Nicholas Alexander Chavez - Blog Posts
NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ Grotesquerie S1:E07 (4K)
If you like the content, follow me on TWITTER as well <3
I had to make it normal, right? What my dad was doing to me, I had to make that normal. Even though I knew that it fucking wasn't.
Monsters: The Lyke and Erik Menendez Story S2E4 · Kill or Be Killed
𝑾𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒎𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒚 𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒔🤭💖
𝑻𝑰𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑲: @𝒛𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒔𝒔𝒙𝒛
Heyyyy…..
How y’all doing🤭
Okay so I’m actually going to be back to post some of my favorite edits cause…a butch crash out when TikTok got banned for 12hours so yeah.
Not only that but I just turned 18 last week🤭 and Im so excited to be this age but also scared il not even going to lie though but yeah, I’m back and excited to post again and everything like that❤️
Guys I actually hate my Tumblr feed, like I was scrolling through Tumblr at school with my friend MIND YOU at lunch and suddenly we pass someone getting freaky 🙏🏽
There should be no reason I’m scrolling through Tumblr mind you in a public place and I see someone getting cracked
But my posts get flagged for “language”
I actually need Nicholas Chavez like this is getting out of hand
found out he's a fan of meg thee stallion
NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ Grotesquerie 1.04
I started reading it at the time it came out, but I stopped because I was very sleepy and I felt like I wasn't really consuming the story and I'M SO GLAD I came back because this is a work of art. The way he verbalizes the fears she confessed to him? This man is the devil and wants to dismantle her. I need more!⚰️
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…”
NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story 1.01
soo sweet
LOVE IS THE ONE THING THAT CANNOT BE TAINTED BY FEAR OR DOUBT──FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW (part 2)
part one!!
for this request!!
─ summary | a week after megan caught you and father charlie, higher-ranking members of the church summon both of you for a stern warning. they threaten severe consequences—not just losing your positions, but eternal damnation—if you don't end your affair, and though you try to stay composed, charlie's anger flares as he refuses to accept their condemnation
─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!mother!reader
─ word count | 5.3k
─ warnings | pretty angsty + dramatic but has a happy ending, forbidden love, descriptions of having a big family. also wanted to put out there that this in no way shape or form trying to depict the church as something bad, every church is different and this is just fictional and very self-indulgent.
─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! this was super self indulgent and i swear i say that every time but it's true. the happy ending was sorta like... my happy ending LMAO but i just wanted them to end up together. this was super fast paced (ik... 5k words and """fast paced""") but if u read it, you'll know what i mean.
ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!
⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!
Father Charlie’s face is pale, his eyes wide with fear as the weight of what just happened begins to settle between you. The churchyard, once a sanctuary, now feels like a trap. You stand there, unable to move, your heart pounding in your ears.
“Megan—” you try to call out, your voice catching in your throat, but she’s already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the church.
Father Charlie turns to you, his hand trembling as he runs it through his hair. “This… this can’t get out. It’ll ruin everything,” he says, his voice breaking under the pressure. He paces, eyes darting toward the church doors as if expecting Megan to reappear any moment with a crowd of witnesses.
Your chest tightens. You know what’s at stake—the life you’ve both built within the church, the delicate balance of your roles, the unspoken rules you’ve crossed. There’s no undoing what’s been done.
“I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off, stepping closer, his hands gripping your arms with desperate intensity.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice urgent. “I should have never let it get this far. But Megan… she can’t know. No one can know.”
You nod, but the truth gnaws at you. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment of weakness. The kiss—the feelings behind it—have been building for longer than you want to admit. And now that the barrier has been broken, there’s no pretending you can go back to how things were.
“What if she tells?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
Father Charlie’s eyes meet yours, his face full of guilt and something else, something darker—a simmering fear. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything.”
The way he says it makes your stomach twist. You’ve never seen him like this, so cornered, so desperate. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve unleashed something in him that can’t be controlled.
“I have to fix this,” he mutters more to himself than to you, already starting to move toward the church, determination in his stride. “Go home. Don’t come back until I say it’s safe.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s no room for discussion. The weight of your guilt, mingled with fear, presses heavy on your chest as you turn and leave, knowing that the fragile world you both clung to is about to shatter.
