'm sure He'll show up sooner or later."

"Okay, thank you."

You watched a Tanjiro wobbled to the entrance of the estate. You gently closed your door and turned to giyuu.

"Seriously. You can't just talk to him." Your face dropped.

"He's persistent."

--------------------------

Shinobu likes that fact that your scary because no one has the balls to aruge with you about treatment

Aoi likes when you come to help for the same reason.

"Oto-san, can you help Aoi in the infirmary?" Shinobu said knocking on your door.

Sighing you stopped what you were doing and got presentable.

"Of course, how many slayers are there?"

"Full house."

"What happened to them?" You gasped as the two of you walked to the infirmary.

"Most of them are from Sanemi and Obanai's training."

"I'm gonna strangle those two." You hissed as you opened the door to the infirmary.

Shinobu is scary all by herself but the two of you together is suffocating.

"Good you're here. Please help." Aoi begged. You laughed as you watched the triplets go around with trays of medicine and got to work.

You handled everything with care and precision, Unfortunately, when you were focused you had an RBF. The trainees knew they were in good hands but they couldn't help but feel nervous around you.

As you said goodnight to everyone you smiled and wished them well.

--------------------------

Mitsuri had only seen you mad once and that was when she got her uniform

"Y/N I FOUND A STRAY KITTY." Kanroji burst into your bakery with the kitten wrapped in her haori.

"Aw poor thing." You cooed as you wiped your hands on your apron, then took it off. You carefully took the small thing into your arms and brought it to an empty table in the dining area.

The cat was huffing like a dog. It was overheated.

You quickly got it some water in a dish.

As the day went on, you and Kanroji watched over the cat as it slowly gained the strength to walk again.

"So what are you gonna do with it?" She asked as it purred in your lap.

"I'll keep em." You smiled as your patrons watched the adorable scene, silently waiting for you to take their orders. They wouldn't dare say it tho.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

[lizdive]

GUYS PLEAAASEEEE HEAR ME OUT YOU GUYS DONT GET IT,,,, INSTEAD OF BEING THE YOUNGER SIBLING OR THE CHILD WHY NOT BE THE OLDER SIBLING OR THE PARENT,,, GUYS PLEAAASSSEEEEE 💔💔

I’LL WRITE IT MYSELF IF I MUST BUT PLEAASSSEEE HEAR ME OUT LIKE BEING AVENTURINE’S OLDER SIBLING OR BEING LIKE A PARENT TO UHHH IDK SUNDAY AND ROBIN?? OR LIKE A PARENT TO BOOTHILL

GUYS I SWEAR I AM OKAY NO I AM NOT PLLEAAASEEEEE 💔💔💔

Pls,,,, if anyone has any ideas,,,, drop them to me,,,, i will kiss u,,,, and offer u a ring,,,,, PLS 💔💔

[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.

[moonlightrafe]

Father Charlie Mayhew p.links !!

all links are NSFW twitter porn links!! 18+ MDNI

Car sex

Pussy slapping

Bondage/Orgasm Denial

Tied up

Rough sex

Punishment

Shower sex

Making your ass raw

Fucking you through your panties

Creampie

Anal

Thigh fucking

Eating you out (1)

Eating you out (2)

Titty fuck/cumming on your chest

[cherienymphe]

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 bad habit ¡

pairing nicholas chavez x fem¡reader

summary Nicholas grows a habit of biting you, using every given chance to do it. It starts off platonically, the action playful and teasing, until things eventually took a not so platonic turn, leading to a heated moment between the two of you.

contains nsfw content ! making out, biting, hickeys, and uhh interruptions.

a/n heavily inspired by bad habit!!! likes and reblogs are v much appreciated 🫶

word count 2.2k

It started off on set, when you accidentally made a mistake while filming. You chuckled, apologizing to the director, unaware of the man hovering behind you.

Nicholas’ teeth grazed over your shoulder, the sensation like feathers on your skin. The gesture was so subtle, yet so there, sending shivers down your spine. His breath fanned over your exposed flesh, almost as if he was searching for a reaction out of you.

You brushed it off, thinking Nicholas was being playful; did it for the sake of laughs and giggles, but oh boy, were you wrong. After the incident, it only got worse, with him biting you every chance he gets.

Whether it was your arm, legs, neck, shoulders, stomach, everything he laid his touch on, it was getting marked.

He wasn't afraid to do it, growing amused to the flustered reaction he always got in return. You were guilty for taking an odd liking into it, turning into a mess under his touch whenever he’d bite you.

