godwithinself

[godwithinself]

siesta. | s. myeong-oh

▹ a/n : hello loves, long time no upload. I have missed you dearly *virtual smoochhhh* I never write for dramas but I enjoyed the glory so much I had to write something for it, you don’t really need to have watched the show to understand this. sidenote, if you already know you don’t like son myeong-oh’s character and are about to send me a rude message or comment just remember that YOU alone are responsible for the content you consume! in other words keep it pushing or you will be blocked.

▹ triggers : dubious consent, detailed smut, unprotected sex, creampie, mirror sex, overstimulation, slight size kink if you squint, myeong-oh’s character alone is a trigger tbh..

▹ pairing : son myeong-oh x fem!reader

▹ synopsis : there’s a living, breathing reason that you hate going to siesta, it’s six foot and attached to a man bun.

••

Keep reading

[godwithinself]

"round and round" -- the salesman (squid game)

all parts are 18+

part one: "supernova"

part two: "dangerous"

pat three: "illusion"

part four: "what is love?"

part five: "I think he knows"

part six: "ditto"

part seven: "fool's gold"

[godwithinself]

“he’s so cutie patootie babygirl!”

the cutie patootie babygirl in question:

[godwithinself]

"ditto" -- the salesman (squid game)

the salesman smut, mdni, characters are 18+ warnings: female reader, dom!salesman, rough sex, piv, fingering (female receiving), light swearing, oral sex (male receiving), mild dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, dub con / non con, dead dove do not eat word count: 2.1k part six of the "round and round" series!

the salesman was not in a good mood, and you had a bad feeling you were fucked. literally.

you don't know who hurt him, but there's a scary aura about him as he slams his way into the penthouse. you could've sworn there's a red glow around him. the literal devil.

he throws his briefcase on the kitchen island, where it slides to a stop. he loosens his tie, running a hand through his hair and letting out a heavy, harsh sigh. you watch him cautiously from your spot on the couch, where you're reading a book.

he finally looks at you, glaring harshly. "run," he practically growls. "run, and pray I don't find you."

the words send a chill up your spine. you stand up slowly, closing your book. "are you . . . are you ok--"

"I said fucking run."

the book falls out of your hands. you stare at him in shock. the salesman hasn't necessarily been kind to you. he's always rough during sex, although he does love to tease. he likes having control: feeding you, dressing you, making sure that if you need money it has to come from winning one of his games, the list could go on. but you've never seen him outright angry. a dark shadow passes over his face, and your hair stands on end.

you turn tail and run.

the penthouse isn't very large. you don't know any good hiding spots. you dash into the master bedroom and into the huge walk in closet, where you squeeze in between a few shelves. the space is dark, the only light being from the kitchen, which seeps through the crack in the doorway.

your breath is scarily loud in the silence. you can't help but think morbidly that this is like a fun game of hide and seek. unfortunately, you've never been great at hide and seek.

you wonder what could have gotten him so riled up today. it's been almost two months since you've met him, and he's always been unflappable. no matter how much you beg, kick, scream, or curse at him, he never loses his cool. what made him so mad today?

you hear his footsteps, heavy on the floor as he gets closer. covering your mouth and holding your breath, you wait with wide eyes. this was not a fair game, you think in panic. he saw the direction I went in, he knows this place better than I do, and it's not a big place, it--

he grabs you by your hair and yanks you to your feet, eliciting a cry of pain from you. "found you."

he drags you to the living room, where he forces you down to your knees. he fumbles with his belt, throwing off his trousers and boxers before tapping his heavy, already hard cock against your lips. "open up." his tone leaves no room for arguments, and scared of what he might do if you hesitate, you obey. he thrusts all the way into your mouth at once, causing you to choke and gag on his size. but he doesn't care, he's mean today. he bunches your hair into a rough ponytail to hold your head in place as he fucks your mouth mercilessly. he treats your mouth as a fleshlight, his cock hitting the back of your throat every time he fucks into you. low grunts and growls slip from his throat every now and then, mixing with your gags and pleads for mercy.

he laughs darkly when he sees tears welling up in your eyes, pouting at you. "what?" he asks, pretending to care. "am I being too rough for you? you can ask me to stop."

you frown, trying to think clearly. when has he ever stopped when you asked him to? you gag again as he thrusts particularly deep, and you squeak out the word: "stop!"

he stills immediately, making you freeze in surprise. he pulls out of your mouth roughly and grabs your upper arm, fingers digging into your soft flesh. "get up," he snarls, hauling you to your feet and spinning you around.

smack! his hand deals a heavy blow on your ass. you jump, a yelp of pain and surprise falling from your lips. he gives a harsh snicker. "here's the game today, princess," he sneers, slapping your ass again and making you squeal. "you're gonna alternate between being spanked letting me use your mouth. whenever you want to stop the current . . . activity, just say 'stop' and we'll switch. got that?"

he puts all his force behind the next slap as you nod frantically, making you cry out in pain. your fists clench tightly as you fight the urge to run. he keeps spanking you, his blows getting heavier as he takes out all his anger and frustration on you. your ass is starting to burn, and you just know you'll be in a ton of pain tomorrow any time you try to sit. he lands another hit--the heaviest one yet--and you plead for him to stop.

listening to you, he spins you around and forces you back down to your knees, wasting no time before shoving his cock back into your mouth. your hands fly to his thighs in a desperate attempt to steady yourself as he starts fucking your mouth relentlessly again. strings of your saliva cling to his dick, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth as he gives you no time to rest. when you start to feel faint and dizzy from how harsh he's hitting your throat, you tap his thigh frantically, trying to get out the word "stop".

he understands, pulling out of your mouth. you double over, trying to catch your breath, but he's having none of that. "no breaks," he snarls, pulling you back up to your feet. the first hit he delivers to your ass leaves a stinging, burning sensation that makes you cry out. he doesn't let up, dealing slap after heavy slap onto your poor, reddening backside.

just like this, the torture goes on for what must be an hour. by the end of it, you're sobbing and begging for mercy. he had ripped your clothes off of you--ripped open with his bare hands, like an animal. his cum is in your mouth, your hair, splattered across your tits and thighs. you feel the slaps he's given your ass every time you move, the pain hot and stinging. it hurts to swallow, to speak, to make any sort of sound from how harsh he's fucked your mouth.

and he's still not done. he picks you up and throws you onto the leather sofa. he sinks down to his knees on the floor, hands spreading your pussy wide open for him. he licks his lips hungrily, staring at your pulsing cunt like a predator stares at its prey.

he doesn't eat you out--he's not kind enough for that. instead he shoves three fingers into you right off the bat. you let out a blood curdling scream, legs kicking helplessly as your back arches. you shudder as he scissors you open, your pussy betraying you by squelching around him. he grunts out something about how wet you are, how you're such a naughty girl to get wet even when you say you don't like it, about how you treat him so well. your legs tremble as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, palm hitting your clit every time. he shoves a fourth finger in you, rough fingerpads scraping against your g spot every time he shoves his hand deeper into you. you moan loudly, the lewd sounds filling the penthouse as you see your slick trickle down his wrist.

when he's satisfied with how wet you are, he pulls his hand out of you, making you gasp at the feeling. he drags you off the couch, where you tumble onto the floor. he pins you down easily, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. his cock, still hard, pushes all the way into you with one thrust. not giving you any time to adjust, he nearly folds you in half into a mating press so he can really slam his cock down into you. you shudder, a wanton moan being drawn out of you as you realize he's not even kneeling on the ground. he's squatting, heels off the ground as he leans over you to fuck you into the floor.

you're getting really sensitive now, the stinging pain in your ass intensifying every time his heavy balls hit against it. you push helplessly at his chest, shaking your head and looking up at him through teary eyes. "sir, please," you gasp out. "it--ah! ow, fuck--it hurts, I can't take it!"

"it hurts, does it?" he mocks darkly. "not enough, I'm afraid. how should I make this pain last? tie you up and suspend you in midair? put a collar on you and put you out on display for all those fucking losers to see? maybe I'll stick a vibrating dildo in you tomorrow and just leave for the day. yeah? how would you like that? I bet you'd love it. filthy little slut."

you can barely get out any words, unending moans and screams falling from your lips. you see stars every time his cock hits your cervix, and your eyes roll back into your head at the harshness of his thrusts. you feel him lean down and suck a tit into his mouth, his warm tongue circling your nipple before he sucks it, biting it harshly. you whine, shaking your head in protest.

then he does something that makes you curl in on yourself, something so utterly absurd and cruel you want to punch him in the face.

one of his hands is at your hole, spreading you open. his cold fingers rub your folds for a few seconds, before he slides two fingers into you, next to his cock. you scream, fists pounding his back as he keeps sucking on your tits. he's fucking animalistic, his primal growls and heavy grunts echoing in your mind as he begins to alternate his movements. every time he withdraws his cock slightly, his fingers slam into you, and vice versa. it's almost too much, you think faintly to yourself. you didn't even know it was humanly possible to be this stretched out. you don't even have the strength to fight back anymore, both your throat and your ass burning from the "game" earlier.

you barely register it, but he must be getting closer. he grips your waist tightly with the hand that's not inside you and starts manhandling you, moving you up and down to meet his frantic thrusts. your legs are shaking as you wrap them around his waist; beads of sweat form on his forehead and drip onto your face. you feel numb, your mind separated from your body as you reach your high. you watch with wide eyes as you cream around his cock, coating his cock in a pretty shine. he groans at the sight, hips stuttering as he reaches his orgasm too. you feel his hot seed shot into you, painting your insides white as your legs fall limply to the ground. he doesn't even try to hold himself up, collapsing onto you and pinning you under him.

you both pant, trying to catch your breath. eventually he rolls off of you to lessen the weight. you can just feel your cum mixing together, seeping out of your abused hole.

it feels like several minutes before you speak up hesitantly. "are you . . . are you feeling better?"

he lets out a breathy chuckle. "yeah." he reaches for your hair and gently tugs on it. "I was pretty rough, huh?"

you close your eyes, a few final tears rolling down your face. you think about crying, complaining about how he was too rough and made it hurt too much. but you don't say any of this. instead you take a chance, praying he won't snap. "what happened today?" to get the salesman so riled up, it must have been a really big deal.

you feel his eyes on you for several seconds before he answers. "there was this girl I tried to recruit for the squid game. she won nearly every round of ddakji we played."

forgive me I was again really lazy and queued this without rereading. hopefully I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged

tags @k1ra-park3r @whereismymindnow @beebeechaos @straw8berry @looneybleus @tojisrealwifey @average-scara-fan @juniebugg @bdffsegvj @buckitostan @nousija @ang3lgvts

[godwithinself]