As you walk away from the church, the echoes of the kiss linger on your lips, but now they taste bitter—haunted by the knowledge that you’ve crossed a line you can never uncross. And Megan, with her watchful eyes, has seen it all.
The walk from the church feels impossibly long, every step weighed down by the suffocating pressure of what’s just transpired. The once-bright sky has dimmed into muted shades of twilight, the air thick with impending doom. You can feel the weight of it pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. The churchyard, so familiar and comforting just moments ago, now seems cold, distant—like it’s pushing you away.
You glance back once, just once, and catch sight of Charlie disappearing into the stone walls of the church. His movements are hurried, frantic, and it only makes the knot in your stomach tighten. You know he’s going to confront Megan. You know he’ll do everything in his power to convince her to stay silent, to protect both of you, but the seed of doubt has already taken root. What if she doesn’t listen? What if Megan has already spread word of what she saw?
The fear claws at your insides.
You replay the moment over and over in your mind—the kiss, the way his lips had pressed against yours with a hunger that had long been suppressed, the heat of his body against yours. It was more than a moment of weakness; it was the culmination of everything you had been hiding, everything you’d tried to bury under the weight of duty. You had always known there was something between you and Charlie, but you had told yourself it was nothing, that it could never be anything more than unspoken glances and the occasional brush of hands. But now, the truth is undeniable.
You love him.
And it terrifies you.
As you turn the corner, moving further away from the church and deeper into the quiet streets, you try to suppress the panic building inside you. You force yourself to breathe, slow and steady, even as the thought of what comes next twists and knots in your chest. Megan… she had seen everything. Her eyes, wide with shock and something close to betrayal, flashed in your mind like a warning. She would never understand. She couldn’t. To her, this wasn’t just a mistake or a lapse in judgment—it was blasphemy, a defilement of everything sacred.
You walk faster, as if the distance could somehow cleanse you of what just happened, but the weight of your sins follows you, heavy and unrelenting. By the time you reach your small, modest home, the last of the daylight is gone. The darkness feels fitting, like a cloak draped over the truth you’re so desperate to hide.
You fumble with the key, your hands trembling, and push open the door. Inside, the space feels too small, too confining. The walls close in around you, suffocating in their familiarity. You collapse onto the nearest chair, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what comes next.
You think of Megan again, the way she had slipped away so quickly, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. What had she seen? How much had she heard? Would she go to the elders? To the congregation? Your stomach churns at the thought of everyone knowing, their judgmental eyes stripping you bare, seeing you for what you truly are—a sinner. You can already picture the looks, the whispers that would follow, the way they’d turn on you. And Charlie—God, what would happen to him? His role as a priest, his entire life, would be torn apart if this got out.
You can’t let that happen.
But no matter how much you try to focus, your thoughts keep pulling back to him. To the way he looked at you in those moments after Megan had fled. His face, pale with fear, but his eyes… they had been filled with something more than just panic. There had been a tenderness there, a quiet desperation, as if he had wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words had been lost in the gravity of the situation. And now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, one that neither of you can cross until you know what Megan will do.
The hours stretch on in painful silence. You sit by the window, staring out into the night, your heart heavy with dread. Every sound, every rustle of wind, makes you jump, half-expecting someone to come knocking at your door, to drag you back to the church and expose your sin to the world. But no one comes. The night is as still as your breath, suspended in an unbearable waiting.
You wonder how Charlie is faring. Is he talking to Megan right now? Is he pleading with her, trying to make her understand? Or is it too late—has she already made up her mind? The uncertainty gnaws at you, each minute that passes feeling like an eternity.
The quiet is suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. You freeze, your heart stopping for a beat, your blood running cold. For a moment, you can’t move, can’t breathe. Then, slowly, you rise from the chair, your body moving on instinct. You approach the door with trembling hands, every step echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the house.
When you open it, Charlie stands on the other side.
His face is pale, his eyes dark and sunken, as though he’s aged years in the span of a few hours. His expression is grim, but beneath the weariness, there’s something else—something raw, something desperate. He steps inside without a word, closing the door behind him, and the weight of everything that’s happened settles between you.
