#nicholas alexander chavez be mine challenge

[hoffmansgirl]

boyfriend reveal 😵‍💫 !!!

[hoffmansgirl]

unreal , just absolutely unreal

GRILLZ!

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: nicholas gots some serious drip and you love it for him.

contains: fluff, cute couple stuff, 18+ content mdni, swearing, mention of smut, biting, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected p in v, hitting it from the side, reverse cowgirl, missionary, aftercare, intimacy.

a/n: heyyy! i hope ya’ll enjoy this one. kisses to you all! - des. 🪷

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @v3n1ce-bxtch @iamsebastiansstan @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy @oliviaambs

• okay, so boom.

• we all know what community really put grillz on the map in american culture and others became inspired decades after.

• those others included you and your man, nicholas.

• one thing you loved about him was his smile.

• you don’t know how he achieved such perfect pearly whites, but every time he puts them on display, you just fall harder for him.

• you see why his fans simp for him the way they do. he’s hot when he’s brooding, but when he smiles it just hits different.

• you could just stare in complete awe when he bursts out in genuine laughter or he’d just throw you a smile your way because let’s face it.

• he adores you, he kisses the ground you walk on.

• he thinks your smile is contagious. he could be pissed off and if you give him a simper of reassurance, that frown is turned upside down.

• you’re always wearing fashion trends that related to your culture.

• that includes clothes, makeup, shoes, hair styles, and jewelry.

• you wanted to try something new that could add to your look.

• some grillz.

• the photos on pinterest had you instantly inspired.

• when you flashed your silvery new dental accessory, nicholas was captivated.

• “fuck, can you get any hotter? you look amazing!” he was hyping you real good.

• he loves it when it matches with your outfits and other jewelry.

• and if you pair those grillz with that brown liner and clear gloss combo? he’s about to fold you like clothes.

• “y’know who else would look amazing with these? you would! you got the best teeth for it, nick.” you suggest, urging him to give this a try.

• at first he was unsure about it because he wasn’t certain of the ending result.

• “babe, are you sure? you’d think i’d look good with ‘em?” he’d inquire with a raised brow.

• “no, you wouldn’t look good. you’d look fine as hell! nick, you know that i got you. we’re gonna make sure we find what’s best for you.” you reassured again with a kiss to his cheek.

• nicholas was onboard!

• you contacted the jeweler that provided your grillz and set up an appointment for the following day.

• you and nicholas took your time for him to design “the one” that best fit his style.

• from the embellishments to the color, he wanted your feedback on everything, but what mattered to you was that he was happy because you’re still gonna fuck with it anyway.

• a few days after his grillz were created, you returned back to your jeweler, so that could be be fitted properly.

• he turned to you, flashing his teeth to reveal his new accessory.

• “so—how do i do look?” he’d ask, hoping that this long process had paid off. he really liked it the more he examined the grillz on his left canine.

• at the first glance of the shimmering jewel, you were sure you were going to faint.

• nicholas looked so damn good.

• you were speechless.

• you couldn’t help, but to take your phone out because you needed this moment to last longer the more you gawked.

• “smile big f’me, baby. c’monnn!” you urged him, batting your lashes and caressing his chiseled chin to which he bashfully grins. the apple of his cheeks were cherry red at your affection.

• you gotta get more storage in your phone for the amount of selfies and videos you took of you and nicholas sporting your grillz.

• nicholas is super responsible with them, you even gifted him with a monogrammed with his initials.

• he keeps them clean and pristine. he ain’t playing.

• if you happen to forget yours, he’s got you.

• there was just this new air of confidence that he had and it turned you on.

• and honey, if you were clingy to him before.

• you’re definitely stuck on him now and he’s eating it allll the way up.

• if you guys are laying on the couch and you’re just chilling on top of him, you could just be rambling and then—

• he peers at you with those sultry, brown eyes and flash that irresistible smile. you’d just stop and get so hypnotized.

• nicholas’ eye contact is just as lethal as his smile.

• “shit…what was i saying?” you’d inquire, feeling embarrassed that he had you so easily flustered.

• he’d chuckle causing you to absolutely fold.

• speaking of folding.

• he uses those grillz when it’s time to get down in the bedroom.

• he’s a lover, an eater, and now he’s a biter.

• best believe when it comes to your chest, he’ll pay extra attention to your nipples as he bites on them with his flashy canine.

• the sensation of the metal mixed with the suckling of tongue made the erected points of your nipple harder than before.

• he litters love bites all over you, nibbling everywhere he could reach.

• you love to see the glimmer of his grill when he uses his teeth to pull your panties down.

• nicholas lives for how the goosebumps on your skin of your inner thigh rises as he glides the metal to the path of your awaiting core.

• when using his mouth to pleasure you, he pays extra attention to your clit.

• he has different techniques for it. rubbing, sucking, and swirling his tongue around it in order for you to finish on his face.

• girl, pull on his hair a little harder because when he puts that bud in between his teeth where the grill is to nibble on it a bit, you will be absolutely spent as you ooze out all over his face.

• nicholas drank every single drop like water.

• that was his best head yet.

• when you’re go down on him, you get butterflies in your stomach as you gaze up at him through your lashes to see him grinning in satisfaction and caressing his fingers through your scalp. his grill on his display as he praises you for taking him so well into his mouth.

• “ah, look at you. fuck, if you keep looking at me like that m’gonna cum, angel.”

• and so he does, but he’s not done until he fully has his way with you.

• nicholas has an impressive stamina, he could go at it in many positions with you.

• during missionary, he’ll bury his face into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth deep into the skin causing you to cry out as he repeatedly drills into the soft spot of your pussy.

• if he’s hitting it from the side, he’ll have one hand on your leg to raise it an angle as his jeweled teeth glide and bite along your jawline and earlobe, whispering the raunchiest of praises into your ear.

• bite marks from the gems are guaranteed to be all over your shoulders if you’re in reverse cowgirl, your back is up against his broad chest as you bounce yourself up and down against his length, his nails dig into the plush skin of your hips while his jolts in the direction of your clenching walls.

• when you two finish, he’s checking in to make sure you’re okay afterwards.

• “fuck, did i bite too hard? m’sorry, babe.” he’s such a sweetheart!

• you were honest that you were a bit sore, but you reassured nicholas that you loved it nonetheless!

• what’s pleasure without a little pain?

• nicholas is quite gentle during aftercare.

• he’ll run you both a bath, give you an oil massage, and foot rub before you’re both cuddling in bed.

• “just one more thing before you put em’ back in the case, boo. smile f’me one more time, pleaaaase?” you plea, rolling yourself on top of him before leaning closer to his face as your hands rested on his jaw.

• at the sight of your face and the sound of your voice, how could he not?

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

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

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

PREVIEW TWO

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

ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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