"I think he knows" -- the salesman (squid game)

the salesman smut, mdni, characters are 18+ warnings: female reader, dom!salesman, kind of dark!salesman, exhibitionism, sex in a public place, fingering (female receiving), piv, rough sex, unprotected sex, clothed sex, mirror sex, light swearing, dubcon / non con, dead dove do not eat word count: 2.8k part five of the "round and round" series!

you bounce into the penthouse with light steps and a huge smile on your face. "I did it! I got a job!"

the salesman looks up from his couch, where he's lounging, a book open on his lap. "that's great," he says, although his face says otherwise. "what job?"

you wash your hands to freshen up and plop down on the couch next to him, your eyes shining. "at the bookstore down the block. it doesn't pay much, but they're willing to work with my hours. I start tomorrow after class, and I go five days a week. they said they're going to text me tomorrow to remind me, but I told them I would definitely remember. a real job, sir! isn't that awesome?"

you hadn't actually been expecting your job hunt to be successful. when you walked into the bookstore for your interview last week, you were dejected and discouraged after another round of unsuccessful applications. so when you got the phone call today, you were ecstatic. finally, another source of income! now you could start to be a little less dependent on the salesman, who you were pretty sure was the devil incarnate at this point. that man was freaky.

it's now been almost a month since you agreed to stay with him for an extended period of time. he was about as good to you as you could have wanted from him--as long as you behaved, that was. you played his twisted "games" nearly every day. each night, he'd introduce a fun new game, whether it was a legitimate kids game or a sexual game that he came up with himself. oftentimes you wanted to refuse, but he'd hold out a hundred thousand won to tempt you and your resolve would crumple immediately. besides, he had at least two guns laying around somewhere in the penthouse, and you were not about to flirt with death like that.

the salesman speaks, and you pay attention again: "let me take you out tomorrow. a train ride into the countryside. we'll go to the beach, see the sunset. maybe have a picnic. what do you say?"

you frown, a little suspicious. a train ride . . . beach and picnic . . . sunset? what is he on? "a train ride?" you repeat dumbly.

he chuckles a little and give a small nod. "yes."

"do I have a choice?"

he gives the same cheeky smile. "no."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you shift nervously, hands pulling down your skirt (you had worn it per the salesman's order request) as you board the train. from behind you, he puts his hands on your waist, gently maneuvering you to your seats. you sit down, a little on edge. you have no reason to believe he's tricking you about this train ride. you do have reason to believe he'll try something on this train ride.

oh, well. your phone is in your bag in case he pulls out that stupid gun again.

the train moves at a rather fast pace, the buildings in the window blurring together as you whisk by. you're pretty much smack in the middle of the city, so this train to the countryside will take almost two hours. you and the salesman share a bench. sitting on a bench across from you in the same booth is an elderly couple whom you both bow to in greeting.

it's about fifteen minutes in, after your tickets have been collected, that you realize what he's been planning. under the table, his hand comes to rest on your knee, gently rubbing circles on your skin. you stiffen and send him a warning glance. "there's people around," you hiss in a low voice. "don't do anything stupid."

he raises his eyebrows. "getting bolder," he hums quietly. "who said you could talk to me like that?"

you frown, jumping a little as his hand travels farther up your thigh, playing with the hem of your skirt. "I think it's a good time for a game," he suggests, in a tone that tells you it's not really a suggestion.

". . . what game?" you mutter, face flushing as his hand slips under your skirt. you go to push his hand away; he clicks his tongue in warning, dealing a gentle slap to your hand as punishment.

"I spy," he answers smoothly, his fingers travelling even higher. you bite your lip as he pushes your panties to the side, fingers brushing over your core. you listen half heartedly to the rules as he explains them to you. he juts his chin at you, telling you to go first.

you shift nervously, trying to hide what's going on under the table from everyone else in the train car. "I spy with my little eye . . . somethi--oh!"

you hastily cover your mouth as he slips a finger into your quivering cunt. you nudge him harshly, eyes wide as you stare up at him. he meets your gaze with a huge smirk on his face. "what?" he asks, faking concern. "something wrong?"

he's speaking in a joking tone, but the look in his eyes screams you better not fucking make a scene. you swallow thickly and look away, trying to control your breathing. he flexes his finger and slowly curls it, massaging the spongy spot inside you, and you feel yourself clench around him. you bite your tongue to try to keep quiet, and he chuckles a little at the gesture. "it's still your turn," he reminds you quietly.

you quickly cast a gaze around at everyone. no one's giving you a second glance yet, much to your relief. your eyes zero in on a dark blue baseball cap. "I spy with my little eye something blue," you whisper to him.

he follows your gaze and immediately responds with the right answer. "that baseball cap. come on, y/n, you've got to do better than that."

you scowl, about to make a snarky reply, but then you jump as his finger brushes against your g spot again. he snickers at your reactions and leans down to whisper in your ear. "you're extra sensitive today. maybe you like this; being naughty in public?"

you glare at him, shaking your head slowly.

"oh, I think you do like it," he taunts, eyes widening in mock realization. "the idea that anyone could see us if they looked in this direction? I bet you'd like that too. you wanna be watched?"

your eyes widen at his vulgar words, and you hastily look away. "it's your turn," you tell him.

"hm." he tilts his head a little, exaggerating the motion of looking around the car. "I spy with my little eye something red."

red? you frown, looking around the car. you don't see anything red. "you're lying," you decide. "there's nothing red here."

he tsks at you. "give up?" he leans down so he can whisper in your ear. "it's your face. you should see yourself, you're as red as a tomato right now."

you feel hot all over; whether it's from arousal or anger, you can't tell. "stop teasing me," you protest, hands clenching into fists. "you're so mean."

he chuckles, pushing a second finger deep into your pussy as well. he scissors you open, stretching you on his thick fingers and laughing under his breath as you double down on your efforts to keep from crying out. "I can be more mean," he threatens quietly. "believe me?"

you nod hastily, sending him a pleading look. it's getting harder to keep quiet as he starts to pump his fingers a bit faster; besides that, the wet sound of your juices is starting to get louder too. just as you think he's going to make you cum right here on the train bench, he withdraws his fingers sharply, making you gasp at the loss. you quickly look up at him; his pupils are dilated and his lips are parted, so it's quite obvious that he's about as affected as you are. "come on," he says throatily. "to the bathroom you go."

you frown, but stand up as he gives you a little push. you make your way down the aisle, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

you barely make it into the bathroom before he slams the door shut and locks it. you jump at the sound and turn around, and he pushes you against the sink, grinding his hips into yours. you feel his bulge pressing against your thigh as he hastily bunches your skirt up around your hips. he shoves your panties to the side and rubs your pussy roughly for a few seconds, spreading your juices over your folds. you bite your lip, holding back a whine as he unzips his trousers and slides his hardened cock out of his boxers. he meets your gaze, and a devilish smirk breaks his face as he taps the squishy tip of his cock against your hot cunt. "keep quiet now," he warns tauntingly. "unless you want people to know exactly what's going on."

without further warning, he pushes all the way into you, burying himself to the hilt. your eyes widen, and you quickly cover your mouth with a hand as you bite back a moan. he, ever the asshole, doesn't hold back, groaning lowly at the feeling of being enveloped by your velvety walls. "always so good," he grunts, thrusting slowly and deeply. "sometimes it shocks me how you can still be so tight even after being fucked so much."

he pins you against the counter, burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent deeply as he picks up speed. he sets a harsh pace, groaning into your neck every time he thrusts all the way inside you to hit your g spot. you wrap your arms around his neck, trying to hold back your moans as his heavy balls slap against your ass. you feel weak, like your legs are about to give out on you any second from the harshness of his thrusts. he's the only thing holding you upright, keeping you pinned against the cold sink counter as he fucks you mercilessly. he brings a hand down to your clit and rubs harsh circles on it. you squeal quietly, tightening around him every time he rubs you. "they'll hear!" you squeak out.

he throws his head back and laughs. "I hope they do. maybe someone will walk in right now. oh, how I'd love to see their reaction."

you shake your head, biting your lip as he picks up the pace. he tosses his head around, getting his perfectly styled hair all messy, as he lets out a harsh groan. "god, you feel so good."

"shut up!" you whisper-yell, hand reaching out to cover his mouth. "shut the fuck up!"

his eyebrows raise at your boldness, but he surprisingly doesn't reprimand you. maybe there's a sick part of him that likes doing your bidding, because he lowers his chin to look up at you with heavily lidded eyes, playfully nipping at your fingers as he keeps his pace. you take your hand away finally, glaring at him, and he chuckles deep in his chest.

then there's a sound at the bathroom door. knock. knock. your eyes widen in fear; you shake your head at him, warning him to stop.

he doesn't stop. he reaches down and takes you by the throat, pushing your head back so your back arches and your head is upside down; you're now staring at yourself in the mirror. you whimper in horror at the realization that you're watching yourself get fucked while there's someone outside, and he laughs in satisfaction. "that's it," he whispers, gently squeezing your throat. "watch yourself. watch how well you take me. what a good little slut. my little slut." then he picks up the pace, fucking you harder, as if he's determined to get a sound out of you.

you're starting to feel nearly suffocated in your blouse; your legs are starting to tremble, your juices running down your thighs and sticking to his cock every time he pounds into you. you feel your release building, and you let out a small whimper to warn him.