“What happened?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. His hands are shaking, and you notice the way he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself. “She’s not going to tell anyone,” he finally says, but his voice is hollow, and you know that’s not the whole story.
You take a step closer, searching his face for answers. “What did you say to her?”
Charlie’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something dark in them—something you haven’t seen before. “I made sure she understood,” he says, but there’s no relief in his voice. No victory. Only guilt.
Your stomach tightens as his words sink in. You want to believe him, to trust that everything will be okay now, but the look in his eyes tells you that nothing will ever be the same. Not between you. Not between him and the church. And certainly not between him and Megan.
The silence stretches on, thick and heavy with unspoken truths, and you realize that whatever you thought you were protecting has already been lost. The kiss, the secret moments, the connection between you and Charlie—it’s all unraveling, piece by piece, and there’s no going back now.
You don’t know what he did. And you’re not sure you want to.
All you know is that something has shifted between you, and the fragile world you’ve built together is starting to crack.
“I… I couldn’t let her ruin this,” he says, his voice low and almost pleading. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as though he’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”
You swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. There’s a rawness to his words, a vulnerability that you’ve never seen in him before, and it makes the knot in your throat tighten. “Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.
“No,” he says, his voice firmer now, more certain. “You need to hear this. I love you.” The words hang between you, heavy and full of meaning. His eyes search yours, as though he’s terrified of what your response might be, but at the same time, there’s a conviction in him that tells you he’s been holding onto this for far too long.
Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world falls away. The fear, the uncertainty, the guilt—it all fades into the background, and all that’s left is the truth. He loves you.
And God help you, you love him too.
“I love you, too,” you finally say, the words slipping out in a rush, like a dam breaking. The weight of them is staggering, but also freeing, as though admitting it has somehow lifted the burden from your chest.
Charlie’s eyes soften, and in that moment, the darkness, the fear, everything that’s been hanging over you both seems to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, stolen moment.
He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your temple, and finally, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. It’s tender, sweet, and laced with the kind of love that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. For a few precious seconds, you allow yourself to get lost in him—the warmth of his body, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile and precious. There’s no guilt in this kiss, no shame. Just love.
But as sweet as it is, there’s still a bitter edge, the reminder of what’s been lost. The weight of what happened earlier, of Megan’s watchful eyes, lingers like a shadow over your joy. You pull back slightly, your heart aching as you search his face for reassurance.
“What are we going to do?” you ask, the question heavy with fear and uncertainty.
Charlie lets out a soft sigh, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
The simplicity of his words settles over you, warm and comforting, but the reality of the situation isn’t so easily dismissed. You know the risks, the consequences that loom over both of you like a dark cloud, but right now, in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, it feels like you can face anything.
He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring the closeness, the peace that you’ve found in each other, if only for this fleeting moment. “I don’t care what happens,” he whispers. “As long as I have you.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of happiness and sorrow, because you know that this love—the love you’ve both fought so hard to deny—is as beautiful as it is dangerous. The church, the life you’ve built, the faith that has defined you for so long—it all stands in opposition to what you feel for each other. And yet, here you are, standing on the precipice, ready to fall.
“I’m scared,” you admit softly, your voice trembling.
Charlie pulls you tighter against him, his breath warm against your skin. “So am I,” he confesses, his voice breaking just a little. “But I won’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”
You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding solace in the quiet, in the shared heartbeat that thumps in time with your own. For once, it feels like you’re not fighting against the world, but standing together, ready to face whatever comes next.
But the bitterness still lingers, a quiet reminder that nothing about this is simple. The danger hasn’t passed, and Megan’s silence, though promised, may not last forever. You both know that this moment—this love—comes with a cost.
Still, for now, you allow yourself to hold on to the sweetness of it, to the warmth of his embrace, and the knowledge that whatever happens next, you won’t face it alone.
───
The bells toll, echoing through the towering walls of the old church, signaling the end of Sunday Mass. Parishioners, still murmuring prayers under their breath, make their way toward the grand double doors, their heads dipped in reverence. The air is thick with incense, mingling with the faint scent of candle wax, and the murmured conversations of the faithful filter out as they depart.
