Mathi

♱ UNHOLY MATRIMONY | charlie mayhew x reader ♱

the church was empty, still and silent, bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. you knelt at the altar, hands folded, eyes closed, whispering a prayer that felt heavier than usual. each word carried a weight you couldn’t shake, a longing you didn’t dare name.

then, the soft creak of a pew echoed through the space as someone sat beside you. you opened your eyes slowly, and there he was—father charlie mayhew. his gaze rested on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

he nodded toward the crucifix. “he’s still speaking to you,” he murmured softly, his tone calm, as if the cross itself whispered answers only you couldn’t hear.

you swallowed nervously, throat dry under the intensity of his stare.

“eyes forward,” he instructed gently, the authority in his voice impossible to ignore.

obediently, you closed your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. but his presence was too much—an unrelenting force pulling your thoughts away from prayer. the silence between the two of you grew heavy, pressing down on your chest until your mind blurred with distraction.

“good girl,” he muttered under his breath, the words intimate, like praise meant to unravel you.

you tensed as his fingers brushed through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear before trailing along the side of your neck. his touch was slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment.

how could you pray when the very thing you were praying to resist was sitting right behind you?

his touch was sin—everything you knew you shouldn’t want. but why did it feel so good? why did it feel so right? his fingers lingered on your skin, and your pulse quickened, betraying you.

“i’ve prayed for health,” he whispered, his voice low, each word slipping into your ear like a confession. “i’ve prayed for blessings, for miracles.” his breath warmed your neck as he moved closer. “i’ve prayed for guidance… for an angel, perhaps.”

his lips hovered just above your skin, a hair’s breadth away. “but it seems the angel i prayed for will be my downfall.”

then his lips brushed against your neck, featherlight, followed by a slow, deliberate flick of his tongue. you gasped, your hands tightening together in prayer as a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips.

“do you think of me, too?” he murmured, his voice a quiet demand wrapped in temptation.

“i can’t get you out of my mind,” you whispered, breathless and undone.

his hand tightened slightly around your neck, the pressure possessive and grounding you in the moment. “do you want this?”

“everything you have to offer,” you confessed, the words falling from your lips like a prayer answered.

he exhaled slowly, as if accepting his own damnation. it felt like the entire church held its breath.

“father, forgive me,” he whispered, voice heavy with resignation. as if the words could absolve him of what he was about to do. “please have mercy on me.”

and then, gently but with purpose, he tilted your head toward him and pressed his lips to yours—no hesitation, no restraint. it wasn’t just a kiss. it was claiming, a vow, a surrender. a breaking point neither of you could deny.

happy birthday to my man my man my man !

The Disney prince to the father of my children pipeline needs to be studied.

"Me gustaría tanto abandonarme, olvidarme, dormir. Pero no puedo, me sofoco: la existencia me penetra por todas partes".

Jean-Paul Sartre | La Náusea.

Smau is ruining fanfiction like velocity edits ruined editing

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Lovisa Wallin