#the conjuring x reader

[rdmasevi]

Marked

Title: “Marked”: The Conjuring fanfiction

Pairing: Ed and Lorraine Warren x Reader Fem ( Poly )

Genre: Supernatural Horror | Hurt/Comfort | Found Family / Polyamorous Romance

Warnings: Supernatural horror, physical violence, mild blood, child endangerment, emotional distress.

Summary: Left alone with Judy while Ed and Lorraine investigate the Perron haunting, you find yourself the target of a violent spirit—Bathsheba—who follows their connection home. When you're attacked while protecting Judy, Ed and Lorraine must race back and fight to save the woman they love, before it's too late.

The last thing Lorraine said before leaving was, “If anything feels off, call us. No hesitation.”

Ed kissed your cheek, lingering, his hand resting over your heart for a moment longer than usual. “We’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

They were headed to Rhode Island — the Perron case — something already heavy in Ed’s eyes before they even left the driveway.

You stood in the doorway with Judy curled into your side, waving goodbye. She looked up at you as the car vanished down the road. “Are you okay?”

You smiled for her. “Of course. You and me, kiddo. Movie night?”

“Can we watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks again?”

“Third time’s the charm.”

——

The house was quiet that night — too quiet.

Judy had fallen asleep on the couch halfway through the movie. You tucked a blanket around her and kissed her forehead.

The silence made you uneasy. The kind of silence that felt unnatural. Stagnant.

As you walked toward the kitchen, the lights overhead flickered.

Then came the smell.

Rotten meat. Wet earth. Sulfur.

Your stomach turned.

Something was wrong.

You turned the corner—and froze.

Standing at the end of the hallway was a woman in black. Her face was a cracked, twisted mockery of something once human. Long, rotted fingers dragged against the wallpaper, peeling it back as she moved.

Bathsheba.

You reached for the crucifix on your necklace. Your lips started a prayer out of instinct.

That’s when she screamed.

You felt the impact before you saw it — an invisible force hurling you off your feet. You slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, pain blooming in your shoulder and ribs.

You fell in a heap to the floor.

Your head spun. You tasted copper.

You tried to get up — but then she was on you.

Claws raked down your forearm, hot blood seeping through your sleeve. You cried out, scrambling back, kicking wildly.

You grabbed a lamp and smashed it into her — or where she was. The lamp shattered, the impact stunning enough to make her waver. The air shifted. She hissed and vanished in a blink.

You dragged yourself to your knees, vision blurred, breathing ragged.

Then—

“MOM!” Judy’s scream tore through the silence.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up. You ran — limping, staggering — into the living room.

Judy was backed into the corner, clutching a small cross from the hallway wall.

Bathsheba loomed over her, whispering in some ancient tongue, a thread of darkness curling in the air.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” you screamed, throwing yourself between them.

She struck again.

This time you flew across the room and smashed into the bookshelf. Wood splintered. Books toppled. You hit the floor, hard.

You didn’t move.

Your vision dimmed. Everything sounded underwater.

But you heard the door burst open. The sound of Ed shouting. Lorraine’s voice, sharp and fierce, cutting through the dark like a blade.

“Leave her, Bathsheba! I see you. In the name of the Father, the Son—”

Light. Heat. A sound like shattering glass and thunder.

And then nothing.

——

You woke to warmth.

Ed’s coat wrapped around you. His arms tight around your shoulders.

Lorraine was kneeling in front of you, her hands glowing faintly with the last remnants of something divine, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” Ed whispered, voice cracking. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Your arm throbbed. You looked down and saw the long, jagged scratches. Your ribs ached with every breath. “She was here. She wanted Judy.”

“I know,” Lorraine whispered. “She followed our connection. She used it to get close to you.”

You turned your head toward Judy, who sat huddled beside you, clutching your hand.

“I’m okay,” she said bravely. “You saved me. Like always.”

You blinked back tears. “I couldn’t let her take you.”

Lorraine leaned in, her forehead pressed to yours. “You’re one of us. She made a mistake touching you.”

Ed’s hand moved over yours, squeezing tight. “We should’ve never left you alone.”

“But you came back,” you said, voice raspy. “And that’s what matters.”

Later that night, wrapped in fresh clothes and safe in your bed, you lay between the two people who meant the most to you. Lorraine gently traced the bandage on your arm. Ed rested his head on your shoulder, his hand clasped in yours.

Judy curled on the edge of the bed, eyes finally closing.

And you, bruised but alive, whispered to the darkness, “You don’t win. Not here.”

The house remained quiet.

But now — it felt protected again.

Because the three of you were together.

And that was sacred.

My main masterlist

[frost-queen]

Focus on me (Reader x Drew Thomas)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr

Gaze going upwards to the mansion, you let out a deep breath. Catching in your graze Ed and Lorraine leaving the mansion with their suitcases. Not a word passing. Each reflecting on it in their own matter. Moving your gaze up higher, you stared at a window. Seeing how the curtain was almost fully pulled back. Knowing what had just occurred, you still wondered if it was truly over.

A sudden touch on your shoulder made you look away, startled. Drew Thomas stood by your side by the car. Taking of his jacket, he placed it over your shoulders. Laying it neatly with care. The gesture made you curl up a fainted smile at him. Soon faltering, reflecting on the earlier hours. Ed and Lorraine shut the trunk. Ed moving an arm around Lorraine’s shoulder. Drew did the same, making you lean in against him. Head resting on his shoulder.

Four gazes towards the house. Each reflecting the horrors from before. Not so long ago the walls trembled and bellowed a threatening chime. Horror awakening from below. Nearly consuming it’s owner in the battle. Shudders clattering open and shut. A storm unleashing with fright. Demonic laughter mocking Ed’s faith. 

What was most frightful was the sudden red glow appearing from underneath the wooden flooring. Almost as if a doorway to hell was opening from the depts. The floor creaking and planks breaking off. Flying off up till the ceiling to create a feeding hole. For a moment you thought you’d all be swallowed whole. With combined strengths, you were able to banish the demon. House settling back to its old self. An empty cold shell. One where only memories are held. Memories of the terrifying.

Ed nodded at Drew. Hinting it was time to go. Ed lead Lorraine to the car. – “Y/n darling.” – Drew spoke nudging you caringly. Humming soft, you looked up at him. – “Let’s go.” – he whispered. His arm slid down from you to your hand. Taking it firm as he led you up to the car. Opening the door for you. You got in, scooting over in the backseat to make room for him.