You stand by the altar, adjusting your habit, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle over you. It had been a week since the kiss—since Megan’s eyes had caught the forbidden moment. You and Father Charlie had been careful, the tension between you palpable but unspoken. There was no room for slip-ups now, not with what was at stake.
But just as you turn to head back toward the sacristy, you notice something that sends a chill through you. A group of clergy—men dressed in higher clerical vestments, their expressions stern and unyielding—are making their way toward the two of you. The archbishop, Father Lucian, leads them, his presence commanding and severe, a man of high standing in the church, second only to the bishop himself. Behind him are two more senior priests, Father Augustine and Monsignor Ramos, known for their strict adherence to church doctrine.
Charlie stands frozen for a moment, his usual calm demeanor stiffening as he recognizes the gravity of what’s about to happen. His eyes meet yours briefly, and in that split second, you both know. They know.
Father Lucian stops in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. His face is impassive, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating, filled with judgment and a quiet, simmering disappointment. The silence stretches on, unbearable, until finally, he speaks.
“Father Charles,” Lucian’s voice is deep and resonant, cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Mother Y/N. We need to speak.”
Charlie straightens, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn way, but his eyes flicker with something darker—anger, perhaps, or fear. You step closer to him, your heart hammering in your chest.
“We’ve been made aware of certain… transgressions,” Father Lucian continues, his voice cold, deliberate. “Ones that go against the very foundation of your vows—vows of purity, of dedication to God and His teachings.”
Father Charlie’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, though he doesn’t say anything yet. His silence, however, feels like the calm before a storm.
“We’ve heard unsettling rumors,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice carrying a softer, but no less menacing tone. “Of inappropriate closeness between the two of you. Intimacies that have no place within these sacred walls.”
Your stomach drops, the air around you suddenly feeling too thick, too stifling. The weight of their accusation presses against your chest, suffocating.
Father Augustine steps forward, his eyes sharp with accusation. “You both took vows before God,” he says, his voice unwavering. “To forsake earthly temptations for a higher calling. But what we’ve witnessed… it is not the first time such weakness has crept into the church. We cannot allow it to continue.”
You want to speak, to defend yourself, but your throat tightens, and words fail you. Beside you, Charlie’s breathing grows heavier, his anger barely contained.
“If you do not end this… affair immediately,” Father Lucian says, his voice dropping, “there will be consequences far worse than dismissal. You will not only lose your positions here, but you will face the eternal damnation of your souls. Your actions are not just a violation of church law but of God’s law. Do you understand?”
The implications hit you like a blow—hell. They’re threatening you with eternal punishment.
Father Charlie, who had remained silent until now, suddenly takes a step forward, his voice trembling with anger. “And who are you,” he says, his voice low but dangerous, “to tell us about the state of our souls?”
The senior clergy exchange glances, surprised at his defiance. But Charlie continues, his voice growing stronger. “Yes, we broke our vows. But this—what we feel—it's not some… sinful temptation. It’s love. And I won’t stand here and let you condemn us without knowing what’s in our hearts.”
Father Lucian’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the tension is palpable. “Father Charles, you forget your place,” he says coldly. “This is not a matter of love. It is a matter of duty. Of obedience. You swore your life to God, not to your desires.”
“I didn’t swear my life to a prison,” Charlie snaps, his voice shaking with fury. “I swore my life to serve God, to care for people. But you—you’d rather see us as sinners than as human beings.”
“Father Charles,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice hardening, “you are speaking out of turn.”
“No,” Charlie interrupts, turning to you, his hand reaching for yours without hesitation. “I’m speaking the truth. I won’t let you use God as a weapon to control us.”
Your hand grips his tightly, and despite the cold sweat trickling down your spine, you feel an odd sense of strength radiating from him. The threat of hellfire lingers in the air, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel so terrifying with him standing beside you.
Father Lucian’s gaze hardens, his lips thinning into a severe line. “This is your final warning. End this now, or face the consequences.”
Charlie stares back at him, unwavering. “I’d rather face hell,” he says softly, “than live a lie.”
The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words hanging between you and the clergy like a challenge. They stand, frozen for a moment, taken aback by his refusal. The unspoken threat remains—hell, ruin, the dismantling of everything you’ve both worked for.