"gonna cum?" he grunts, grabbing your legs and hoisting you up so he can get closer to you. he lets go of your throat so you can finally breathe properly, opting to use his hands to hold your thighs apart instead. "gonna cum around my fat cock while someone's right outside? yeah, you are. I just make you feel that good, don't I?"

you cry out, burying your face in his shoulder to try to muffle your moans as you're pushed over the edge. with one final harsh thrust into your sopping cunt, you cum, back arching at the sensation. your eyes roll back into your head as the pleasure overtakes you, letting out a soft, high pitched moan as you cream around him. he groans harshly at the sight, pounding into you a few more times. just when you think he's going to cum in you--you've quickly learned, over the last few weeks, that his favorite thing to do is creampie you--he pulls out, stroking himself harshly until he spills his seed all over your pussy with a loud groan. you would reprimand him for being too loud, but you're breathing too heavily to do so. you're dazed and dizzy as he steps back, running a hand through hair that's slick with sweat by now. you lay back on the sink counter and listen as he pulls up his boxers and zips his pants back up.

he pulls up your panties, sliding them over your hips. you whine a little in protest--you're not clean, his cum and yours is mixing together--but he ignores you. then he smooths down your skirt for you, giving you an affectionate pat on the stomach. "there's a good girl. keep all that cum there, okay? just around your pretty pussy."

he holds out a hand, and you take it shakily; he helps you off the counter. your legs nearly buckle, but he catches you easily, chuckling a little at your state. "come on. we've been gone for a while. don't want that nice aunt and uncle to worry about us."

he helps you to the bathroom door and lets you exit first. the person who knocked on the door is nowhere to be seen, but nearly everyone's eyes turn to you when you emerge. a horrible thought strikes you, but before you can think about it too much, he emerges too. you turn back to look at him nervously, trying to send a message with your eyes, but he keeps his gaze straight ahead, a pleasant smile on his face as he steps in front of you.

you adjust your skirt uncomfortably, feeling your face redden. you keep your eyes on the ground as he takes your arm, leading you back to your seats. he sits down next to you, proudly adjusting his tie. he really has no shame. your phone buzzes, and you go to take it out of your bag to check the message.

his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. "I wouldn't bother checking that message," he says smoothly. "I can tell you exactly what it says."

you frown, morbid curiosity poking at you. ". . . what?" you ask finally.

he looks at you, a smirk dancing across his face. "it says that the bookshop actually doesn't need your help anymore, they're very sorry, you don't have to show up tomorrow."

you stare at him. anger bubbles up inside you. this was his doing, you were sure of it. damn him! he would go so far as to sabotage your chances of a job just so he could keep you reliant on him? "what the fuck did you do?" you ask lowly, trying to stop an outburst.

he sits up straight and adjusts his collar, clearly satisfied with your reaction. "such bad language," he chides, clicking his tongue. "relax, dear. you're still getting money from me, remember? but I would give up the foolish idea of getting a job if I were you."

you open your mouth to yell at him, but he slides a hand onto your thigh and squeezes in warning. he cocks his head to the side, and you follow his gaze to see an elderly couple staring at the two of you, suspicious glares on their faces. you immediately look away, face reddening. "do you think . . . do you think people know?" you whisper to him nervously. surely you did a good enough job keeping quiet.

he looks down at you and laughs. "pretty girl. I'd be offended if they didn't."

______________________________________________________________

disclaimer I did not edit or even reread. if there are random runon sentences or thoughts that is why 😭

tags @nousija @ang3lgvts @buckitostan

[godwithinself]

To the moon and back 🎀

[godwithinself]

JOSH HARTNETT as COOPER Trap (2024) dir. M. Night Shyamalan

[godwithinself]

ok so I was thinking about husband/doctor mayhew x wife/nurse reader that work together at the hospital and they fuck at the hospital but Lois confront them about it

love your writing btw 💗💗❤️

𝓞ur little secret ⋮ doctor charlie mayhew

ᡣ𐭩 . warnings ᯓ +18 mndi!, smut, u p i v, immoral behaviours, husband!doctor charlie x wife!reader, a bit of angst, i think that’s all. a/n ᯓ thanks for the request and also thanks for the good words! i tried to do this the best i could ♡. ps: english is not my first language.

───────── ⋆⋅🕸️⋅⋆ ────────

Charlie's big hand was positioned over your mouth to prevent the sounds from being emitted too loud. His hips hit yours from behind at an accelerated pace, making his cock touch all the right places inside you. Your hands on the wall helped your back arch more, making the man's thrusts reach deeper.

“My little wife, always so responsive to me” Charlie whispered in your ear, accentuating the sentence with a firm stab.

You had to bite your husband's hand that covered your mouth the moment his free hand ended up on your clit, massaging it in slow and tortuous circles.

You were both in Lois' empty room while she was doing her rehabilitation exercises. And yes, you were fucking.

In your mind you were screaming for Charlie to let you cum, but you didn't dare to say it out loud knowing that your voice volume would be too high and that you would attract the attention of your co-workers and patients.

“Do you want to come, baby?” He asked mockingly while lightly biting the lobe of your right ear. “Come on, pray for it”

You grabbed his hand by the wrist to separate it from your mouth and be able to talk. “Please, please... Let me cum” You begged in a low voice and between moans. “That's my girl” He said.

And with that, his thrusts and caresses to your clit increased and became stronger.

Finally the knot in your tummy fell apart making you wet your husband's cock. He kept lashing out at you to help you cope with the orgasm until you calmed down.

Charlie quickly came out of you — leaving you with a feeling of intense emptiness — and began to caress his member behind you.

You could hear how his breathing was agitated and how small curses came out of his lips. Seconds later you felt how his cum landed on your back.

You leaned completely on the wall, trying to calm your breathing while you felt how your husband was cleaning up the mess he had caused on your back.

Once you stabilised and were clean, you began to pick up your nurse's outfit, since you were the only one of the two who was completely naked, and with Charlie's help you began to dress.

When you were both presentable you left the room, luckily there was no one in the hallway who could betray you.

You arrived at the rehabilitation room where Lois was doing her exercises, but when she saw you, anger consumed her.

“You have done it again,” the woman said, you both looked at each other without understanding anything. “You've had sex in my room again”

You got nervous, but as always, Charlie knew perfectly what to do. “Don't talk nonsense, Lois. We would never do that”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” She asked offended and incredulous. “Every time I go back to my room it smells like sex, and it's obvious that it's your fault”

The other doctors and nurses who were in the room looked at the three of you, some with sorrow for Lois and others with compassion for you. It wasn't the first time Lois said crazy things about hospital workers.

“Please, we are professionals. We would never do something like that and much less in a patient's room” Your husband continued and you decided to contribute to the conversation. “Yes, Lois, what you're saying is in very bad taste. We were the ones who took care of you while you were in a coma”

It was at that moment that Lois started screaming that Charlie tried to kill her and that you did nothing to stop him. Some nurses began to take the elderly woman to her room while she resisted and shouted to leave her.

“We're going to drive her crazy” You whispered so that only Charlie would hear you, watching the scene with sorrow. He just let out a low laugh and wrapped his arm around your waist. “She's already crazy”

───────── ⋆⋅🕸️⋅⋆ ────────

mlist , bots

 c-cobweb 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[godwithinself]

Routine—Dr. Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

summary— Dr. Mayhew invites you after hours for a ‘routine check up.’ Based on this request.

warnings— slight cnc, abuse of power, anal fingering, face fucking, praise kink, degradation, face slapping, tit slapping, choking, objectification, hair pulling, sir kink, spitting, anal, unprotected sex, ass to mouth, breeding kink, creampie.

a/n— i feel like i’ve been gone so long but i’m back now <3(though it’s lowkey hard to write with long nails)

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

It was late, the air unusually quiet except for the low hum of fluorescent lights. You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to come back after hours for your follow up. Dr. Mayhew’s cryptic suggestion earlier in the day had been impossible to shake: “Come back tonight when it’s quiet. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Something in his tone had made your pulse quicken, his usual professional demeanor cracking just enough to reveal something darker. You told yourself it was all in your head, but now, standing in the dimly lit exam room, you couldn’t ignore the tension crackling between you.

Dr. Mayhew entered, his white coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His dark eyes raked over you, lingering just a moment too long. “Still here, I see,” he said, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click. “Good girl.”

The session started—a few questions, a brief examination. But as his hands lingered, brushing against your skin under the guise of professionalism, the air grew heavy with something unspoken. He leaned in close, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve been testing my patience all day.”

Dr. Mayhew adjusted his gloves, his gaze piercing but tinged with something else, something darker. His lips curved into a slight smirk as he approached you, tilting his head. “I need to perform a full examination,” he murmured, his tone smooth but commanding. “Let’s start with your chest.”

You hesitated, but the intensity in his stare rooted you to the spot. His hands moved deliberately, sliding over your shoulders before trailing down to rest just below your collarbone. “Relax,” he said, voice low and firm. “This is all part of the process.”

He cupped your boobs, the touch firm under the guise of a medical examination. His fingers lingered, pressing in ways that made you swallow hard. “You’re tense,” he muttered, almost to himself, his thumbs brushing suggestively. “Maybe I should take my time here.”

Your breath hitched, but his movements never faltered. “Don’t act so shy now,” he said, leaning in so his breath ghosted over your ear. “You knew exactly what you were coming back for.”

He firmly massaged your boobs, his gaze sharp as he did. He directed you to turn around, his voice clipped and commanding. “Bend over the table,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the examination bed.

You hesitated, unsure of his intentions. “W-why are you doing this?” you asked, trying to steady your breath.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rested a firm hand at the base of your spine, encouraging compliance. His other hand moved with practiced authority, adjusting your position so that you could arch better. “I’m the doctor here,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “And I know what’s best for you. Trust me.”

Your heart raced as he began his inspection, his hands firm and meticulous as he groped your ass. He tugged lightly on your hair, tilting your head to the side. “Keep still,” he instructed, the subtle pull sending a shock of awareness through you. “I need you to behave.”

A gasp left your lips as he tore the shorts under your tights, the cool air making your bare pussy quiver.

“D-doctor—” you groaned, but he cut you off sharply.

“Don’t speak, this is routine. I need to make sure everything is fine with every part of you,” he growled.

Another gasp left your lips as you felt the unmistakable feeling of a finger circling the hole no one had ever been in. The hole no one should be in—yet the pure taboo of it had you biting your lip and arching your back deeper.

“No hemorrhoids, virgin ass, so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, his voice low.

You bit down on your lip harder, groaning as you felt a finger push inside you.

“Shh, just let me do this,” he cooed.

Your doctor knew best, didn’t he? Though, alarm bells were ringing in your head.

You clamped around his finger and he let it settle, curving and slowly moving it around so he could wiggle his way inside you.

“Such a tight virgin ass,” he murmured.

Just as you were starting to feel pleasure, he removed his finger. You let out a sigh of relief but your breath caught again as you heard the sound of a belt buckle clinking. Turning around, his pants were pooled at his feet with the thickest cock you had ever seen.

You were about to say something when he grabbed your curls, turning your body around.

“Need to make sure that throat is able to be used for what it’s made for,” he murmured.

He shoved his swollen cock into your mouth before you could even think about what to do. It immediately hit the back of your throat and he kept it settled until you were gasping for air before he pulled out.

You gasped as you tried to get air but he began pushing your face into his crotch leaving you no choice but to accept his length back into your mouth.

“Learn how to suck cock like you were made for you dumb slut, take it all the way in!” he growled, tightening his grip in your curls and thrusting harshly as he proceeded to fuck your mouth even more vigorously than before.

A sick and twisted part of you just wanted to show him how good you were at this. So, your tongue darted out, trailing along his shaft and getting it sloppy.

“Fuck, that’s it, slut,” he moaned.

You hummed around his cock and continued, gliding your tongue along him as he fucked your throat. Your hands went to his heavy balls, massaging as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, trying your best not to gag.

“You’re such a good cock sucking whore, m’ gonna cum down that throat,” he gasped, his pace faltering but still just as brutal.

Suckling on the bulbous tip, you stroked his shaft and felt his cum spurt into your mouth. He thrusted into your throat again, holding you down as he came down your throat, your nose touching his pelvis.