He came sitting down, shutting the door behind him. – “Everyone okay?” – Ed asked turning the front mirror so he could have his eyes on the backseat. – “Yeah.” – Drew spoke. – “Yes.” – you said softly. Sitting in the middle so you could be close to your boyfriend. Drew took your hand, keeping it on his lap. Ed flipped the front mirror back. Drew kissed your forehead to ease any worries.

Arriving back at the motels, you each went to your separate one’s. Ed and Lorraine sharing one as did Drew and you. Drew sat himself exhaustedly down. – “Are you hungry, darling?” – he asked watching you place some gear on the bed. – “Sure, you can order.” – you told him, checking the equipment.

Drew got up, walking up to the phone up by the wall. Dialling one of the take-out numbers that were pinned up on the wall. As he was ordering, he turned your way. Smiling through his words at you. Feeling very lucky with you. After checking the gear, you took it off the bed, shoving it underneath it.

Two arms wrapping around you from behind made you squeal soft. Feeling Drew’s head rest on your shoulder, swaying your body from side to side in his embrace. – “I just need this…” – he mumbled out, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder afterwards. You turned around in his embrace to face him.

Not needing any words to speak. Drew touched your chin with care. Curling up a smile with you. Laying your arms over his shoulders, you leaned in to kiss him. – “How about a vacation after this?” – he suggested making you laugh loud. – “A very long one.” – you added with a playful shove.

Drew kissed your cheek, taking every opportunity he could take to kiss you. – “I’m going to freshen up.” – you pushed him off you, needing some space from his eager kisses. – “Are you now?” – Drew asked quirking his eyebrow up. Smothering you more with kisses, making you almost irresistible to them.

He wouldn’t let go of you till you practically had to shove him off you so you could enter the bathroom. – “Are you sure I shouldn’t help you wash up?” – he teased through the door. – “Har har!” – you laughed dryly back. – “Why don’t you stay put for our food.”

Turning the faucet, you let water fill the sink. Cupping your hands underneath them. Collecting water to splash into your face. The coldness of it made you grasp for the sink. Clutching at it with both hands. Blinking rapidly at the sudden feeling inside of yourself. Light-headedness as it made you grip the sink firmer.

Knuckles turning white. Looking up to the mirror, you stared at yourself. Eyes squinting shut at the headache saying hello. Throbbing in the back of your head. Gasping loud, you grabbed for your stomach for the churning feeling. Turning around you grabbed for the door. Needing to touch something vast or you would be sure you’d faint. Stumbling out of the bathroom with a raced heartrate.

“Diner’s just arrived!” – Drew called out with his back at you. Closing the last of the door. Hearing your sudden quick breaths, made him turn quickly around. Eyes widening as he set the food aside. Rushing over to you. – “Hey, hey Y/n are you alright?” – he asked. With the back of his hand, he placed it against your forehead. The touch of sweat wet on his hand.

You grabbed for your chest with loud pants. – “Drew…” – you panicked unsure what was happening. Drew stared with worry back at you. – “What are you feeling, tell me darling.” – wanting to know as he set you down on the bed. – “Heart racing, pain, sweating, headache…” – you described. Wincing at the pain. Drew came kneeling before you. Taking your hands in his.

“Darling you are having an anxiety attack.” – he gave name to your symptoms. Unsure you hummed confused. Trying to get out of it, but the dizzy feeling overtook you again. Grasping for your chest. Drew pulled your hand down. – “Y/n, listen to me.” – he started, tapping your nose for attention.

You slowly let your gaze settle on him, breathing out of control. – “What do you see.” – he asked. You kept staring at him confused. – “Tell me what you can see.”- he specified. – “I…I see you…” – you answered. Drew nodded with a hum. – “What do you feel.” – he then asked. Letting his hands rub against yours. – “I…I… feel the warmth of your skin on my hand.”

Drew touched your cheek with a gentle touch. – “What can you hear.” – he asked seeing how your breathing was slowly becoming steadier. – “I…I… can hear the beating of my heart.” – you responded keeping your focus on Drew. Focusing on those three made you calm down. Keeping to the here and now. To things you could observe clearly.

You became steady as Drew curled up a smile. – “That’s my girl.” – he spoke brushing his thumb down your chin. Getting up to come and sit beside you. Arms wrapping around you to flourish you with kisses. – “We’re definitely getting that vacation now.” – he called out, nuzzling his face in the nook of your neck.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[gracelaurie]

Innocent | Ed Warren x Reader

pairing : Ed Warren (Conjuring) x Female Reader

summary : You have been frequently bothered by a bride ghosts since you were little. But as you grow older you feel increasingly disturbed and you ask for help from Ed and Lorraine Warren, a demonologist, to help you escape the curse.

Instead of focusing on the exorcism case this time, you are caught up in a hot affair with Ed Warren.

After all, who would refuse his cock?

warning : full of smut, cheating, masturbation, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, rough sex.

for another patrick wilson ff ➡️ masterlist

You snuck into Massachusetts Western University, Wakefield. You’re obviously not a student there, you graduated from uni last year. You knew that Ed and Lorraine Warren would be lecture in there so you disguised yourself as a student.

You’re wearing a white shirt matching with a black short skirt that is above the knee. Your beautiful legs are covered with sheer stockings.

Because of your appearance, many men stare at you stunned, even women seem to steal glances at you. You’re really beautiful and different from others. Your outfit is certainly the opposite in the 70s, but it’s not because of your outfit that makes many people admire you, but because you have a beautiful face with hair that looks very soft.

You have responded politely several times when several people tried to get to know you, and they were surprised why they had never seen you here.

Even though you attract attention there, you remain focused on your purpose here. The thought that told you to focus appeared when you saw the bride's figure appear again at the end of the room while Ed and Lorraine Warren were teaching in front. The bride looks at you with red eyes, and blood comes out of her eyes.

The blood dripped on the floor and when Lorraine walked backwards and stepped on the blood, in an instant the figure disappeared.

Lorraine gasped. She froze in place, looking at the floor which now had no blood at all- then she saw you.

Ed grabbed his wife’s shoulder, and he asked, “what is it, hon?”