But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid. You look at Charlie, his face set in defiance, and something inside you shifts. Maybe this is the beginning of the end, but it’s also the beginning of something else—something true, something worth fighting for.
The silence stretches unbearably in the cold churchyard, the tension thick as a storm building on the horizon. The senior clergy stare at Charlie, their expressions hard, almost disbelieving that he’s standing against them. Father Lucian’s eyes narrow further, but his voice remains steady, with a chilling authority.
“You are not beyond redemption,” he says, the words deliberate, cutting. “But defiance will not save you from the consequences of your actions. Think carefully before you decide to sacrifice everything—your calling, your salvation—for something so… fleeting.”
Charlie’s grip tightens around your hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. His next words, however quiet, carry an unshakable resolve. “I’ve already decided. I won’t live a life of half-truths. If that’s what it takes to serve God here, then I’ll find my own way.”
Father Augustine inhales sharply, looking between you and Charlie with something resembling disappointment—or perhaps disdain. “This will not go unpunished,” he mutters, his tone cold and unyielding. “There are consequences for every action, Father Charles. You’ve been warned.”
Without another word, the three clergymen turn on their heels and leave, their footsteps echoing ominously against the stone floor of the church. The weight of their warning lingers, even after they disappear into the distance.
You and Charlie stand there, unmoving, his hand still wrapped tightly around yours. The tension in his body slowly ebbs, though his grip remains firm, as if he’s grounding himself in this moment, in you. The sky above is clear, but there’s a storm brewing, one you can’t ignore any longer.
“Charlie…” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustling of leaves in the courtyard. “What are we going to do?”
He exhales deeply, his shoulders dropping as he turns to face you fully. His eyes search yours, filled with the same mixture of love and uncertainty that’s been building between you since that night in the church. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice softer now, the fire from before replaced with a gentle resignation. “But I know I can’t lose you. Not like this.”
You feel the same pull in your chest, the same conflicted desire that’s been tearing you apart. Everything you’ve built within the church, every vow you’ve taken—it’s all crumbling around you. But Charlie… he’s the one thing that still feels real, the one person you’ve come to rely on, to love in ways you never expected.
“I can’t lose you either,” you admit, your throat tight, emotions swirling in a confusing blur. “But they’re right… If we keep going like this, it won’t just be losing our positions. It’ll be worse.”
Charlie’s gaze darkens for a moment, as if weighing the enormity of it all. He steps closer, lifting his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent motion. “I know the risks,” he says, his voice steady, filled with an unshakable determination. “But the risk of not having you in my life… that’s worse.”
You close your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his hand. His words wrap around your heart, pulling you closer to the edge of something you can’t take back.
───
The decision had been made in a heartbeat, almost too quickly for either of you to process. One moment, you were standing in the courtyard, exchanging quiet promises of love and loyalty; the next, you were both packing your modest belongings in a small room that had been your sanctuary for years.
Charlie’s movements were hurried but deliberate, his usual calm demeanor now laced with an urgency that mirrored your own. You threw robes and personal items into a small bag, your heart pounding as the reality of your situation sank in.
“We can’t stay here,” he had said, his voice shaking with conviction. “Not after that. If we don’t leave now, they’ll find a way to tear us apart.”
You agreed, knowing deep down that the church, once a symbol of comfort and belonging, had become a prison. It wasn’t just Megan’s spying or the warnings from the senior clergy—it was everything. The suffocating weight of the vows, the whispered rumors, the constant feeling of being watched. You couldn’t breathe here anymore.
The room, usually filled with quiet prayer and reflection, was now buzzing with the frantic energy of departure. Charlie stopped for a moment, watching you from across the room. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity you had rarely seen before. He came closer, brushing his hand across your cheek, tilting your chin so that you met his gaze.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “We’re leaving everything behind.”
You nodded, heart pounding, but with a certainty that surprised even you. “I’m sure. I can’t stay here, Charlie. Not without you. Not like this.”
He pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as if savoring the moment, as if holding on to this fragile piece of certainty before everything crumbled.
“We’ll be alright,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find a way. Together.”