You didn't dare put an end to it, enjoying it as much as he did. It sparked butterflies in your stomach, mind going blank with every slight touch from him.

Sometimes he would linger, merely to see if it gets a reaction out of you, while other times, it was a passing through, type of thing. Everyone on set knew that by now, smiling and nodding whenever Nicholas did it.

It didn't hurt, in fact, it felt good. The reactions you gave were a mere cover up of your attraction towards it. You felt weak for the ones where he’d kiss the spot afterwards, rubbing a comforting thumb to your skin.

You never knew when to expect it. At times, it would be while you guys were filming, he’d do it because he was embarrassed for messing up his line. While sometimes, it would be in private, when it’s only the two of you.

However, it was strictly platonic. Nicholas made himself clear; sure, he’d flirt with you every now and then, but that was only to mess with you, knowing how easily flustered you were.

That swiftly took a turn, though.

You were currently in Nicholas’ van, practicing your lines for the next scene. The boy made himself comfortable on the couch, admiring as you walked back and forth.

Nick’s giggles erupted through your ears, causing you to perk up. You glimpsed over in his direction, puzzlement washing over your face.

“What?” You questioned, inching closer to the brunet.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, glancing up at you now that you were towering over him.

“Oh.” Your lips formed into a pout, grumbling before returning your attention back to the script. “Okay.”

You moved away, yelping when you got yanked back to your position, impossibly closer now. Your gaze shifted to Nicholas’ arms, observing as he sneaked them around your waist, embracing you in a hug.

“What’s gotten into you?” You snickered, feeling his breath fan over the sliver of skin around your stomach.

“You’re so warm.” He whispered, one of his hands trailing down to your hip.

You tensed, sensing a change in his tone. It was extremely rare for Nicholas to get this clingy, unless he was tired. From what you’ve seen thus far, that was totally not the case.

Nicholas nuzzled into your stomach, a satisfied hum escaping his throat. You snorted, reading over your lines while you let him do his thing.

His fingers toyed with the hem of your top, causing you to freeze in your spot. That was… new. You don't recall him ever doing that, not even when you’re both messing around.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear.

He stuck to humming, letting his fingers trail further underneath your shirt. You almost gasped at the sensation, lips parting to exhale instead. The script in your hand was long forgotten now, as you tossed it on the couch next to Nicholas.

“Nick.” You whispered, hesitating before your hands found their way around his shoulder.

“You know…” he trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head back, merely to catch sight of you. “You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” You replied, teasing visible in your voice. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, his nails digging into your side.

You audibly gasped at the action, the idea of your hips bruising due to Nicholas’ touch driving you over the edge. One of your hands trailed to the back of his neck, the tip of your fingers toying with his hair.

He inched his face closer to your stomach, all that while maintaining eye contact with you. He mouthed at your skin, touch lingering as he waited for a reaction out of you.

Your lips parted with pleasure, jolting when you felt his teeth grazing over your stomach, biting you before you knew it.

There it was, the tingling sensation it striked through your body. You shuddered under his touch, feeling your knees grow weak. A moan escaped your throat when he repeated the action, accidentally tugging his hair in the process.

Nick groaned in response, eyes forcing shut at the sensation. Pleasure fell upon his face, squeezing anything he could lay his hands on.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, littering kisses to your stomach. “Has anyone ever told you how breathtaking you are?”

You moaned at the statement, arching your back into the touch. Nick’s hand trailed down to your ass, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of your shorts.

You forced your eyes shut at the action, unable to control the moan escaping your throat. You were a flustered mess under his touch, wincing whenever he nibbled too hard on your skin.

The thought of getting marked by Nicholas drove you mental, it has your mind hazing up, leaving you wanting more.

“I–” you stammed, hushed words filling the air. “What about filmin’?”

“We have time.” He muttered, pulling you down by your sides.

Your body collided with Nick’s as you fell into his lap. He adjusted your position, making sure you were comfortable in the process. Nicholas groaned in your ear, throwing his head back when you accidently brushed over his crotch.

Your face heated, feeling his hardon through the thin fabric of clothes. You awkwardly hovered over his lap, unaware of your next move.

Fuck, Nicholas was hard, and it was because of you. Your mind went fuzzy all over, head filling with a million questions, yet none at the same time.

Nicholas pushed you down, not hesitating to collide your lips in a kiss. He captured your bottom lip between his teeth, the action seeping tension through the air.