“Nothing,” said Lorraine briefly, her eyes still looking straight at you. Ed followed his wife’s gaze, and he’s looking at you now.

“We have to,” Lorraine stopped because she was still trying to digest everything, “we have to continue this.”

Ed nodded, he then turned the video back on, “A French-Canadian farmer with no more than a third-grade education yet after he was possessed, spoke some of the best Latin I’d ever heard.”

You looked at the screen seriously. Suddenly you felt goosebumps, but when you looked to the side of the screen, you saw Ed caught staring at you, then Ed immediately continued talking, “S-sometimes backwards.” said Ed, who surprisingly, he’s stammer.

“He’d been molested by his father, who had also tortured him repeatedly.” Ed said still unable to take his eyes off you.

You realize this. It seems like you stole Ed Warren’s attention since Lorraine stared at you intently- she knew and could feel that you were being followed by the ghost. But her husband gaze at you... seemed different.

To ensure that, you pulled up your short skirt and crossed your legs. Your thighs are clearly visible in the sheer stockings which makes Ed even more unable to focus.

“A dark spirit…” Ed’s hungry gaze at your thighs, made his wife, Lorraine, suspect her husband’s strange behavior. Ed nervously continued, “A dark spirit made its home in- in th- this man.”

“Now, if you look into his eyes, you can see him tearing blood.” said Lorraine. You watched carefully and felt increasingly goosebumps all over your body.

Again, Ed couldn’t stop looking at you. You know that just by looking, you know this is wrong. He’s a married man and maybe they already have children. But you can’t deny that you like being seen by Ed, you feel like you want to tease him again.

“And like that…” Lorraine said while glaring at her husband and you alternately, “an upside-down cross started to appear from within his body.”

“All right, Drew, you can hit the lights.”

Suddenly everyone raised their hands to ask questions. You are surprised by this, not because of the enthusiasm of the class so that everyone wants to ask questions except you, but you are surprised because you feel like you didn’t get anything from their explanation.

Because Ed keeps looking at you and you in your seat keep teasing him. It seems like no one noticed, but if anyone in the room noticed besides his wife, they couldn’t blame you. He’s hot.

You can feel Ed and Lorraine’s relationship immediately strain. After answering questions from various students, they immediately left the room at a fast pace. You immediately follow their steps towards their car.

“Hey,” you said walking over to them as they were about to get into their car, “hey, I need your help.”

Before Ed could reply to your words, you quickly said, “I’m not a student here. I’m not even from this city, I came all the way here because I got news that you were lecture here, and...”

“That ghost bride….” said Lorraine still looking straight at you, “she follows you all the time, wherever you are.”

“And the worst part is…” you lowered your head, “she was the one who made my best friend die. I was driving a car, and I saw her figure right in front of my car, and I was fooled, I...”

“I’m sorry about what happened…” Ed said looking at you guiltily, then he looked at his wife who seemed to be trying to digest something, “I’m sure we can help…”

Lorraine turned to her husband. Don’t know why he really wants to help you even though they were very busy handling other cases that they should have investigated right away. Of course Lorraine wants to help you, but she feels bad instincts between her husband and you.

She knows that you have seduced her husband and his husband can’t take his eyes off you, but she had seen everything through her vision, about a bride ghost who always haunts and disturbs you.

“Of course we can help you,” said Lorraine smiling at you, gesturing for you to get into their car.

When you got into the car, Lorraine’s smile faded as she looked at her husband. She knew that something like this would happen, they had been together for a very long time, she knew that one day her husband would give another woman his gaze as if he wanted to strip her naked. But she didn’t think she could bear this much pain, however she had to focus on her purpose this time to helping you.

“How long have you been bothered by that ghost?”Lorraine asked when you arrived at her house.

You thought that the house will contain terrible things, but it turns out that all of them have been stored in one room. Her house is the same as most houses, classic interior design, and various paintings... Lorraine said that her husband likes pictures.

“When I was little,” you said, then you looked at Ed for a moment. And you realize that you look at him too often, “I don't remember exactly, but I could see her when I was 6 years old.”

“I felt very scared. especially when I no longer live with my parents, I...” you give up. You can’t control yourself from looking at Ed. His proportional body makes you want to be fucked by him.

“I'm not from this country. I studied in America and I have graduated from university and now I live here.” You could feel Ed constantly looking at you.

You bit your bottom lip, “I was alone, in the past if I was disturbed every night I could ask my parents to look after me. I know it was the actions of a spoiled child, but now everything is different, I endure all this alone, and I’m afraid...”

“You are not alone, we are here to help you...” said Lorraine holding your hand gently, “can you explain to us what you experienced…apart from your friend’s accident?”

You think for a moment, then you say quietly, “she often comes into my dreams, I don’t know, she always says something but I never remember it. And the weird thing is, I feel like I dreamed of her only for a moment, maybe 2 minutes ago, and when I woke up, it was already morning.”

“Ed...” said Lorraine softly.

He nodded his head, “yes hon?”

“Can you be here accompany her? I will be right back.” said Lorraine as she stood up. And then she whispered something to her husband, making you feel strange. She turned to you and smiled faintly then left the place.

“Where did she go?” you asked as Ed now sat down next to you.

“She’s just… want to do her thing.”

“No, you always work together. I don’t believe that.” you said feeling suspicious.

“And you believe what?” said Ed, “After you showed me your thighs and bit your sexy lips while me and my wife were lecture in there.”

Ed’s soft fingers touched your pink lips, his thumb combing every corner of your lips while his other fingers held your chin.

You let go of Ed’s hand with a slow movement. “No, Ed, we can’t.” You said trying to avoid eye contact from him.

Ed grinned, “Why not?” he tucked your hair behind your ear, holding your chin, “look at me.”

You’re looking at each other now. You can’t help yourself when you see Ed in his formal suit and tie... his body is very proportional with his very handsome face. You only looked into his eyes for 5 seconds and you immediately kissed Ed’s lips hungrily.

Ed kissed you back, your fingers undoing Ed’s tie. He kissed your neck aggressively, then with quick movements he placed your entire body lying on the sofa. He took off his suit and shirt, as did you at the same time taking off your shirt.

When you were about to take off your skirt-- Ed, who was already topless, bit your neck and then said in a deep, hoarse voice in your ear, “leave the skirt in place. as are those filthy stockings...”