“That’s a good whore, don’t let a drop go to waste,” he cooed.

Once again, not missing a beat, he grabbed you by your curls, shoving you flat onto the table. “Now, I’m gonna put my cock inside that pussy, just because I can,” he whispered, “and you’re going to take every single inch like the good little whore you are.”

You didn’t bother protesting, you knew your protests would fall on deaf ears and so, you allowed him to spread your legs.

“You’re so wet, your pussy’s working just fine,” he smirked, using the head of his cock to drag along your folds.

You whined shamelessly, the throbbing in your clit growing unbearable.

“No whines, only begging, and call me sir while you’re at it,” he demanded.

Something came over you—or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

“Please sir, just put it in, please fuck me,” you pleaded, your pussy getting wetter as you uttered each word.

A sharp smack against your cheek made you whine again. “You can do better than that, slut.”

“Please fuck me sir, I need your cock, I’ve never needed anything more, just please fuck me, fuck me like a slut,” you begged.

Satisfied by your begging, he grabbed you by the throat, thrusting inside your wet pussy giving you no time to adjust.

“So tight, like your pussy was made for my cock,” he murmured.

His grip around your throat tightened as he slammed into you, hard, your tits bouncing. His other hand came down on your tits, slapping them before a sharp smack was placed on your cheek, making you moan.

“Oh, you like that? You like being treated like just an object for me to use? Good, because that’s all you are to me,” Dr. Mayhew said.

Your pussy fluttered at his words, his cock pounding against your g spot repeatedly and you could feel a strong orgasm building. He leaned down, using his free hand to force your jaw open before spitting into it.

“Swallow, and soon as you do, cum on my cock, slut,” he muttered.

You swallowed his spit on your tongue and drenched him, your back arching off the table as your orgasm took ahold of you. As you squirted on his cock, your entire body shivered, his cock pounding your pussy through your orgasm.

“That’s it, what a good slut, this is all you’re good for, being an object for me to use,” he said, “now get on your hands and knees and spread that ass.”

By then you had accepted your fate, being nothing more than just a fuck toy for Dr. Mayhew. Why else would you have come back so late? You complied, arching your back as you did and spreading your ass to him.

He felt slick fingers rubbing your pussy then trailing back to your hole. A gasp left your lips as you felt two fingers plunge into you, the burning stretch leaving you aching.

“You’re going to wish it was my fingers fucking that ass,” he chuckled.

You realized what he meant, feeling the leaking tip of his cock bore into you. Still, you kept your ass spread open for him, allowing him to push deeper inside you.

“Fucking hell, so tight for me,” he groaned, finally able to fit half of his length inside.

He grabbed your hands, pinning them behind you and holding on as he fucked your ass. His thrusts were steady and deep, invading a hole that had never been used before.

“S-slow down,” you pleaded.

“You don’t tell me what to do, bitch, I do what I want to you and you take it like a good fucking slut who’s nothing more than an object for me to use. Objects shut the fuck up,” he retorted.

A sob left your lips but your body betrayed you as your ass clamped around his cock and your pussy clenched around nothing at his filthy words.

He took the opportunity to let go of your hands, reaching to rub your clit as he felt the impending orgasm.

“Stop acting like you aren’t enjoying this and fucking cum for me,” he said, “cum with my cock in your ass.”

He rubbed rough circles on your clit, his cock slamming inside your hole and you felt yourself squirt on his fingers, your body once again betraying you.

“Good girl, that’s what objects do, they listen.”

He pulled his thick cock out of your ass leaving you agape before grabbing your by your curls to face it.

“Clean my cock so I can fuck that pussy again,” he demanded.

Staring up at him, you took him into your mouth, sucking and slurping until every part of him was covered in your saliva. When he was satisfied with your work, he pulled you off him, a trail of spit connecting you with the tip.

“So beautiful when you’re ruined like this,” you heard him mutter.

He pushed you onto your back, his cock plunging into you as he chased his own orgasm.

“Look at me bitch, I want you to look at me when I cum inside this pussy and breed you.”

You stared into his brown eyes, his cock slamming against your cervix before you felt his hot load fill you up. He moaned as you clenched around him, practically milking him of all he had.

“Good girl, take my cum,” he praised.

As soon as he was satisfied, he pulled out of you, his cum slowly oozing from your pussy. He took a few wipes from a cabinet, carefully cleaning you up before his eyes met yours.

“Same time, tomorrow.”

[godwithinself]

pretty boy ♡ pretty face ♡ pretty eyes ♡ pretty hair ♡ pretty smile ♡ pretty boy !!!!!!!!! ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ pretty EVERYTHING ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

alexa play into you by ariana grande

[godwithinself]

HAUNTED (+18)

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. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

THREE

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

FOUR (+18)

Days passed, with you avoiding Charlie as if he were a disease. The truth was that his mere presence already unsettled your mind. You needed these days to reflect, allowing yourself to leave the guest room only when he was at work, taking your meals in secret. Mary helped you avoid your husband, though she always advised you to talk to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, here you were—facing Dr. Charlie Mayhew while he used an exercise bike, wearing a tank top that revealed his strong arms. Sweat glistened on his body, an almost provocative scene. "What are you plotting, Dr. Mayhew?" you said aloud, watching him exercise in the middle of the house. He was doing it on purpose—obviously.

"I see you've returned to calling me Doctor—such progress. If you must know, I’m simply enjoying my day off. Exercising to keep my body in shape, the very same body that once greatly satisfied my wife. You know, the one who now seems to prefer ignoring me over taking advantage of it..." he says playfully, as if trying to seduce you while also grumbling.

"Your body? Is that how you plan to get my attention?" you say, feigning indifference, as though his attempt to distract you with his physique is failing—though, in truth, it’s working all too well. You remain standing in front of the guest room door, dressed in your nightgown, noticing that neither Mary nor Ed is anywhere to be seen. Charlie, still pedaling on the exercise bike, has his back to you, his posture emphasizing his toned rear, which you can’t help but eye almost hungrily.

"It used to work, I’ll admit I’m resorting to extremes. And just so you know, Mary and Ed are off today. It’ll be just you and me the entire day. In case you were planning to hide away like a frightened little mouse," Charlie says as he steps off the bike, approaching you while using a small towel to wipe the sweat from his body.

"You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Is our marriage now about disrespecting each other’s personal space?" you ask, slightly irritated, nearly pouncing on him in your frustration.

"What marriage, mi amor? You see me as an enemy, as the villain in your story, not as your husband." Suddenly, the air grows heavier as you stand mere inches apart, your eyes locked on each other, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Are you asking for a divorce, dear husband?" you ask softly, your voice calm. Charlie's breath brushes against your face, the scent of his sweat acting like an aphrodisiac, stirring something deep within you.

"What other option do we have? Stay married while playing cat and mouse? You avoid me, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking your husband is a monster and hiding from him? All of these options are a waste of time and emotional energy," Charlie speaks so rationally, though his expression betrays his words. It’s as if he’s daring you to consider the possibility of ending it all.

"It feels like we’re just going in circles around each other," you murmur, exhaling a heavy breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You close your eyes slowly, feeling the weight of what ending your marriage would truly mean. It’s a thought that has crossed your mind before, yet there’s an ache in your chest at the idea of stepping out of Charlie’s life for good.

"Tell me honestly, would you feel at peace if I left? If I were no longer your husband?" he asks, stepping closer, his tongue slowly wetting his lips. It’s almost as if he’s testing your reaction to his proximity, studying your every move.

"There will be no peace for me until I truly know who I am," you reply, locking eyes with him, though now with a growing desire stirring within you. Your hand grazes his muscled arm, sending a visible shiver through him. He leans in closer, tilting his head as if seeking permission in your gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he tugs down the neckline of your nightgown just enough to bare your shoulder, his eyes darkening as he watches your response.

"And until you remember who you are, will I need to quit my job and dismiss Mary and Ed just to have a proper conversation with you?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his gaze flicking to you from the corner of his eye as if gauging your reaction. A shiver courses through you, but your fingers find their way to his damp hair, gently caressing it.

Charlie's kisses trail from your shoulder to your neck, his warm breath brushing against your skin, sending a cascade of sensations through you. "So you admit you orchestrated this to force me to interact with you?" you manage to ask, though your focus falters with every brush of his lips. When his mouth lingers near your jawline, you realize rational thought is slipping away, overtaken by the pull of what you're feeling.

"I admit it—I wanted you with no distractions, no escape. I was desperate," he confesses, his voice low and laced with vulnerability. His lips travel softly over your cheek, grazing the bridge of your nose and the corners of your eyes, each kiss more tender than the last. His hands, warm and deliberate, trace the curve of your body, sliding your nightgown higher with a slow, intoxicating purpose, as if savoring every inch of contact.

His hands grip your thighs tightly as he slowly pulls them away from your face as if he's analyzing your reactions. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamed about this exact moment the entire time you were unconscious. However, if you're not comfortable, we can call it a day. As long as you don't ignore me again, that will be enough for me," Charlie speaks as if he were holding himself back from exploding with desperate to have you. He rests his head on your shoulder, looking up, his expression seemed like the perfect mix of lust and insecurity. At that moment something awakened in you, the notion that he might actually be sincere, at least about his desire to have you.

"You settle for so little," you mutter, waiting for a reaction from him. Charlie then lifts his head, staring at you for a few moments. His fingers caress your face with a certain firmness, passing his fingers under your lips. At some point his thumb slipped between your lips and you bit it lightly, then sucked on Charlie's finger as you stared at him.

"You're playing with fire, mi amor," Charlie says, kissing the corner of your mouth, as if he were teasing you. You turn off any inhibitions that would keep you from attacking Charlie's lips. Honestly, whether or not he is who Detective Lois is looking for doesn't really matter at this point. Your soul seems to be thirsting for Charlie Mayhew's presence, not just near you but within you.

"Burn me with your fire, Dr. Mayhew," you whisper. Charlie's eyes grow dark, his lips attack yours in a fervent, messy kiss. He sucks on your tongue as he tightens his arms around your waist. The kiss almost takes your breath away but leaves you so hot. You use your hands to grope his chest, while you cling to him. The kiss breaks as Charlie starts to kiss your neck passionately, nibbling your skin while his hands start to caress your breasts through your nightgown. At first, the gentle way his fingers played with your nipples through your nightgown sent a shiver down your spine. He seemed to grow impatient, as if he wanted to feel your skin against his immediately. Then he lifted you up with his arms, making you put your legs around his waist and hold on tight to his shoulders so you wouldn't fall. He placed you under the kitchen counter, placing his body between your legs. Quickly, he began to take off the nightgown you were wearing.