He leisurely pulled back, pulling at your lip with his teeth, nibbling on it before he moved away. Your mouth remained parted, letting your forehead rest against his.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” He whispered, stealing a kiss from the corner of your lips. “Fuck, you're so…”

You couldn't control your hips as you grinded down, a hiss erupting through your ears in the process. You felt Nicholas twitch through his pants, the gesture a great impact on him.

He looked out of it. His eyes hazed up, barely able to hold contact with yours as he fluttered them shut.

“You’re so fucking pretty, doll.” He praised, voice muffled as he peppered kisses along your jaw. “I'm obsessed with you, everythin’ about you drives me mental.”

“Nick.” You said through a breath, voice slightly shaky.

An audible gasp escaped your throat as he slipped a hand underneath your shirt, fingers instantly finding your chest. He gave your boob a squeeze, while he traced open mouthed kisses to the other one through the fabric of your shirt.

You leaned your head back, grinding down as a whine muffled its way out of your mouth. Nick was incredible with his mouth, he knew exactly how to please a woman, and how to make her feral in all the right places.

You felt heat release from your body, the room growing hot with every move you committed to. This was all you’ve ever wanted. You wanted to get a taste of Nicholas so bad, so fucking bad it was starting to get a bit concerning.

And with the whole biting thing? Yeah, that was your last straw.

You yelped when his teeth grazed over your nipple, the action causing goosebumps to breakout across your chest. You attempted to pull away from the touch, quickly interrupted by the hand on your back as it brought you closer, if that was even possible.

The distance between you guys was extinct now, the only thing blocking you being the thin layers of clothes.

“I need you…” Nick groaned, nipping at your skin.

He buried his face in your neck, his heavy breaths the only thing seeping through the silent void. His tone was so suggestive, needy, keen and in need of you. How’s one able to resist when someone as desperate as Nicholas exists?

“I’m all yours.” You licked your lips, cupping Nicholas’ face.

You withdrew his face from your neck, breath hitching when you caught sight of how much of a mess he was. In fact, he might’ve been more affected than you were.

You connected your lips in another kiss, tilting your head to get a better angle of his mouth. A satisfied hum erupted through your ears, causing you to smile through the kiss.

Nicholas toyed with the strap of your top, pushing it down your arm, followed with the other one eventually after. The action peaked interest through your chest, causing you to pull back with amusement.

“Here?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, “I’ll be quick.”

He nipped and sucked at your neck, finger tugging down your top, exposing your chest to the air. You shivered, hissing when Nicholas grazed his teeth over the flesh, trailing his mouth all the way down to your breasts.

His mouth salivated at the sight, pausing to admire how perfect your boobs were. His gaze shifted back to you, as you stared at him with a shy smile across your lips.

“I didn't think you could get any perfect.” He pecked your mouth, a smirk forming on his lips.

“You’ve seen nothing.” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You applied pressure around the back of his head, pushing him down on your chest. Nicholas accepted with content, gliding his tongue over your now hard nipple.

You nipped at his hair, arching into the touch. It felt amazing, hot spit coating your cold skin. It was absolutely heavenly, no words could describe it.

He kneaded your other boob with his hand, the sensation spiraling you over the edge.

He traced open mouth kisses to your collarbones, sucking on the bony flesh around your shoulder.

“Nick…” you muttered through a gasp, “That will leave a mark.”

“Good.” He exhaled through his mouth, tone cocky. “Let everyone know you’re mine.”

“My god.” You mumbled, voice barely audible.

You pushed him back on the couch, already missing the warmth of his tongue on your body. He chased after your touch, earning a chuckle out of you as your hand covered his mouth.

“Stay.” You ordered, voice seductive.

You teasingly toyed with the hem of your shirt, leisurely tucking it up to reveal the whole of your stomach. The fabric pooled just beneath your chest, creating a thick material.

However, that was long forgotten as you tugged it over your head, getting it off your body. And Nicholas couldn't help but groan as he moved forward, laying his touch wherever his hands landed.

Your fingers found their way around his shirt, delicately unbuttoning it until it revealed his whole chest. Your mouth watered at the sight, removing the shirt with a bit of help from the boy.

Your digits traced over the lines of his abs, gulping when you noticed how muscular he was beneath all the clothes he wore. His eyes followed your hand as it came to a halt around his pants, fingers teasingly fidgeting with the button.

“Get it off of me already.” He hissed, thrusting up into you.

The collision made you gasp, his hardon brushing against your ass. Your fingers dug into his skin, grinding down on him to chase after your pleasure.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, mouth gaping with desire.