You smiled, a bittersweet knot forming in your chest. The thought of leaving everything you’d known was terrifying—but the thought of staying, of pretending, of hiding this love… that was worse.
A knock at the door startled you both, and your heart leapt in your chest. You turned to the door, half expecting to see Father Lucian or another member of the clergy, ready to drag you back into the suffocating confines of the church’s judgment.
But it was Megan.
Her eyes were wide, but there was something softer in her gaze now—something you hadn’t seen before. She hesitated in the doorway, her hand lingering on the knob as she looked between you and Charlie.
“I—I heard,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving?”
Charlie tensed beside you, but you took a step forward, your heart racing. “Megan… I know what you saw. I know what you think, but—”
She shook her head, cutting you off. “No. It’s not that. I—” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath, glancing at Charlie before continuing. “I’m not here to stop you. I just… I just wanted to say I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand why you’re doing this.”
You blinked, taken aback. Megan, the one who had spied on you, who had been so suspicious of your every move, was standing here, offering understanding. It felt surreal.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” she added softly. “But if you’re really leaving, you need to go now. They’ll come looking for you.”
Charlie’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. You felt a rush of gratitude toward Megan, despite everything that had happened between you. Her warning, her silence—it was an unexpected act of kindness.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words feeling heavy with meaning.
She nodded once, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
You turned to Charlie, your breath catching in your throat. “It’s time.”
He nodded, his jaw set, determination burning in his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Together, you walked out of the room, leaving behind the life you had known, the vows you had once believed in, and the future you had thought was certain. The church, once towering and holy, now felt like a distant memory as you stepped into the world beyond its gates.
You didn’t know what would come next—where you would go or what you would do—but with Charlie by your side, the fear didn’t seem quite as overwhelming. You had each other. And for now, that was enough.
EPILOGUE
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow across the rolling hills and fields that stretched beyond your front porch. The house you now called home sat nestled against a small grove of trees, a place you’d never imagined, yet somehow felt destined to find.
A soft breeze rustled through the open windows, carrying with it the distant laughter of children playing in the yard. You smiled, leaning against the wooden railing as you watched them—a picture of the life you had once dreamed of, now fully realized.
Two little girls, their dark curls bouncing in the breeze, were chasing after their younger brother, their giggles filling the air. They were so full of energy, so full of life. The kind of life you had longed for back when everything felt so suffocating, back when the idea of having a family seemed distant and impossible.
Behind you, the front door creaked open, and Charlie stepped out, two mugs of tea in his hands. His face, though older and more weathered now, still held that same softness that had always drawn you to him. He passed you a cup and wrapped an arm around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched the scene unfold before you.
You smiled, leaning into him, your heart swelling with contentment. This was the dream you had once shared with him, whispered between kisses when the future seemed so uncertain. But now, here it was—tangible, real. Your two daughters, as spirited and wild as you had imagined, and your son, a bundle of mischief with Charlie’s inquisitive nature.
You stood there in comfortable silence, watching as your eldest, a curious seven-year-old, tried to corral her younger siblings with all the seriousness of someone far beyond her years. The younger girl, barely five, kept bursting into fits of giggles, while your three-year-old son—always a handful—tumbled into the grass, quickly distracted by the dogs.
It was a far cry from the life you had left behind, from the cold stone walls of the church and the whispers of judgment. You had built this life together—away from the suffocating expectations, the prying eyes, and the fear. Out here, in this open space, you were free to be who you truly were, without shame, without fear of punishment.
Charlie turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your cheek. “You’re happy?”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt. “I am,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “I really am.”
He smiled, his eyes softening in the way they always did when he looked at you—filled with a love that had only grown stronger over the years. You still had your moments of doubt, of course—those nights when the past crept in, when the memory of everything you’d left behind tugged at your mind. But then you would look at him, at the children you had brought into the world, and it would all disappear.
Charlie pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as the children’s laughter echoed through the evening air. The weight of the past had faded into something distant, something that didn’t define you anymore.
This was your future now—a family, a home filled with love and laughter. You had chosen this life, together, and it was better than any dream you had ever dared to hope for.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, your eldest daughter ran up to you, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Mama! Look what we found!”