"See my beautiful wife, naked beneath her nightgown as if she knew I would be extremely pleased to see her like that," Charlie speaks as he runs his fingers over your naked body, ending up holding your ass with both of his hands, squeezing it tightly as he brings you closer to him. You who are studying every detail to memorize Charlie Mayhew's touch and taste. You pull his hair back, holding the strands firmly, going hungrily to Charlie's lips and kissing him. He bites your lip as he tries to match your pace during the kiss. You take your hands out of his hair, and start to pull down his shorts and underwear.

"I see that my wonderful husband was really right when he said I should take advantage of his body," you teases him as she watches his cock spring out of his underwear. Charlie gives you a kiss, as he moves towards you, using his hands that are no longer on your ass, to spread your legs wider. As his tongue explores not only your mouth but also your neck, his fingers enter you without hesitation. His fingers, going in and out quite quickly while your pussy squeezed them, you ended up moaning from the pleasure of feeling the pressure of his fingers in your pussy.

"An eternity could pass, but being inside you will still be the best feeling of my life," he murmurs, gently biting your ear while talking against it, giving you goosebumps. You then grab his hand before he can put his fingers inside you again, and with a thirsty look, you try to tell him that you want his cock. He then holds your thighs firmly, separating your legs with precision and then thrusts his erect cock inside you. You let out a loud moan, the feeling of him fucking you is something you weren't prepared to feel. He kisses your lips softly as he slowly thrusts his cock in your pussy that is already wet. You hold on to him as you feel him move in and out of you faster and faster.

For a moment it was as if an animalistic instinct took over him. You close your eyes tightly, reveling in the feeling of being taken by him, while your nails scratch every possible part of his body. For a moment, you drag your ass forward to increase the proximity of your body to Charlie's. He seems to want to see your face, moving your hair away from your face and pulling your face with his hand, kissing your lips once more. However, his hand goes down to your neck and and hold it there firmly. For some reason, the feeling of being lightly suffocated by him feels extremely satisfying. The more he pressed his hand against your neck, the more horny you became for him.

You were so wet that his cock was fitting perfectly inside your pussy, the synchronization of your bodies was almost surreal. Your only regret was not ripping off the damn tank top Charlie is wearing. With each thrust you feel yourself getting close to cumming, feeling your breath leaving you as he squeezes your neck in a strong way, taking you to the limit. You grind on Charlie's cock, making him groan heavily as he cums inside you. Even so, he continues to thrust his cock inside you while your pussy is sensitive from feeling him cum hard, until you cum too.

You two are a mess, dirtying the kitchen counter. Charlie lifts your head slowly, kissing every part of your face gently. "I think we should go take a shower wife. What we just did here certainly made us sweaty," Charlie says as he catches his breath after the sex you had. "You'll have to carry me," you inform him, feeling loose in your legs. He kisses your neck and then carries you to the bathroom in your room, where you bathe and have a second round.

Afterward, everything seemed normal. Charlie and you shared your bed again, following a day spent together during his time off, complete with him preparing dinner for the two of you. The next morning, he woke early for work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and informing you that Mary and Ed would be at your service.

You woke up feeling invigorated, determined to seek answers while also embracing the peace that being with Charlie seemed to bring. A few hours later, after getting ready, you set out to visit Detective Tryon. Ed accompanied you there, and you felt no fear of Charlie discovering your visit to Lois, as you had resolved to extend a measure of trust to both of them.

"Mrs. Mayhew, to what do I owe the honor of your visit to my workplace?" Lois asks, lighting a cigarette as she settles into her chair. You find yourself in her office, surrounded by officers, inmates, and suspicious individuals.

"I came here to understand why I am considered a suspect in your investigation," you reply quickly, remaining standing. Detective Tryon looks you up and down before exhaling a puff of smoke, seemingly pondering your words.

"You’ll need to follow me to a room where I can show you the answer to your question," Lois says as she stands, gesturing for you to follow. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you trail behind her as she leads the way to a room at the back of the precinct.

Upon entering the room, you are met with paintings depicting crime scenes, eerily similar to those you had once seen in Charlie Mayhew's office. Each artwork bears the same hauntingly realistic and morbid tone, sending chills down your spine.

"What do these paintings have to do with your suspicions?" you ask, bewildered by the connection between yourself and these brutally realistic depictions of crime.

"Well, Mrs. Mayhew," Detective Tryon begins, her tone grave, "I must inform you that these paintings are of your authorship. Not only that, but you need to understand that they depict actual, unsolved homicide cases. And you painted these works before the murders depicted in them occurred. This has made you a suspect. Moreover, all the victims were, at some point, connected to the hospital where your husband works. Many were even his patients."

Her piercing gaze settles on you, and the weight of her words sends your mind spiraling. You glance at the paintings again, confusion thickening as fragmented memories resurface. Images of your past flit through your mind—your quiet painting room, where you used to work with calm precision. Suddenly, you recall painting the image of one of the murdered women, her lifeless form rendered in vivid detail.

What strikes you as bizarre is that your reference seemed to be a photograph—one that was pinned to a bulletin board in front of you. The realization stirs something deep within, but a sharp pain in your head interrupts your thoughts, slicing through the memory like a blade. Dizzy and disoriented, you close your eyes tightly, the room spinning around you. Detective Tryon calls your name, her cigarette dropping forgotten to the floor as she rushes toward you. But it is too late. Your body goes limp, and you collapse to the ground, succumbing to unconsciousness.

[godwithinself]

hey um so....... ♡ boyfriend ♡ reveal 🪽🤏🏼💍🐰🏅🧸🎀

i js wanna fosososneowjodjdodncodkrkeeojd kiss him all over his beautiful face !!!!!!!it's no joke!!!!!!!! he is the most beautiful man in the world. also i love his nose so much have i mentioned that before? and his hair is so fluffy and cutIEEEEEEEEE nicholas one chance my fucking GOD!!!;!2

[godwithinself]

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙎, 𝙏𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝘿 & 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙒𝙀𝘿 ⎯ father charlie mayhew

⠀⎯⎯⎯ read part one! .. 𝓶illion 𝓭ollar 𝓶an

₊˚⊹౨ৎ 𝓐'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: here it is! finally! i know a lot of people waited for this, so i hope you enjoy. please read the warnings before reading ⎯ this is dirtyyyy as hell. 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. gore · murder · descriptive mentions of crimes & killing · blood(play). like, so much blood · masochism · blasphemy · charlie & reader refer to him as "god" · knife play · blood kink · oral (m!receiving + slight f!receiving) · finger sucking · unprotected piv · choking/breath play · cum eating · a cliffhanger at the end (: 𝘄𝗰. 5299

"Does it matter what tool do we use?", you asked inquisitively, running your fingertips over the cold surface of the chopping knife, as if you were trying to memorise every detail of it. You tilted your head slightly, and Charlie hummed, his hands resting on either side of you as he pressed his chest against your back. His chin rested on the top of your head — he took a deep breath, savouring the moment of silence, the warmness of your body against his; your smell invaded his senses, making his lips curve into a smile.

"This time — no", Charlie retorted, lifting his hand to rest it on top of yours. "But you still have to think this through. You're my smart girl, aren't you?", he run his fingers over the blunt side of the tool, and you nodded vigorously, making the Priest's heart swell with pride. "Tell me. Which one would you choose?".

You nibbled on your bottom lip, your gaze focusing on the tools in front of you.

"Easily, a gun. I would simply shot them in the head", you hesitated, turning towards Charlie, whose chocolate-like eyes were now flickering with adoration. He took a strand of your perfectly curled hair and twirled it around his pointer finger, humming appreciatively, encouraging you to continue. "They will be dead within seconds. No need to massacre their bodies before death. Then, we can use a saw to cut off their limbs. It should cut through the bones pretty easily — at least, that's what you said", you added, the corners of your mouth turning up as you battled your eyelashes at Charlie. He tugged on the strand of hair before cupping your cheek, and you snuggled into his palm, warmness spreading across your body.

"Indeed, love. You've been listening very carefully, learning so quick. Such a good little Angel", he cooed, making your heart flutter in your chest. "Let's get to work then, shall we?".

You nodded in response, and Charlie sent you a filthy, open-mouthed smirk, before leaning down to kiss you just as filthily. Your body responded to his naturally, melting into his warm embrace, your hands resting on his black shirt-covered chest, wishing nothing more but to see his body underneath. But it had to wait, and you knew it — it was hard to control the tingling sensation between your thighs as Charlie's lips brushed against you with such vigor and need, though. Your teeth clicked together as Charlie's hand tangled in your hair, causing a soft whimper to leave your mouth, your tongue rolling over his own messily. "Mmm, later", the priest mumbled lowly, pulling away just slightly — his swollen, wet lips brushed against yours as you stood there, breathing each others air, savouring the moment. The cold air of the basement hit your skin, and you trembled, your eyes snapping open to meet Charlie's gaze.

"Yes. Let's just... get it over with", you whispered softly, and he took a step back, nodding his head towards the counter behind you. You understood what he wanted — you blindly reached for the gun laying on the very edge of the table, reloading it, your every movement precise and slow. Charlie intertwined your fingers together, sending you a smile.

You were convinced everything would be fine as long as the two of you were together.

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand", Charlie's soothing voice reached your ears, filling the silence like the most beautiful song. You hanged your head, closing your eyes for a second, feeling his presence behind you; his cautious eyes following every movement of your steady hands. You passed the needle through the skin of a sex worker's arm, connecting it to torso of another's. You hummed softly as your knees dig into the cold, marble floor —yet, somehow, you loved the pain. You were almost finished sewing the body parts together under Charlie's gaze, as he gave you tips every now and then. You appreciated his work, appreciated how he let you be a part of his plan, appreciated how patient and helpful he was when it came to you and only you.

"I'm so thankful", you mumbled, lifting your eyes just for a second, meeting the Priest's gaze, before focusing on the needle still in your hand. A smile made its way onto your face, covered by a sheer, lacy, black veil, and Charlie's breath hitched at your beauty.

His greedy eyes roamed over your form, kneeling on the floor. You were wearing a long dress that matched the veil gracefully resting on your head.

Your hair fell on your back in cascades, silky and soft, glimmering in the dim, flickering lighting. Your long, fluttering lashes casted long shadows on your cheeks, and your lips were slightly parted as you focused on your task.

Charlie couldn't help the appreciative hum that left his mouth as he circled you, careful not to step on any of the blood pools or the poor people's body parts. "I mean it", your voice came out low and steady as you — yet again — stole him a quick glance. The left corner of your mouth quirked up as you finally finished, putting the needle and string down, admiring your and Charlie's — mostly his — masterpiece with tilted head. "Thank you for letting me help you. Thank you for showing me the world I haven't ever seen before. Thank you for loving me", you muttered slowly, and Charlie stopped in his tracks, now standing right in front of you. You lifted your gaze as his tall form towered over you — his eyes filled with adoration, pride, and the all familiar neediness.