You clumsily unbuttoned his pants, freezing in your spot when you heard a knock on the door. Your eyes widened in shock, attention shifting back to Nicholas, who was just as shocked as you were.

The crew member called out your name, causing you to perk up. “You’re up in five minutes, make sure you’re ready.”

Right, you guys were on set.

You were swift to get up, throwing your shirt over your head. You stole a glimpse at Nicholas, who hopelessly stared at you, disappointment visible on his face.

You smiled, endeared by how sulky he was, as he looked adorable while doing it. You moved over, ruffling your hair into place before you connected your lips with his.

Although he was upset, he happily returned the gesture, chasing after your lips when you moved away.

“Sorry about that.” Your gaze shifted down to his lap, noticing the hardon in his pants. “I’ll help you out later.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, no longer sulky. “I’ll look forward to that.”

“Mhm, you definitely should.”

[writersdrug]

PLEASE

Price falling asleep in a chair at the store while you pick out a dress for a bridal shower. He looks stiff and uncomfortable, but he's sawing logs peacefully (well, peaceful for him, anyways), holding a bag with the shoes you just bought, squeezing it tight to his chest like a pillow. Wakes up with a snort when you find him and gently shake his shoulder: "Good grief, John, I thought they were doing construction over here."

[winxanity-ii]

SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

[nightmare-niko]

Blame It On The Rain [Nicholas Alexander Chavez x reader]

Word count: 855

Warnings: oral (m! receiving), rough sex, shower sex, once again completely self-indulgent

A/N: the obsession is going strong hehehe

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

Your boyfriend lay on your bed, scrolling away on his phone. Such a simple task, but he looks so damn good. You lean against the door frame, shamelessly watching your unsuspecting lover.

"Hey, Nick?" You call out innocently.

"Yes, baby?" He looks up from his phone.

"I'm gonna shower."

He looks at you, confused, “oookay..?”

"Join me.”

The corners of his mouth curled up into a mischievous smile, "you askin or tellin?"

You roll your eyes, “Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes!” you turn on your heels and head towards your bathroom.

”Or what?" He shouts, still in your room.

"Or you're not getting head for a month!" You close the bathroom door behind you.

You hastily drop your pants and turn on the warm shower water. You hear Nicholas fumbling around in your bedroom. and you're not surprised when he practically through the door.

"That was like twenty seconds dude,” You feign disappointment.

Nicholas just shrugs, taking off his shirt in one movement.

"The waters not even warm yet!"

"Don't care!" He pulls you in for a rough kiss, tongues fighting for dominance— not like you'd ever win.

You waste no time untying his sweatpants and pulling them down haphazardly. You go to pull down his underwear but are met with bare skin. You pause and pull away, you giggle as he chases your lips for more, “No underwear? what a slut!" You tease.

"Says the one who lured me in here just to fuck me,” he accuses.

You gasp and wrap your nimble fingers around his half-hard cock. "I didn't call you in here just fuck you!" You defend, running your thumb over his slit— he hisses.

”Why am I here then?” His voice is strained.

You hum, pretending to think deeply about his question. letting go of him you take a step back. He whines at the loss of contact, eyes trained on you as you remove your shirt and underwear.

Now, just as bare as him you step into the water stream. you sigh in delight as the waterfalls around you.

Nicholas steps in behind you, “Baby this water is boiling!”

You chuckle and turn around to change the water temperature for him. With for back facing him he wastes no time landing a loud “thwack” on your bare ass.

“Ow!! Nick what the hell!”

“I'm sorry I couldn't help myself!!”

“I'll remember that,” you warn as you pull him closer to you by his waist. “You're so hot,” you playfully bite his chest.

“So are you~” he runs his fingers into your hair and tugs your face up towards him, capturing you in another breathtaking kiss.

His now fully hard cock pressed in between your torsos. Backing up, he pulls you with him until his back meets the shower wall. You recapture his lips in a searing kiss, your greedy hands roaming and feeling his toned body.

You part briefly for air, the both of you breathing heavily. Nicholas’ eyes are deep with desire as he trails kisses along your jaw down to your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips.

As much as you wanted to lose yourself in the feeling of your boyfriend— you had brought him here for a reason. “Let me take care of you,” you offer— pulling back from his grasp.

He looks at you for a moment— pupils blown out in his eager eyes.

He moans pathetically when you finally sink to your knees. “Use me,” you mutter.

“W-what?”

“I want you,” you wrap your hands around the base of his shaft. “To use me,” you kiss up the sides until you reach the tip.

‘A-Are you sure?? I don't want to hurt you!”