Ed ripped your sheer stocking right at your cunt. He moved your panties to look at your pussy. You could feel Ed’s fingers playing on your clit. His thumb rubs your clit with lazy movements while his other 2 fingers into your cunt.

You groaned in pain, Ed said, “damn, 2 fingers won't really go inside. You’re so tight, honey.”

“You're a virgin huh?” said Ed, who was still playing with your clitoris and with his fingers, you could only nod weakly.

“What a surprise.” You felt his fingers force their way into your vagina making you scream in pain.

You can hear Lorraine calling her husband because he heard your moan, “don't worry hon, this is part of the exorcism I’m doing. I can do it myself.” Ed lied so stupidly.

“Ed...please...” you let out a weak moan, you looked at the door of the house which was still wide open, “Ed... shouldn't we close the door first?”

His fingers slipped from your cunt. He started to unbutton his trousers. You can see his cock which is so big and hard in front of you.

You can feel his cock starting to enter the walls of your cunt which are already very wet. He kisses your thighs which are still covered in stockings then enters his entire penis into you. Makes you groan in pain and shed tears.

You felt sore because Ed’s big cock was inside you, but you really liked it.

“Ed, we have to close the door...”

Ed now put your legs over his shoulders and fucked you very aggressively, he answered, “That's not necessary. If someone else passes by this house, at least they can see what a slut you are.” He squeezed out the last word by thrusting his cock deeper into you.

You were drunk with the pleasure he was giving you. You accidentally said a sentence you didn’t want to say.

“Ed Warren.....a sexy demonologist that I just met. A married man that would exorcise all the demons in my body. Please have my baby, put it all in me…. I want you..” you moaned as he insert his cock into your wet cunt with fast movements.

Ed looked at you with pity, “I really wanted to see you have my baby the first time I saw you with those thighs that were so tempting... obey me and be a good slut.”

You nod and you feel increasingly excited and want to climax when Ed kisses both of your tits and licks your nipples while still inserting his large penis inside you.

“Ed... I want to cum.” you moaned when Ed bit your nipple.

He then kissed your collarbones then you could feel his rough breath on your neck now. He kissed your neck then you felt something flowing inside you.

He releases a lot of sperm inside you. With nothing left. His big cock was still inside you when Lorraine caught you both in the living room.

“So, can we start now?” She asked with a straight face, “of course you can do an exorcism faster than this, right, Ed?”

Ed chuckled, he still hadn't removed his cock from inside you, “yeah hon, give us some time to get dressed again.”

Lorraine left the room still with a straight face. But you know that she really jealous and hurt because she obviously heard all your moans and can imagine how great your sex was. But she can’t do anything for that because she wants her husband to be happy.

You kissed his lips as he pulled his cock out of your pussy, “that was amazing.” you said then he smiled happily.

Your still naked bodies stood up and Ed hugged you from behind, “ready for round two?”

***

[edgessunflower]

Sacrifice

Pairing: Lorraine Warren x Fem reader

Description: You put yourself in danger and end up hurt to save Lorraine and Ed

You knew something wasn't right as you looked around for April while Drew stayed in Brad's cop car with Christine as brad, Ed, Roger, and Lorraine kept Carolyn in the basement originally waiting for Father Gordon to arrive and do the exorcism but things grew dire leading to ed having to jump in and do the exorcism instead. "April! April where are you!?" you ran around everywhere looking for april knowing that if she was near carolyn at this point that Bathsheba would force carolyn to kill april as she had already done herself and possessed another woman to do before which only drove you to find april even more as you yelled and frantically ran back downstairs searching the kitchen as you heard small cries, you listened realizing it was from the floor leading to you opening the floor open with a crowbar where you found april underneath the floor as you reached for her tearing the floor open more before picking her up right as caroyln came making april scream as you immediately lifted April out and fell in the hole to prevent bathsheba from getting to her as everyone else tried to stop her. You yelled as you grabbed onto carolyn and held onto her tightly as she tried to climb through the hole where drew ran in and grabbed april as ed yelled out to you but you weren't letting go determined to protect april at all costs as caroyln finally yanked you up as rammed you into the ground before ed jumped in and lorraine as well which made your heart sink as you heard lorraine scream before you saw red running and ramming carolyn in the wall and pinning her there as lorraine called out to carolyn everyone telling her to fight as ed finished the exorcism and banished bathsheba leading to you almost collapsing, you teared up seeing the Perron family all together holding onto each other before you were taken to the hospital where you got stitches on the back of your head and found out that you had a concussion. You fell asleep after answering the basic questions the nurse asked you to be sure that your concussion was severe enough for you to be monitored more than a few hours or a day at the most which luckily you would only need to be monitored for the next four hours, you woke up an hour later only to see lorraine beside you learning that ed had went back to his house where he put the music box from the house in the room where things from every case was collected which you truly thought was not the best thing to do but somehow nothing had happened zoning into your thoughts until you heard lorraine speak softly and her words made your heart shatter and your eyes widen as she looked at you with an emotional and fearful expression which made you feel guilty for what you had done, "You're not a sacrifice...you're someone I care about deeply and if I lose you I don't know what I would do..." you opened your mouth to speak but your voice cracked and tears formed in your eyes out of guilt knowing you had caused her along with drew and ed worry even if you weren't trying to and had reasons for your actions. You looked down at your lap not knowing anything to say in this moment before lorraine held you in her arms relieved that you were okay that calmed the immense fear and worry that ran through her when she had seen you get thrown to the ground and collapse after the exorcism leading to ed having to carefully drag then carry you out of the house to the ambulance even with you being awake you definitely weren't in the real time and world during that moment with how dazed you were and your eyes almost glazed over, "I'm sorry..." lorraine immediately shook her head shushing you softly as she held you until you were back asleep again after repeating yourself from the questions the nurse asked before.

[goaways-stuff]

I was wondering if u did lorraine warren x fem reader requests? and if so maybe mdlg kinda vibes ?(:

I don't do female readers or ddlg/mdlg smut, but here's some SFW gn! littlespace headcanons with Lorraine :)

•She'd know it's coming before you would, already preparing your favorite stuffed animals, blankets, and pajamas. She'd cook your favorite foods, everything she knows you like when in little space for you to come home to

•She brushes your hair out of your face with the most motherly hand. "Such a pretty face," she said, giving your forehead a kiss.