She held up a small flower she had picked from the yard, and you crouched down to examine it, your heart swelling with pride at her joy over such a simple thing.
“It’s beautiful,” you told her, smoothing back a stray curl from her face.
She beamed, darting off again to join her siblings, and you stood back up, feeling Charlie’s presence beside you, steady and strong.
“Two daughters, a son, and two dogs,” he repeated softly, his voice filled with that same awe he always carried when he talked about your family. “You’ve always had the best dreams.”
You leaned into him, your fingers intertwined, as the last light of the day faded. “And you’ve always made them come true.”
↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡
that feeling when you make a joke and everyone laughs hard at it
takes my breath away always
CMON GRILLS UGH HES SO DAMN FINEEEE
my top four for the American Psycho adaptation (although it wouldn't matter anyway cuz I'm not a casting director)
HAPPY NATIONAL BOYFRIEND DAYYY TO MY BOYFRIENDS + MORE
This is genuinely probably the craziest and dirtiest edit I've made
Drops this monster bc I love Ethel Cain and Grotesquerie
Who wouldn't want to edit him to a religious song?
This is me appealing to the masses cause I just remembered I can, in fact, edit
— SHAMELESS
written by mina leigh ୨୧ , charlie mayhew 𝔁 gn! reader | wc 4K
summary. you stumble upon charlie playing with himself, moaning and whimpering your name. hearing him sound so pathetic and ridiculous gets you a little too excited. you enter and handle him.
labels. sub! charlie mayhew, dom gn! reader
warnings. religious themes, emotional manipulation, explicit physical tension, obvious power dynamic. suggestive language, anal penetration w/ fingers (character receiving). sexual themes. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!
‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. not enough sub charlie content, i was ravenous for it, seriously. he may be my new celebrity crush.
the church at night was always unnervingly quiet. the echoes of your footsteps on the cold stone floor seemed to bounce off the high ceilings, disappearing into the vast darkness above. the dim light of the candles scattered along the altar barely provided enough warmth to cut through the chill of the sanctuary. you weren’t entirely sure why you had come here tonight, but something had drawn you to this place, to him.
father charlie mayhew was always a figure of control — his rigid posture, his cold, watchful eyes, his unwavering adherence to the church’s rules. he carried himself like a man burdened with unseen weight, but no one ever seemed to notice the cracks beneath the surface. until tonight.
as you passed the confessional booth near the back of the sanctuary, a sound caught your attention. it was soft, barely audible at first — a low whimper then followed by a moan, a voice murmuring in the dark. instinctively, you stopped, listening.
❝ y/n …❞
the whisper of your name was unmistakable. it was desperate, broken, almost … pathetic. you smirked, stepping closer to the booth. there was a tension in the air now, something thick and heavy that made your skin prickle with anticipation. you pressed your ear to the wooden door, the grain of the wood cool against your cheek, and listened.
❝ y/n …❞
he said it again, your name spilling from his lips like a confession, filled with a kind of longing you had never heard from him before. the sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you — something dark, something you didn’t quite recognize but welcomed all the same.
without hesitation, you pushed open the door to the booth, stepping inside.
there he was — father charlie mayhew, on his knees, his face all scrunched up, his pants down to his ankles, hand on his dick, trembling. his usual composed, controlled demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and fragile. the sight of him like this, pent up, sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t explain. he looked so small, so pathetic in this moment, whimpering your name like a woman.
the man looked completely blissed out, his head thrown back his eyes screwed shut, he was grunting in pure pleasure.
you shut the door behind you softly, the sound making him flinch. his head snapped up, and his wide, panicked eyes met yours. for a moment, you simply stared at each other, the weight of the situation settling between you like an invisible force. he looked terrified, ashamed, like he had been caught in some great sin.
you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his fear. you had never seen him like this before — so utterly powerless. the rigid, controlling priest who always held himself above others now sat at your feet, trembling like a sinner before judgment.