"You make me so proud everyday", he spoke lowly, holding out his hand for you to grab. You slowly got up from your kneeling position, and he pulled you into his warm embrace, never letting go of your bloody hand — he lifted it to his mouth, pressing soft kisses on the back of your hand, humming at the metallic taste invading his senses. Your breath hitched as his lips met your fingers, the fresh blood now covering his mouth — the all familiar sight so erotic, you couldn't help but shudder, tapping two of your fingers against his lower lip delicately. Charlie obeyed, as he always did, taking them into his mouth without hesitation, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid greedily. A quiet whine left his mouth as his lips closed around your digits, sucking them harshly, his hands now roaming over your lower back. His eyes met yours, dark and dangerous, even when you were the one stuffing his mouth with your fingers.

You pushed them further into his mouth before pulling out, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. There was no rush in the way you moved, not even when he walked you back to press you against the wall, not when he pushed himself inside of you so hard it almost hurt — yet you loved every second of the pain. You always did with Charlie.

A breathless praises escaped his mouth as he fucked into you nice and deep, and for a moment, it was just the two of you — in the quietness of the abandoned Church, the corpses on the floor long forgotten as you turned into a babbling mess, surrounded by his powerful embrace. It made you feel powerful, too, as the two of you connected over and over again, a rush of adrenaline running down your spine, fireworks erupting in your stomach as you watched him with hooded eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much", Charlie panted, pressing his forehead against yours as he painted your walls white, holding on to you as if you were going to disappear any second now. You could only smile, brushing your fingers over his cheek, the softness of his skin perfectly matching the delicacy of his soul.

You loved watching Charlie hold his usual evening masses. Not only did he look effortlessly beautiful, but his words — always a little bit too personal and specific — touched your soul. You sat in the darkest corner, your hands folded in prayer as you savoured the moment, trying so hard to focus on his sermon — but everything about him was way too mesmerising. From his perfectly combed hair, to his glimmering eyes, to the way his lips moved as he spoke. The way his long eyelashes casted soft shadows on his cheeks, or the way his Adam's apple moved as he spoke. Your gaze travelled lower — your wide eyes following the way his fingers tightened around the platform as he read the Bible verses to the parishioners.

Your cheeks grew warm, and, as if he could sense your sudden fluster, his eyes scanned over the crowd of people, only to settle on you. Charlie knew he couldn't do much from his spot on the platform, but he felt powerful under your gaze — full of adoration and pride. You bit your lip, winking at him, and he gripped the platform tightly, his voice never shuddering. He sent you a last, lingering gaze before focusing on his work, completely — yet a silent promise of what was about to come lingered in the air between you.

Soon after, he said his goodbyes to the parishioners, turning away to snuff out the candles around the altar. You stayed in your seat, looking for the right moment to approach him as people began to leave. You got up, slowly and deliberately, smoothing out the wrinkles on your black dress, beginning to walk towards him. You knew he could feel your presence when you saw his shoulders relax, as the last person left the church, leaving the two of you alone.

"The sermon was beautiful", you whispered, and Charlie chuckled under his breath, turning towards you. His hands were on you in an instant, warm and comforting on your hips.

"Come on now, Angel", he smirked, tilting his head before leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "You were rather absent. Too busy eye-fucking me to focus on anything else, really".

You grinned, letting your hands trace the outline of his muscles through the thick material of the cassock he was wearing. "Mmm. Maybe. You just look so good. Couldn't help myself", you breathed out, closing your eyes before closing the remaining distance between you and kissing him.

Charlie responded immediately, soft groan leaving his mouth at the taste of you — a taste he missed so much. He pulled you closer, letting you feel his strong body against yours, the growing bulge in his pants brushing against your stomach. You smirked into the kiss, biting his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood. You lapped at the small wound greedily, moaning at the taste — you were convinced nothing could ever taste as good as him. You let Charlie's tongue tangle with your own, allowing him to taste his own blood. His soft groans, along with your occasional whines echoed through the air, your hands now travelling up his back to tangle in his hair.

"Mmm, I missed you", you managed to say between kisses, pushing him back blindly until he fell onto his chair — the very one he sat in during masses. Charlie took his cassock off hurriedly, before grabbing you by your thighs, forcing you to straddle his lap. He wasted no time as he latched his lips on your neck, scraping his teeth against the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your head fell back — your breathless moans filled the air, punctuated by the wet sounds of Charlie's mouth against your skin.

"Every inch of you is made for worship. You're perfect", he muttered, pressing kisses along your jawline as he clutched the lacy material of your dress in his hands. "You're a Goddess. A Divine Being. Made for me, and only me".

Your eyes fluttered shut at his words, and you let them settle in the silence between the two of you — your breathing became heavy as Charlie's lips brushed against your neck, his fingers tracing shapes on your thighs. The cross on the wall behind you caught your attention, but in that moment, there was no Jesus, no shame, no fear; all you could feel was Charlie and the power emanating from him.

"You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water", your melodic, satin like voice filled the silence in Charlie's chamber as he washed the remains of blood from his face with the Holy Water. He swore he could almost feel the burning sensation in the places that the Water reached — as if God was punishing him for his sins. In that moment it didn't matter, though, not when your words reached his ears. He hummed appreciatively, turning towards your kneeling form.

"Very good. Worship Your God with not only words, but also actions". You nodded slowly as he now stood in front of you, with nothing but a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Your mouth began to salivate as you watched him, tall and powerful above you, his gaze both demanding and dangerous. Unhesitatingly, you reached for his towel, tugging it down in one, swift movement. Your breath hitched as his cock stood proudly right in front of your face, waiting to be taken care of.

"So pretty", you whispered softly, not sure of he'd even be able to hear — yet he did. He looked down at you with authority, small smile making its way on his lips before he reached down to tug on your hair, clearly inpatient. You fixed your posture, leaning forward, folding your hands, as Charlie slowly began to stroke his cock with his free hand.

A soft moan left his mouth at the contact, as he watched you with hooded eyes; one of his black shirts dangling from your figure, rolled up on your silky thighs. Charlie caught a sneak peek of your collarbones and neck as you hanged your head.

"He is the one you praise; he is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes", he panted lowly, moving his hand over his cock teasingly slow, as he held your hair tightly. Your lashes fluttered as you gazed up at him — the power he had over you in the moment only spurred him on further. "Open up. Wide", he instructed, tugging on your hair, forcing you to lift your head. You obeyed —your tongue lolling out of your mouth, eyes clouded with lust as you looked up for his approval.

There was no rush in his movements as he slowly positioned his leaking cock in front of your awaiting mouth, slapping the tip against your tongue. You hummed as the salty taste of his pre-cum invaded your senses, the smell of Charlie — wood, a strong cologne and a hint of incense — lingering in the air, making the moment even more intimate.

"Just like that, Angel", he smirked widely, his eyes not once leaving yours as he slowly thrusted into your mouth. "Worship your God".

You hollowed your cheeks around his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip just like he knew he liked it. Charlie hissed through clenched teeth, tangling his hand in your hair, holding you in place as his hips began to snap into your mouth with force. Your eyes began to water as his tip bruised the back of your throat, your still folded hands trembling as you struggled to breathe.

"You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, on your knees — praying for me", he gasped, and you let out a moan, causing every muscle in his body to clench. He continued to use your mouth, as you slurped down on his cock, saliva mixed with his pre-cum dripping from the sides of your mouth — you weren't afraid of being messy, spurred by the groans leaving his mouth every time your wet, inviting mouth took all of his length in.

Charlie's thumb pressed against your forehead, as he continued to use your mouth, deaf to the desperate moans and gags leaving you. He drew a sign of the cross on your skin, causing a tingling sensation to spread all over your body. You doubled your efforts on his dick, your tongue lapping the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. Charlie whined and pushed you all the way down, forcing his length to rest deep in your throat — your hands flew to his thighs for balance, tears running down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe.

"A holy seed in your mouth, Angel", Charlie panted, his head falling back as he felt your throat convulse around him. "Take me. Take all of me in your pretty little throat — let me take over your body and soul".

All you could do was moan as his hips thrusted against your face one, two, three more times — before he pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen lips to his pretty, flushed tip. You sticked out your tongue while your hands moved up to close around his cock, jerking him off swiftly.

A few seconds and strokes of your hands later, and the hot spurts of his cum landed on your awaiting tongue, chin and cheeks, his hand on your head tightening as he struggled to stay upright.

"Oh my— Yes, fuck", he grunted desperately, and you smirked, closing your mouth around his tip to swallow every single drop he offered you.

You pulled away a while later, licking your lips, savouring the taste of his godly essence on your tongue. Charlie's chest was heaving with uneven breaths as he pulled you up by your shoulders. Your legs were shaking terribly, sore from the endless kneeling, but the burn in your lower abdomen was stronger than any pain.

"You're a real child of God", Charlie held both of your hands in his as he led you to his bed. Your knees buckled when they hit the bed frame, and you fell back against the sheets, moving up until your head met the pillow. Your hair was scattered around your head like a halo, and Charlie's breath hitched as he stood on the foot of the bed, in all his glory — his cock stood proud in the air, not yet fully satisfied.

You watched with a smile as he moved to grab a knife from his drawer. The bed creaked under Charlie's weight as he slowly moved to tower over you. His hand slid up your chest, slowly and teasingly, before the blunt side of the knife pressed against your — his — shirt-covered collarbone.

The thrill of being at his mercy — even though you knew he wouldn't hurt you — was electrifying, and you couldn't help the gasp that left your mouth at the sensation. Charlie hummed a few lines of a hymn, as his other hand grasped your thigh, his fingers tracing soft circles onto your skin. The blade moved against your chest, and he pressed it in harder, cutting through the black fabric.

"So pure... so special", he whispered, voice filled with adoration as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. You gasped as the cold air hit your hot skin, when Charlie slowly slid the shirt off your shoulders. Your boobs were now fully exposed to him, and he couldn't help a groan that left his mouth at the sight, his cock pressing between your bodies as he leaned down to brush his lips against the fading "C" on your sternum, that he carved out with his knife a few weeks ago. He knew it'd leave a scar, but that was his purpose — he wanted you to be marked as his for life. He let his tongue trace over the letter, lapping at your skin as if he was starved.

"Therefore, I urge you, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God — this is your true and proper worship", he mumbled, and your back arched off the bed as his mouth closed around your nipple, biting the sensitive bud softly, at which you whined. You tugged on the white sheets with force as he sucked, licked and lapped on your skin, breathless sounds leaving your mouth when the cold blade pressed against your skin yet again.