•The cartoons are already on the TV when you get home, dying to regress after a hard day, and your heart melts.

•When you cry, she holds your face and wipes her tears with her thumb

•Loves holding you. She'll cuddle up with you on the couch, kissing your head as you watch cartoons.

•She's a great caretaker. She reads you so easily but leaves the floor open for you to communicate your needs directly. She's so tender in her touch that you swear it was a feather

•She has really soft hands, and when you're in littlespace, she loves putting lotion on your hands in your favorite scents.

•If she knows she's gonna be gone while you're home, she'll spray some of her perfume on your stuffies and make sure that the fridge and pantry are stocked with your safe foods.

[jokekinsjoke505]

Stay with us (part 2)

(part one)

Ed (age 26) X male reader(age 26) X Lorraine Warren( age 25)

Warnings: this is just going to be fluffy and a bit angst

tag list: @wintervenom.

(3 weeks after the incident) I woke up slowly opening my eyes only to shut them quickly again due to the bright light. I felt a very uncomfortable feeling in my nose and throat I put my hand on my nose only to feel a breathing tube I looked around the room only to find Ed and Lorraine sleeping in the corner I snapped my fingers to try and signal them that I was awake but it didn't work so I said "Ed. Lorraine. I'm okay" I whispered and that was enough to wake them both I was immediately met with hugs and tears from both and once I made eye contact with them both……. I then understood that somebody gave a fuck about me I then felt Lorraine lean over and kiss my cheek making me look at her "Don't do that please" I said as my lip quivered due to the love I had towards them that knew would probably never be returned. I then felt a rough hand on my cheek i looked to my left and saw that it was Ed "Y/n. About your letter. Is that true?" Ed asked me making me look quickly at them both before looking down nodding in shame " Fuck I'm so so sorry guys. It's okay if you guys wanna cut contact with me" I said as I felt a tear run down my cheek but was quickly wiped away by Lorraine who then cupped my face into her hand making me look at her in the eyes. Then unexpectedly she kissed me while Ed held me close scared to lose me " I- w-…w-what?" I said in shock not understanding the situation but then Ed hugged me again squizzing a bit before saying "y/n we love you too" I then felt another tear run down my face.

(time skip to 3 months)

Me, Lorraine, and Ed have started dating but have to hold it a secret due to how much people look down on a truple that a woman can't date two people and how much people look down on two men dating. But when we were for example either in my home or their house we would cuddle, kiss, tell each other 'I love you' and also be able to look at each other without having to hide the love in our eyes. I also started going to therapy and fixing my mental health.

I walked in the door of the warren house and was immediately greeted by Judy who ran to me yelling in happiness "Y/n!!!!!" I quickly lifted the 8-year-old and hugged her then I sat her back down, took off my coat, and went to the kitchen where Ed and Lorraine stood and I quickly was greeted by kisses making me chuckle a bit "So how are you two doing?" I asked while taking a sip of the coffee cup that Ed had prepared for me before I came here "Oh a lot of work… We're heading to the countryside of Burrillville town. Do you mind babysitting Judy for a bit" Ed said and I smiled "Yeah of course I can" I said looking at Judy who was looking at the TV. I then felt a soft hand upon mine " Thank you Y/n that means a lot to us that you're willing to take care of Judy while we're working" Lorraine said to me while smiling before kissing me and I kissed back while smiling a bit into the kiss.

Later that day after spending some time with them they left and I gave them both a goodbye kiss and watched Judy saying goodnight to her parents due to how late it was and that it was time for Judy to go to bed when it was time for them to leave I grabbed Judy from her parents and held her in my arms and I could feel that she was falling asleep already making me chuckle "okay bye goodluck to you two and please try and stay safe" I said to them and watching them drive away then after they were out of sight I closed and locked the door and went upstairs and went to Judy's bedroom while I had her in my arms and when I laid her down onto the bed she woke up and looked at me and said "I love you, papa, goodnight" before falling asleep when she said that it was like being strucked by millions of shock bombs and I sat there for a moment in silence before leaning down kissing the top of her head and whispered "goodnight Judy I love you too" while kissing the top of her head. I stayed there until she fell asleep then I sneaked my way out of her bedroom and went to the guest bedroom and got ready for nighttime.

alright folks this is the end of this story but there will like come like moments between this lovely truple.

[maybegays-blog]

Welcome to my blog 🙏 🫡

(Edited)

What I WILL write:

Smut

Fluff

Angst

Yandere

X (Fem!) Reader (anything but male)

What I WONT write:

Heavy saw level gore. (It’s hard to write and it makes me a lil sick 😔😵‍💫)

Character x Character (nothin wrong w it, I just personally don’t really like ships)

X Male reader

🍇

Inc3st

If you request something that’s not on here, I will look into. (If I do not respond then I will probably not write)

—

Please specify what you want me to write, I’m not good at coming up with things :(

Also, a small disclaimer. English isn’t my first language.

Masterlist

FUCKERS I WRITE FORRR!!!

Celebrities

La Zarra

Lady Gaga

Charlize Theron

Catherine Zeta-Jones

Gwedoline Christie

Trolls 3

Velvet

Viva

The Conjuring

Lorraine Warren

Wednesday (2022)

Morticia Addams

Larissa Weems

Marilyn Thornhill

The School For Good And Evil

Lady Leonora Lesso

Clarissa Dovey

Black Panther

Queen Ramonda

Shuri Udaku

Riri Williams

Steven Universe

The FEMALE Crystal Gems

The Diamonds

Resident Evil: Village

Lady Dimitrescu

Mother Miranda

Donna Beneviento

Bela Dimitrescu

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Daniela Dimitrescu

Total Drama

Gwen

Leshawna

Heather

Eva

Izzy

Courtney

Bridgette

(Not that far in the show, sorry!😔)

[ping-ski]

shrödinger's plex fic (they are real to me)

EBY eclipse and y/n ref here!! :3

[teddybeartoji]

sukuna teaching you how to cook…       

pressed flush against you, his hand rests on top of yours as you grip the knife. it’s almost as if he’s the puppeteer and you his toy with the way he guides you – he moves, you move, you’re one and the same. his other hand is on you as well, fingers almost intertwined as he helps you hold the piece of meat steady on the cutting board. you can’t help but think how intimate it all feels, how close he is. 

his voice is deeper than usual and it’s making it very hard for you to concentrate, especially when his lips keep brushing over the shell of your ear. you’re trying, you really are, to pay attention to what he’s saying because it’s not often you get to see this side of him – cooking is something he adores, and he’s taking this way more seriously than you could’ve ever imagined. but it’s not like you’re complaining… oh, no – you’re loving every second of this. 

you’re sure he can feel that your breathing has picked up, and you’re sure he knows that you’re stumbling further and further away from being his perfect little pupil and falling head first into an entirely different role instead. your hold on the knife falters while his on your hand tightens. the meat before you bleeds and the clear juices coat the wooden board alongside with your fingers. 

and his. 