❝ charlie,❞ you said softly, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. ❝ what are you doing? ❞
he didn’t answer right away. his mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. he looked lost, confused, as if he didn’t know how to explain himself. he sat and shifted his legs to cover his hard - on, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
❝ i … i didn’t mean …❞ he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. ❝ i shouldn’t have —❞
❝ you were saying my name, ❞ you interrupted, stepping closer to him, your presence filling the small space. ❝ why? ❞
he flinched again at your question, his eyes darting away from yours. shame colored his pale features, and for a moment, he looked like he might try to deny it. but you didn’t let him. you knelt down beside him, so close now that you could feel the heat and his huffs of sexual frustration radiating off his trembling body.
❝ look at me, ❞ you commanded softly, your voice firm but not unkind. your hand reached out, fingers brushing against his jaw, tilting his face toward you. he hesitated for a moment, but then his gaze met yours. you just about crushed him when you leaned down putting your hands on his waist pinching them hard for support, as your forehead met his.
he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. ❝ i’ve… fallen. ❞
there was something almost pathetic about the way he said it, the words carrying the weight of his guilt. this was a man who had built his entire life on control, on denying himself the very things that made him human, and now here he was, confessing his failure to you.
❝ fallen? ❞ you echoed, your hand still gently holding his face. ❝ from what, charlie? ❞
his breath hitched at the sound of his name on your lips, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the desire to pull away, to regain control, warring with the need to surrender. he was so close to breaking, and the thought of it sent a thrill through you. he had spent so long standing above everyone else, holding himself apart, and now he was crumbling.
you moved your hands down his waist. one grabbing his cock and another gently caressing his entrance.
you rubbed the slit, already lubricated with pre - cum. you then coated your fingers in your own saliva and spit right on his hole, he looked dazed. completely aware on what was going on yes, but not entirely opposed by your actions.
you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. ❝ tell me, charlie. ❞
his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible, a confession laced with shame. ❝ i’ve had thoughts… impure thoughts. ❞
you, with caution started pumping his tortured dick, gripping it tightly but with slow strokes. you started pushing your digits slowly into his ass, pushing in and out gradually. his body yearned for more as your fingers were coated in his juices and his hole kept sucking your fingers back in.
he grunted softly, his eyes furrowed slightly as you finger fucked him. perhaps from pain, besides this was his first time.
the admission hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. his face flushed with humiliation, and you could see the way his body tensed then relaxed, as if he were bracing himself for judgment. but you didn’t judge him. instead, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction at his confession, the knowledge that he had been thinking of you in ways he knew he shouldn’t.
❝ thoughts of me? ❞ you asked, your tone careful, measured.
he shuddered, his head dropping in shame, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. but then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. you could feel the power shift between you then, the control slipping from his grasp as he sat there, trembling before you.
you let the silence stretch out for a moment, watching him struggle with the weight of his own admission. it was a strange kind of thrill, knowing that you had this power over him — a man who had always held himself so far above you, now kneeling at your feet, begging for your forgiveness, for your understanding.
❝ you poor thing, ❞ you murmured, your hand moving from his jaw to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. ❝ you’ve been suffering all alone, haven’t you? ❞
❝ j-just like t-that! ❞
you twisted your fingers around hitting his sweet spot, adding another finger for the fun of it. digging in deeper.
❝ y-y/n! im getting cl-close! ❞ he stuttered out in a moan as he nodded again, his breath shaky, and you could feel the tension in his body as he leaned into your touch. it was a subtle surrender, but it was enough. he was giving in.
you smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, and leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. ❝ you don’t have to suffer anymore, ❞ you whispered. ❝ you can let go. you can give in. cum by my fingers charlie. ❞
he shuddered again, his breath catching in his throat, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away. but then, slowly, tentatively, he leaned into you, his body relaxing just enough for you to know he had surrendered. he was yours now, completely and utterly at your mercy.
you pumped his cock faster, faster and faster. feeling his hole tighten up from the pressure, his pretty face glistening with sweat. moaning progressively louder in your ear.
he cummed, landing on his chest and hitting his bottom lip. he opened his eyes and looked at you almost lovingly, catching his breathe he asked ..
❝ kiss me. ❞
and so you did, he accepted it like it was his last meal. you easily won him in dominance.
❝ t-thank you .. ❞
❝ you’re welcome, ❞ you whispered, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair, pulling him closer. ❝ now, let me help you.❞
© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024
might have to write something for him ♡