"Charlie— please", you managed to let out through gritted teeth, and he chuckled lowly — the sound vibrating against your skin, making you shiver.

You were growing impatient as Charlie finally let go of your nipple, his hand closing around your neck as he looked you up and down. "I need you so bad. I don’t want to wait". Your words came out strangled, as you struggled to breathe — due to his thumb now pressing against your pulse point with force.

"Greed is a sin", he tutted, before pressing the sharp edge of the knife into the skin of your hip. Blood was pouring from the little wound as he continued to move the blade down, creating a masterpiece of his own on your skin. He groaned when your blood streamed down your side, covering the sheets under you. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled against him, the pain and pleasure of being so obviously marked by him making you lightheaded.

Relief washed over your body when he was finished, leaving you trembling and crying — yet still, your sick mind was enjoying every second of it.

"Mine", Charlie groaned, before throwing the knife onto the bed and moving down your body to lap at your wounds. He wasn't afraid of being messy with you as he took a deep breath, savouring the smell of you, his tongue cleaning up the mess that he had made. The sting made your body twitch, as his hand left your throat, instead moving down your body to tug at the waistband of your panties. Your hips rose off the mattress, allowing him to do whatever he pleased — and so he did, taking your lace thong off greedily, his tongue still working against your crimson covered skin.

You couldn't take it no more — not when the pressure between your thighs became too much, the tension begging to be taken care of. With all the strength you had left, you tugged on his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. You didn't mind the taste of your own blood on your tongue, moaning into his mouth, as Charlie's hands gripped your thighs, forcing them open when they threatened to close around his hips.

Your blood was smeared all over yours and Charlie's lips, chins and cheeks as you shared a filthy, open mouthed kiss, your tongues rolling over each other. Your hands pressed against his chest, nails digging into his skin as you felt his cock press against your clit. A groan left his mouth when you grinded your hips up, causing his tip to brush against your wet folds.

"God, please— I need your cock, I need it so bad, Charlie", you mumbled, sucking his lower lip into your mouth lewdly. He flipped the two of you over, wasting no time before positioning his cock on your entrance, and you sink down on him with an almost pornographic moan.

Your head tipped back as you grinded down against him, his hands closing on your waist in a bruising grasp. He panted lowly, eyes falling closed as he felt the warmness and wetness of your cunt squeezing him with force.

"Fuck, yeah", Charlie cried out, and you smirked, your eyes half-closed as you watched him tremble beneath you. You reached out for the knife that was long forgotten by him, pressing the flat side against his stomach, watching as his eyes widened.

"You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being", you chanted, at which a desperate groan left his mouth, urging you on further. You pressed the knife against his sternum, cutting through his skin as if it was paper. You carved out big cross on his skin as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

"Amen", you whispered, and Charlie'a bottom lip trembled in pain as your fingers digged into the wound, coating your fingers in his blood. You put them in your mouth, moaning obscenely as Charlie's lips began to piston upwards, his tip hitting your cervix every time he bottomed out. Your tongue swirled around your digits, your eyes rolling back into your head at the metallic taste of Charlie's blood coating your tongue.

"You taste so good, my God", you groaned as your fingers left your mouth, and you coated them with yet another layer of the crimson liquid, before tapping them on his bottom lip. He obeyed, digging his fingers into the plush flesh of your thighs, as you pushed your bloody fingers deep into his mouth. He whined pathetically, the movements of his hips slowing as he savoured the taste of himself. You took the lead, watching as his eyes fluttered shut at the invasion in his mouth, your blood covering the lower part of his face — the sight so erotic it made you tremble and grind against him harder.

"Oh, shit— my Goodness", he cried out around your digits, and you chuckled, pulling them out of his mouth, instead putting both of your hands on both sides of him for balance, as you bounced up and down on his thick cock. It felt like he was tearing you apart with how deep he was, incoherent curses leaving your mouth as your hair fell down your sweaty, bloody face. You licked a stripe up his chest, tracing the bloody cross with your tongue, moaning at the taste. Charlie hissed, pushing your head down, urging you not to stop, his hips snapping up to meet yours; his hands on your ass, forcing you to bounce harder.

"Every single piece of you is made for sin", Charlie groaned, spanking your backside once, twice, thrice, until you couldn't breathe. Tears blurred your vision at the pain, but you could just grind harder, the friction of his lower stomach against your clit making you see stars. "You're so filthy. Like a fucking devil", he snarled, and you arched your back as his flat palm landed on your ass cheek yet again.

"Charlie, I'm— I'm gonna cum", you cried out, and he nodded, pulling you flush against his chest, lifting your hips just a little higher in the air — causing his cock to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

Your hand closed around Charlie's throat, and he groaned appreciatively when you squeezed, your thumb brushing against the vein on the side of his neck. His cock twitched when he watched you, your lips brushing against his just slightly as you moaned for him — the look of pure pleasure on your face was almost too much for him to handle.

"Fuck, yes— choke me— choke me, just like that", he panted, and you felt his cock twitch inside you.

"Cum with me", you begged, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. Your blood mixed as your tongues swirled together, and you swallowed his breathless moans as he neared his peak.

Charlie's thrusts became sloppy as he lost his rhythm, and as he hit that particular spot in you, you were seeing stars, coming all over him. Your cunt convulsed around his cock, squeezing him so tightly it became hard for him to move as you screamed his name, the hand around his throat tightening. Your orgasm triggered his own. He was grunting profanities under his breath as ropes of his cum filled your womb, causing aftershocks to run down your core.

Charlie flipped you on your back, kissing down your body before reaching your messy, puffy pussy. His cum was leaking out of your spent hole, and his cock twitched yet again at the sight — this time, everything was about you, though. He lowered his head to swirl his tongue against your clit, before lapping up the remains of your mixed releases. He groaned at the taste, and you whined, your legs closing around his head as he devoured you as if you were the last meal he was going to have.

He licked the last, teasing stripe up to your clit before he pulled away, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He kissed the area around the wounds on your stomach before kissing you, letting you taste his and yours release on your tongue.

He quickly deepened the kiss, not yet satisfied — his cock pressed against your stomach, at which you moaned, letting him explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue.

It was before you heard a soft knock on the door — and whoever was on the other side, didn't wait for a response before barging into the room. Your eyes widened and Charlie pulled away quickly, turning towards the door with an expression you haven't quite seen on him yet — fear. His eyes widened with horror as he saw Sister Megan, holding an article in her hand, her mouth slightly agape at the sight of you, the most devout parishioner, in her favourite Priest's bed — both of you naked and covered in blood. A small smile made its way onto your face as you watched her stumble across the doorway, mumbling a quick "I'm sorry", before disappearing.

"Fuck!", Charlie screamed, and you run your hands over his back, trying to calm him down — as you already had a plan. "I'm dead. I am fucking dead!", he groaned, getting up from the bed, panic clearly visible on his face, his heart racing in his chest.

"Baby, calm down! Just— listen for a moment!", you shouted, shaking his shoulders in order to get him to pay attention. "She's not gonna tell anyone. I promise", your voice grew louder as he began to talk over you. He relaxed slightly at your unbothered expression — he knew you would never lie to him, and you had this incredible ability to calm him down even in the most stressful moments.

"We need to get rid of her", he said, at which you smirked, running your hands over his chest softly.

"Exactly what I'm thinking. But", you chimed, standing on your top toes to kiss him, before continuing. "It can wait. Just trust me. And... we still have some unfinished business to take care of". You looked down on his erect shaft, running your hands down his abs to wrap your hand around him. Charlie groaned, his head tilted back and teeth biting on his bottom lip. You smiled as you felt his heartbeat against your other hand, the connection between you two only getting stronger, better — more powerful.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, but as Charlie pulled you back onto the bed, capturing your lips in a kiss, you had no doubts about the future you and Charlie have ahead of you.

But firstly, you had to get rid of the obstacles — and kill Megan Duvall.

❝ hoffmansgirl © 2024 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ❞

tags (click here to be added): @darlingnikkisixx @titsout4nicholas @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @emluvsuxo @nicholaslut @greengoblinswifey @sin-deciric

[godwithinself]

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. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO

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

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

[godwithinself]

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. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO

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

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

[godwithinself]

God's Got a Sick Sense of Humor (Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader)

Summary: Your decision to dress up as a slutty nun for Halloween has unexpected consequences when you make the acquaintance of an equally attractive and disturbed priest. (AO3 link)

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Not entirely spoiler-free, but if you’ve watched up to episode 6, you should be good! Also I couldn't find what the parish name was, so I made one up. The gif doesn't really have anything to do with the fic, I just like it🤭 Please look at the warnings before deciding whether to read this fic.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Non-con involving degradation, rough oral sex (m. receiving); ambiguous ending.

You knew early on in the night you had made a mistake in costume choice. The vinyl skirt started pinching your waist after less than an hour of wearing it, the nipple pasties were slowly peeling off despite your best effort, and the platform heels weren’t forgiving after several shots of tequila. The vinyl habit stayed in place with the bobby pins you used, but after a while, it felt like it was cooking your head.

Your friends found your plight funnier as the night went on, cracking jokes about how it was God punishing you for wearing the costume in the first place. Lisa had little trouble with her Tinkerbell costume, a green mini-dress and sparkly heels she pulled from her closet and a cheap set of fairy wings from the same Spirit Halloween you got your costume from. Julie’s Bridgerton-inspired costume seemed a bit out of place compared to you and Lisa, but she got a lot of compliments on the details.

For the limited the fun your little desert town had to offer, something was definitely missing from the night out.

“Why did Merritt say she couldn’t make it, again?” Lisa asked, the three of you walking down the street to the next bar you’d inevitably terrorize. All the usual haunts, where the bartenders knew your order and half the patrons were people you’d gone to high school with and definitely didn’t want to see again.

You shrugged. “I texted her earlier, and she said she couldn’t make it, something came up.”

“It sucks she doesn’t hang out anymore,” Julie said. “Did we do something?”

“I mean, her dad’s in a coma, and her mom’s working all the time with those gross murders going on,” Lisa said. “She’s probably the only one keeping things together at home.”

The three of you had known Merritt for years, your friend group becoming tight-knit as time went on. Getting carted to and from soccer games turned into sleepovers and late nights getting fast food. You got to know the Tryons pretty well over the years. Her dad was nice enough, and you always found her mom funny, if not a bit overprotective, but Lois always remembered your birthday.

“I’m gonna stop by sometime this week. It’s been way too long since any of us have seen her,” you resolved.

Lisa and Julie agreed, though you weren’t sure Merritt would appreciate all of you showing up unannounced at her house. You figured you’d be better off going yourself and seeing what the deal was with Merritt.