“focus, doll… “ 

his rasp catches you off-guard, his low voice pulling you from your thoughts. he hears you swallow the lump in your throat and you feel him smile against your ear. 

“i’m very focused, ryo…” 

“on the wrong things– yes.” you don’t have to see him to know that he’s wearing that annoyingly handsome smirk of his, ever so proud to have this kind of effect on his beloved.

you suck your teeth before poking your tongue against your inner cheek; your body grows hot at all the attention he’s giving you. sukuna presses forward an inch and your hips meet the edge of the kitchen counter – now completely sandwiched between him and the piece of furniture, your head clouds with thoughts so far from cooking that your knees nearly buckle from below you. 

“c’mon now.” he raises your hand with the knife still in your palm and holds it above the piece of red meat. the blade glints under the dimmed down light, the silver winking at you before sinking down into the raw cutlet. back and forth, the movement of your hands is slow but steady – the knives in your house are never dull, so every pull and every push you make feel as if you’re gliding through butter. 

but it’s not just the sharpened blade— 

it’s the sheer power he holds. 

sukuna’s hands are skilled, his fingers rough but surprisingly gentle at the very same time. he knows exactly how much force to use, how to cut through a piece of flesh with so much ease that the act makes you wonder about his past lives. a butcher, a killer? or perhaps a god instead? 

to slash and to score. to gut and then devour. 

caged in his arms, you feel like his next bite. his sharp teeth brush against your ear once more and you can’t help but tense up as a wave of excitement shoots through your body and a nervous chuckle tumbles from your lips. 

he hums. 

his fingers unwrap themselves from around your hand before reaching for the cut you just made. he picks it up and then shows it to you with pride. 

“not too thick, not too thin.” your mouth waters, you barely register his words. “remember that.” 

“mhmm.”

there isn’t an inch between your bodies and you can hardly breathe. 

“what did i say?”

with him, you’ve learned about this other kind of excitement; he asks you a question and there’s this pressure, a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach – it teeters between a giddy, butterflies of love type of thing and pure feverish thrill. 

walking in a circle, eyes on each other – a dance between the prey and the predator. the most he’d do is laugh, tease you a little. maybe even sink his teeth into your neck and inhale the whine you’d let out. that’s what he wants. a little sound. you’re in the palm of his hand and you both know it. 

but if you’re good…

“not too thick and not too thin.”

it’s a kiss from a beast that you’ll get in return. a word of praise from a god, a tender look from a killer. a safe haven behind a butcher’s ribcage.  

stained fingers find your cheek and you’re putty in his hands; it takes no effort at all to turn you to finally face him and it takes no time at all for him to press his lips against yours. but he doesn’t nip and he doesn’t bite, not this time. 

a soft spot in a lover’s heart.

[comatosebunny09]

I can’t get this montage out of my head.

Of you and Sylus, bathed in the afterglow of sex, tucked away in some island far away where his “family” resides.

Cuddling, your cheek pressed to his chest, hands splayed at his back, a smile rounding your lips. And he runs lazy fingers up and down your spine, kissing the crown of your head and murmuring the sweetest things there. You’re both watching the sunset as waves crash onto the shore beyond the safety of your beach bungalow; the air is thick with fondness.

Fast forward a bit, and you’re bounding around your bungalow tidying up, Sylus’s shirt sliding off your shoulders, and you’re oblivious to everything outside your earphones. Don’t notice Sylus watching you over crossed arms, leaning against the kitchen island. He’s smiling because you’re adorable, and your cute ass cheeks are spilling out of the bottom of his shirt. And he can’t help himself as he embraces you from behind, exhaling into your hair.

“What are you listening to?” he says all low, swaying your bodies to an unheard song. Snags one of your earphones, and a woman’s melodious, husky croon fills his ear.

Cue the montage of said song transitioning from a dull buzz in the earphone to something full-blown. It plays as Sylus sweeps you away in a souped-up El Dorado, and you’re sitting on the headrest, the breeze blowing over your skin as you dance to your favorite song. And Sylus reaches over to squeeze your knee from the driver's side, the content flicker in his eye hidden behind his shades.

Next, you’re doing a little jig at a restaurant by the window because you’re eating something delicious. And you’re wearing a beautiful, simple dress that boasts your curves, and Sylus can’t keep his eyes off you. Chuckles as he reaches across the table to swipe some sauce off your chin. You lock eyes like magnets drawn to each other, and the air grows thick with passion as the musicians playing at the restaurant shift tempo.

And then, you’re on a shopping spree. In a fancy boutique, doing a little twirl for him in a dress he couldn’t live without you having. And he’s all smiles and lowered defenses, motioning for you to sit in his lap so he can hold you to him and kiss you silly.

Then, you’re at the beach as the sun sets. At a local market, being surrounded by kids begging you to buy their seashell necklaces. And you’re laughing all pretty because they’re all adorable, and you somehow end up roped into a game of soccer with them, playing along the surf.

And Sylus just sits back like, damn, I think I’m in love. And he’s happy for moments like this when you both can steal away, falling off the grid for a little while. He likes it when he has you to himself.