“Nicholas,” you state flatly. “I want you to fuck my face. Now.”

He growls, gripping your hair tightly. This is what you've been waiting for!

“Tongue. out,” he demands, you stick out your tongue obediently.

He slaps his red leaking tip on it with his free hand before he presses you all the way down his shaft. He throws his head back and it thumps against the wall behind him as a moan rips through him.

“fuck—” he curses, as he begins his steady rhythm fucking into your mouth.

You run your manicured nails along his toned thighs, leaving red scratches in their wake.

You can feel his cock twitch deep in your throat.

You look up at him through your eyelashes— you moan at his fucked out state. The vibration sends him over the edge as he pulls out of your mouth. The string of saliva connecting your tongue and his tip is downright pornographic. Hot ropes of white cum fall on your face and tongue as your boyfriend shouts obscenities from above you.

You rise from your position on the bathtub floor. You reach up and pull Nicholas down for one final kiss— He whines as he tastes himself on your lips.

You pull away, dopey grin on both of your faces. “See now— that. Is why I called you here.”

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

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[bunnibaby-love]

🍑 nsfw X links 🍑

♡ Zayne, Xavier, Neuvilette, Zhongli, Diluc Dainsleif, Ayato, Xiao, Gepard, Welt, Boothill, DanHeng, Jing Yuan, Nanami, Choso, Jumin Han, Legis Floyen

🎀 cunt kisses

🎀 morning sex

🎀 teasing u with slow thrust

🎀 teasing u with his fingers

🎀 cunt pecks

🎀 eating u out

🎀 he just luvs touchin ur body

🎀 oral fixation on ur tits

🎀 sloopy kisses on ur tits n neck

🎀 sending u vid pleasuring himself

🎀 fucking u over the counter

🎀 on his car backseat

🎀 punishin u with cunt slaps n spanks

🎀 eating u while ur asleep

[reticent-writer]

Hi How would Obanai, Sanemi and Shinobu react to knowing that Their Father figure is paying Too Much Attention To Giyu Tomioka and Coldly Ignoring Them For Treating Water Hashira Rudely. And Refusing to Stay in their presence until they Apologize to Giyuu and don't tease him anymore. it would be cool to see that happen

I'm so so so sorry for the wait I was looking through my drafts and found this unfinished.

An: for some fathers I go with their occupation from other fics.

Mitsuri's ff is a Baker. Giyuu and Rengoku's is a retired hashira. Shinobu's is a doctor. Obanai, muichirou, sanemi and tengen are people from their past.

demon slayer masterlist

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

Sanemi

You'd treat sanemi the way he treats genya, just completely ignore him or send him a dirty looks

You told him that he had to apologize or you'd be disappointed

"I'm not made just disappointed"

That broke sanemi but for u he put his pride aside

Watching sanemi apologize was like watching a child, he couldn't hold eye contact, his face was glowing red, he stummbled on his words until he yelled out.

"I'M SORRY GIYUU"

Before the both of you could react Sanemi took you by the arm and dragged you home.

------------------

Obanai

This man genuinely hates Giyuu💀

You taking the water hashiras side make him hate him even more

He would refuse to apologize until you blackmailed him with sharing embarrassing stories to Mitsuri

he wrote a little note that you promised not to read and gave to giyuu

Dear Giyuu, I would like to apologize for what I said. I know that words can hurt and I shouldn't say everything that I'm thinking because of the impact that they have on others

from obanai

although it sounds a bit backhanded its the thought that counts and you threw in giyuu's favorite snack to help.

-----------------

Shinobu

Usually you'd let her sly comments go but one comment caught your attention

The 'joke' made Giyuu go home because "he was tired"

Since then you made 'jokes' about shinobu until she got the hint and stopped being so harsh

but that didn't stop you from treating Giyuu like your own child

"Look who's finally graced us with her presence. How was yet another all-nighter Shinobu?"

Giyuu looked between you and Shinobu. Shinobu looked like she wanted to ring your neck, you've been making little comments like that for a few days and she was sick of it.

"I see what you're doing. Stop it."

After that, she stopped with mean jokes towards Giyuu and instead targeted you causing her to be the butt of any joke

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[eyeheartboobiez]

happy father’s day to the amazing father of all eighteen of our children🥹 it was a hard birth, but anything for you kento🫶🏿

[fear-is-truth]

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

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

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

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

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

but you were always there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(charlie mayhew was a weak, pathetic man.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

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

[greengoblinswifey]

Super Eater—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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