Stumbling over your platforms, you struggled to keep up with Lisa and Julie until you tripped and nearly wiped out on the sidewalk. You caught yourself on a nearby telephone pole, the lights from the nearby buildings blurring the more you tried to focus.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah, I’m gonna find a convenience store and then get an Uber home.”

“We can go with you,” Julie said.

You shook your head. “Don’t end your night early because of me.”

“Alright, text us when you get home.”

When the world finally appeared upright again, you looked at the nearby street sign, recognizing where you were, at least. Not far to the nearest shop that you were certain would be open late. You checked your phone for the time and felt especially lame. It wasn’t even midnight yet.

With a sigh, you turned down the street, opening your messages to your most recent text to Merritt. Your FaceTime request went unanswered, so you opted for an audio message instead.

“Hey Mer, it’s me. We missed you tonight!” You paused awkwardly, wishing you could actually talk to her. “Look, there’s a Halloween party tomorrow night, something out in the desert. It’s not too late to get a costume. We could go to the Spirit Halloween in the old Bed, Bath and Beyond—“ A catcall interrupted your rambling. “Look, just call me or something, at least let me know you’re alright? Bye, babe.”

The fluorescent lights in the store were almost headache-inducing, but you powered through for a bottle of Gatorade and a protein bar that you hoped would mitigate the hangover you’d inevitably have in the morning. 

Gatorade in hand, you felt almost dizzy staring at the array of protein bars in front of you, wondering how there could even be so many and if they were really any different. A man walked down the aisle, standing a few feet away from you, though you didn’t pay him much mind until you grabbed a protein bar and noticed he was dressed as a priest.

“Hey, nice costume,” you told him.

“Oh, this isn’t a costume.”

You laughed. “Right.” Your inhibitions lowered, you gave him a once over, your gaze lingering on his handsome face, his muscular arms. “You know it’s a shame we didn’t run into each other earlier tonight, we probably could’ve won a couples contest or something.”

He smiled, though something flickered in his brown eyes that made your guts churn. Except, it likely wasn’t him, as you shoved what you were holding onto the shelf next to you and rushed out of the store.

You wretched, the contents of your stomach emptied onto the blacktop. Tears burned your eyes, your throat scratchy and raw by the time you were done. You felt a hand on your upper back, could barely hear the sound of a man asking if you were okay over the sound of blood pounding in your ears.

Glancing up, you were mortified to see the priest looking at you with concern, though disgust was nowhere in his expression.

He handed you the Gatorade you’d been holding in the store, apparently going ahead and buying it for you. Taking a swig, you swished some around in your mouth before spitting it on the ground. He gave you a handful of crumpled napkins as well, and you tried maintaining what was left of your dignity while getting yourself together in front of him.

You managed a mousy thanks, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Don’t tell me you plan on driving home,” he said.

You shook your head. “I came out here with my friends."

"And they just left you like this? Alone?"

"I told them I'd get an Uber.”

“They'll charge you double tonight," he said. "I can drive you.”

Accepting a ride home from a stranger certainly wasn’t the smartest choice to make, but he actually seemed to give a shit about your well-being. You agreed, if not for the fact that you were curious about him, and the horny part of your brain hadn't shut up since you saw him.

He kept his hand on your back as he walked you over to his car. Almost felt like his fingers were twitching against your skin. 

Getting into his car, you noticed the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, a saint card clipped to his visor. 

“Oh my god, are you actually a priest?” you asked from the passenger seat as he turned the car on.

“I told you it wasn’t a costume.”

“Shit.”

“Father Charlie Mayhew, from Our Lady of Sorrows, if you don’t believe me.” He smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your address?”

After giving him your address along with your name, realizing you hadn’t told him yet, you rolled the window down about halfway, finding the fragrant odor of incense and cologne a bit overwhelming for your queasy stomach. The cool night air gave you instant relief, and you laid back on the headrest, keeping your eyes closed for a few minutes. 

Father Charlie filled the quiet with a true crime podcast. Not a particularly odd choice, except that he was a priest, but Catholicism always lent itself to morbidity—his was more modern, you supposed.

“Have you heard about those murders around town?” you asked over the sound of a young woman giving the background of a triple homicide.

“Yes, our parish’s publication has been reporting on it,” he said. “I'm the editor, but one of our nuns is working closely with the lead detective on the case.”

You opened your eyes to look at him in disbelief. “Lois is working with a nun?”

“You know detective Tryon?”

“She’s my best friend’s mom,” you said. “I went to her house all the time growing up.”

“You must know her pretty well, then.”

“Yeah, Lois is one hell of a detective,” you said. “Still, I can’t imagine…whoever’s behind it must be depraved. What he’s doing—it’s not even human, it’s animal.”

“He?”

“I don’t think anyone but a man could be capable of that kind of barbarism, Father.”

“You might be right about that,” he said solemnly.

You drank more Gatorade, hoping to settle your stomach and ease your discomfort with the direction the conversation had taken. But you were the one who brought up the murders in the first place. All had some kind of religious connotation. No wonder the Catholic paper was eating that shit up. 

Catholicism was always predisposed to an especially grotesque morbidity. Open wounds considered blessings. Bones of the holy displayed with reverence. Even bread and wine transformed into the body and blood of Christ himself. Whoever was behind the recent murders was either observant or well-read.

Father Charlie pulled up to your building about ten minutes later, and you internally sighed in relief when he turned the podcast off. You couldn’t wait to get out of the damn costume and into bed.

“Thanks, Father Charlie,” you said. “I owe you one.”

“Actually, mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked.

You shook your head. “‘Course not. Come on up.”

Acutely aware of the costume you were wearing again, it was far too tempting not to show off on the way up to your apartment, swinging your hips a bit more than was warranted, knowing he was right behind you, the tight skirt giving him a full view of your ass. You privately bemoaned the fact that he was actually a priest. What a fucking waste. A guy who looked like him had no business giving himself to Jesus and denying the rest of the world the pleasure.

You took a selfie by your front door, a tired smile and a thumbs up that you sent to Julie and Lisa.

“Just letting my friends know I got home safe,” you explained, noticing Father Charlie staring at you.

You could barely hide your self-satisfied smile when you unlocked the front door. “The bathroom’s through the kitchen, first door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Making a beeline for your bedroom, the first thing you did was take your heels off. Your feet were still sore, with a mean blister that made you walk funny when you brought the heels over to your shoe rack. You could hear the toilet flush and the water from the sink run in the bathroom. Chewing on your lip, you were almost tempted to ask Father Charlie if he wanted to stick around. If you could just brush your teeth and reapply some makeup real quick, you'd be good as new.

You never got a chance to.

“So, why this costume?” he asked, startling you.

You gasped, turning around to see him leaning against the door frame. “Oh, um—I thought it was funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

“Well, nuns aren’t supposed to have sex, and this costume is—”

“Pornographic," he said. "I mean, it’s something you get fucked in.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shocked at his bluntness.

“Chastity. The sacred vow to God that all women of the cloth take, and you—” he scoffed to himself, stepping into your bedroom so he was only a few feet away from you, “you mock it.”

You knew you should’ve picked the sexy nurse costume instead. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“You will be. Get on your knees.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Don’t be crude. This is about repentance.”

The searing venom in his voice made your muscles contort to his will, and you found yourself on your knees. You should have been fighting back, screaming for him to get out, but in your heart you knew it was useless. Back in the convenience store, you noticed his fit physique, and you could hardly count on your neighbors to give a shit if you were in any kind of trouble.

"Do you even know how to make a sign of the cross?" he asked mockingly.

You shakily did so, bringing your left hand to your forehead, then your chest, then to each shoulder. He scoffed, apparently you messed something up, but he didn't elaborate, instead ordering you to repeat after him. The prayer came jumbled from your mouth, 'through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault' over and over until his voice was ringing in your ears like a broken church bell.

The bulge in his pants was impossible to ignore. You kept your eyes focused on his face, even when you heard the sound of his zipper and clothes shifting. But you couldn't help it, not when he was pumping his cock right in front of your face. Your repetition dipped with a slight whimper when you glanced at the size of him, foolishly hoping it was just proximity making his length appear so intimidating and angry, as if it wanted to hurt you just like he did.

“Simply praying won’t do someone like you any good," he said abruptly. "You need another form of penance, something more tangible."

Shoving his cock in your open mouth, you choked at the intrusion, attempted to shift backward and finally make a run for it, but he caught you by the habit you so stupidly kept in place with bobby pins and hit the back of your throat.

"Why don't you give me ten Hail Marys?" he mocked, his looming silhouette appearing outright demonic through your tear-filled gaze.

You didn't know the damn prayer. Couldn't even try to fake it when all you could manage was muffled pleas for him to slow down, go easy on you, have mercy. Your jaw ached, throat burned at the force he used to make you take as much of his cock as you possibly could.

He didn't show any signs of fatigue, save for the beads of sweat that rolled from his face and onto your own. He grinned at that, at you, the position you were in. The church was full of sickos, and he was certainly no exception.

Making one feeble attempt to fight back, your teeth grazed his cock, and just as you tried to work up the courage to bite down, he jerked his hips, cursing under his breath.

"Take it," his voice a low growl as he came in your mouth, ignoring your choking, spit and snot and cum leaking down your face and onto your vinyl costume and exposed breasts, "take your penance, slut."

Father Charlie hardly gave you a chance to catch your breath when he pulled his spent cock out of your mouth. You practically collapsed on your bedroom floor, each gasp of air painful against the back of your abused throat. Grabbing you by the habit again, he hauled you over to your bed, bending you over the edge of it.

He shoved his fingers between your legs and scoffed at the wetness that coated your thighs, your thong doing little to contain your subconscious reaction to the way he treated you. "Oh, that's just shameful," he drawled. "You're not repentant at all, are you? Leading a man of the cloth astray, causing me to sin…why else would you have put this costume on tonight?"

Straddling you from behind like a dog, his body was heavy on yours. With one hand squeezing your neck, the other pressed something against your throat. You reached for whatever he was holding, freezing in panic when you realized it was the hair scissors you kept in your bathroom. He must have swiped it while he was in there. They weren't even that sharp, but the extra effort he'd have to put in to mortally injure you with them would mean it would be all the more painful for you.

“Depraved, animal, barbaric,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is that what you think of me?”

You whimpered, feeling his cruel laughter rumble in his chest against your back. “No—no, you can’t be—”

“I was going to do something about that costume anyway, but having that mutual friend in common,” he mused, “I just can’t pass up the opportunity to leave Detective Tryon a personal message. Call it divine will.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You can tell God yourself how sorry you are,” he whispered.

“No—Father, please don’t—”

[godwithinself]

Someone needs to post this deleted scene cus apparently people from other countries have seen it but my Disney+ and Hulu don’t have it!!! 😭 and I NEED IT!!! Pretty pls 🥺🙏