[kortac-sweetheart]

uhmmm uhmm uhmmmm happy nikto thirst friday MDNI 18+ content

cw: (consent is fully and well established before each scene) CNC/dub-con, predator prey play/primal play, sub space, exhibitionism(ish), nikto is a masochist AND a sadist(kinda), small choking mention, slight blood kink, aftercare aficionado nikto (NOT PROOFREAD)

not intimately described in detail, reader wears a dress and is smaller than nikto but gender is ultimately ambiguous

whenever you and nikto fall into your bed together it's always sweet, soft-- reverent in the highest degree. it's not boring at all, it's enjoyable everytime, but there's always a guilty fantasy of yours that lingers afterwards. it's not like your husband is opposed to trying new things, he's made it vehemently clear that he's open to trying new things with you (within reason) at least once.

it's how you find yourself in this position now, curled into his side while a shitty werewolf horror movie plays on screen. the big hulking beast, frothing at the mouth, chasing the female lead through the dark woods. you mention it sort of off handedly,

"hmm, i wish we could do that." he doesn't reply, but you can feel his questioning gaze flickering to you.

"just. want you to chase me through the woods, and when you catch me... you have your way with me right there.." you squirm in your seat besides him, thighs clenching and nearly panting at the thought. nikto doesn't say anything in response, but he tightens his grip on you, slipping a hand into your pants and taking care of your needs right there, the movie long disregarded.

you think he's nearly forgotten about the whole thing until he brings it up a week later. breaching the topic to you over a lazy sunday afternoon, with you sitting right next to him at the dinner table.

"little one, about the thing you mentioned last week. the one where we chase you through the woods, how does today at midnight sound?"

the way he mentions it so casually makes you nearly choke on your coffee, sputtering whilst he pats you on the back. when you recover from your shock, you're quick to reply.

"i'd-- i'd like that, yeah." a pleased hum rumbles in his chest, sweeping you tighter underneath his arm as he discusses verbal and nonverbal safe words. he makes you repeat back "red light" to him, and makes you tap him on the thigh three times, smiling when you do so.

and so after the moon rises, you find yourself at the edge of the woods near your home, clad in a little white number from the back of your closet you bought a while ago. ruffles and lace fluttering softly in the wind, a large bow perfectly aligned on the center of your chest, the sheer quality of the dress makes you glow in the moonlight-- the shining aura of an angel amidst the dark backdrop of night.

nikto can't wait to ravage you.

his voice simmering as whispers in your ear "go, little one. don't let us catch you." and sends you sprinting off into the woods with an encouraging pat on your ass.

he's so kind isn't he, little one? allowing you a two minute headstart before the hunt truly begins. it has your heart racing, nerves alight and dripping in adrenaline. even after running for who knows how long there still isn't the faintest trace of your husband, although you can feel his icy gaze following you, shrouded within the trees.

the scant moonlight barely illuminates the path in front of you, and it leaves you vulnerable to your husband all but pouncing on you. he does not strike this time, merely ghosting behind you to remind you of his presence. his masked visage slips away as quickly as he first appeared, vanishing back into the inky blackness.

only moments later does he reappear again, unmasked, seizing your running body as you pass his hiding place. your body suddenly caged beneath his on the forest floor, his broad chest blocking out any trace of moonlight seeping through the canopy.

"caught you." his tone dances on the edge of teasing, almost singsong in quality-- abnormal for the situation you're in. you look ravishing like this, underneath him and panting. your face flushed from exertion and the skirt of your dress rucked up past your thighs.

he leans down and licks a stripe up from your collar bone, up the side of your neck and to your cheek, tasting your sweat.

mmm, simply delicious.

he's everywhere after that, he's all you see, all you smell, hear, feel.

your senses are all flooded with one thing only. nikto. nikto. nikto. you can't even fight back in the state you're in, the outside world melts away in the face of nikto pinning you down. folded up like a crumpled piece of paper beneath him as he reaps the rewards of a successful hunt. he's not kind in the way he's handling you, his bites walk the razor's edge, stopping before drawing blood despite how much he desires to. his hands gripping all over your body, bruises blooming along his path of conquest.

"tired, little rabbit? don't tell us you're going to pass out already hm? we haven't had our fun yet. go on. fight back, maybe you'll get away." he taunts you, whispering right into your ears, as you feel another bite blossom on your shoulder. you kick and writhe as best you can under him, scratching him, beating against his broad frame, it's a fruitless endeavor-- only serves to rile him up more. if you had managed to move even an inch away from him, his hands would fly to your hips in an iron grip, pulling you back into his gaping maw.

"what's the matter little one? are you only pretending to fight back hm? you want this don't you? want someone to see us having our way with you, is that right? dirty rabbit." he pants into your ears, the grip he has on your throat is iron, your mind and brain turning fuzzy as he lays his claim on you once more. his posession of you clearly visible everywhere, but especially dripping between your thighs.

soon after nikto is done having his fun with you, you're bundled up in his jacket and brought back home. you snuggle into it, into him and his comforting warmth, his jacket smells just like him and you slip into easy sleep.

you awake with him pressing a kiss to your forehead, carrying you to the bath as he methodically goes through your usual bathing routine, but with more care than usual. nikto make sure not to scrub too hard, as to not irritate the love bites and bruises he left on you, his darling. lathering shampoo into your hair and tenderly telling you when to close your eyes to rinse it out, once done he pulls you out and pats you dry. clothing you in his big sweater and those sweatpants you like.

once cleaned, he pulls you besides him at the dinner table, a warm meal already waiting, your favorite. eating is non negotiable. he's hand feeding it to you, heart fluttering as he watches your sleepy expression morph into ones of sleepy joy from the food. his warmth and the food in your tummy only serves to make you even more eager for bed.

he crawls into bed with you, pulling you to his chest to cuddle you close. you're out like a light as soon as your head hits his chest. it's ok darling, he'll ask you how it was when you wake up again. but for now, sleep well, little one.

[getmeoutofhell]

dating valak and malthus

dating 2 demons?? you’re asking for a curse aren’t you? me personally, i’m surprised you’re not dead and in hell for eternity. valak came to you first, stalking you before you finally see him. malthus came after, in the doll of course. be prepared for the not well hidden jealousy, terrible attempts to get your attention, and much more.

let’s start with 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓀.

valak is a very scary, manipulative, demon. he always gets what he wants, when he wants. when he sees you, he finds a liking to you. which means he has to stock, torment, and scare you until he’s pleased. i believe that you reader, are a very strong person to put up with his bs. when he finally reveals him in his nun form, you weren’t as scared as he wanted you to be. i mean yeah, your heartbeat was racing but the fear is your veins wasn’t high enough to his liking.

he didn’t understand, how come you weren’t scared? he walks twords you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. from that moment on, he starts liking you. he likes how you act like you don’t fear him. he will try to break you. he doesn’t like your friends/family. very very possessive.

moving on to ℳ𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓈.

now malthus is a little different from valak. not a lot tho, but just enough for you to notice. he takes his time, getting to see how you act. he’s not the best with hiding tho, considering the fact that the doll is everywhere in your view. but i mean i suppose he tries. seeing malthus for the first time actually scared you. his true form was frightening. but the same with valak, you got used to it pretty quickly.

he’s more on the charming side, which means he won’t scare you as much as valak would, instead he’ll try more on manipulating you. show you stuff that isn’t there and so on.

poly relationship

both of them fighting over you is more common than you’d think. they want you to think they’re the scariest and best demons. id certainly think that valak would try to fight/banish malthus back to hell. but you’d stop him before it’s to late. the way they fight is way different than how humans do. as stated before, they will manipulate, and deceive you. which means, they will show you stuff that isn’t really there. something beautiful and unique.

they use your home to hide out in, even in their true form. sometimes your favorite flowers will be in odd places for you. that may seem sweet until you get closer to the flowers, and you realize that they’re dead.

if you even attempt to show more ‘attention’ to one than the other, oh my you’re in for a treat. you’ll hear loud growls and groans in the distance. at first it scared you to be honest. you don’t know why they did that, but later you found out. with further investigation you noticed that they weren’t growls or groans. they were whines….which was weird. i mean, demons that scary shouldn’t show affection. right?

their way of affection is um…different. valaks way of showing any emotion is by drawing his long, thin, and black fingers across your body. you may think his fingers would be hot against you, but no, they’re stone cold to the touch. malthus would just prefer to stay in the doll. he doesn’t like coming out much, even if you try to convince him.

you do hear a ton of banging around the house. you assume it’s them two fighting with each other. “enough! i’m trying to sleep!!” the noice then stops.

[anundyingfidelity]

HUSH — Ed Warren

Summary: The feeling is forbidden, but Ed doesn’t care about it.

Pairing: Ed Warren x fem reader.

Word count: 1.3k.

Warnings: mentions of cheating and guilt, unprotected everything (pls don’t do this in real life), slut shaming, facial, dirty talk and dirty all, dark!Ed because I want him to corrupt me.

GEN MASTERLIST!

Note: another dilf i found that might help me to go through this hell called life (and writers block), patrick wilson i love you i'm sorry i didn’t give you the attention you deserved when i was 15.

The clinking of his belt can be heard through the kitchen. Your hands hold on tightly on the countertop, the surface cold against your breasts.

You bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. His cock buried deep inside you with every buck of his hips. His big hands on your sides have a tight grip so he can maneuver you as he wants.

He has control of what you do, every single time. And you think - no, you know - this is wrong but oh, god, he feels so good.

Lorraine is out with Judy, and each time Ed knows they're out, he wastes no time on getting his hands on you. On fucking you so damn hard until he claims your body in full. Sometimes he's quick, sometimes he's not. It doesn’t matter if he cums. Ed is just chasing his pleasure, just using you. But do you really think so?

Today his wife left for a short walk in a nearby park with the little daughter, whom you took care of about a year ago. The Warrens had let you in their lives, finding you worthy of taking care of their house and the little girl, and you did enjoy their trust and company, but soon things became different.

The teasing, the snarky comments, the smirks and the longing gazes… They had to be addressed somehow, someday. But you didn’t expect it to go on like this.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, feeling his dick hitting a particular spot inside you. Ed groans, his left hand grabbing tightly your hip to push against him when your cunt throbs around his cock so deliciously he would just cum right there.

You can still feel the metal of the wedding band around his finger as he fucks you senseless. He never takes it off. Only shoves your dress and panties aside, unbuckles his pants and looks up for the nearest surface to have his way with you. And you let him do so. This time though, he took some minutes to play with your tits, licking and nipping the soft flesh, marking your breasts with his teeth and tongue like a starving man.

His left hand moves to your pussy and he softly rubs your clit with his fingers. You shiver at the cold of his ring against your most sensitive places, and you moan.

“I'm gonna cum,” you whisper, and he increases the rhythm of his thrusts, his hips snapping against the flesh of your ass. His chest touches your back, pressing you further into the surface, groaning against your ear before a light chuckle escapes his mouth.

“You cum pretty quickly,” he mocks as you clench again around his cock. Ed knows you are taking everything to hold your orgasm and he loves it. “But you cum when I say so, right?”

You moan again, louder this time once he gives a particular hard buck of his hips. Ed slides his cock out of you when there is no answer coming from your lips. And you are a whimpering mess, pressing your legs together, aching for some friction of his fingers ghosting on your cunt. But he remains still.

“Right?” he asks in your ear again. You are at the verge of crying, of begging to let you cum, and you take so long to react that he lifts his hand from your cunt and grabs your neck. There is no pressure but a firm warning of what he can do. “Right, my little slut?”

You nod desperately, and barely mumble. “Yes, sir.”

Your pussy is throbbing and your legs are starting to tremble already. You need him inside you. Your whole body aches for him and is so disgusting he has shaped you into this, but once he is pushing inside you again you forget. All you can feel is his palm resting on your throat, his cock splitting you up, his broad chest against your back… Everything is heaven. He is heaven, as much as you know this is not right, you can’t deny yourself such pleasure.

The way he had broken you and put you back again in one is just angelic. And you feel yourself at the brink of bliss again.

“Fuck, you feel so warm around me,” he moans. “So wet, so perfect…”

“Please, Ed,” you beg pathetically, almost sobbing. “Please let me cum.”

He smiles to himself. Bastard enjoys having you like this. “Cum now, doll.”

And you do as he tells, with his cock pistoning in and out, his fingers back on your clit as you clench all around him and coat his length with your juices. A stream of cries and moans fills the kitchen and Ed has to motion you to keep it low, his thrusts slowing down, but his cock remains hard.

“Shh,” he says, bringing his wet fingers to your mouth.

There is no need for a word, you suck on them tasting yourself, cleaning his digits soaked on your arousal. The metalic taste of his wedding band reminds you of what this really is. But he doesn’t care, so why would you? He made you addicted, and you don’t plan on walking away. Not when he takes such good care of you.

“Good girl,” he praises when you're done cleaning his fingers off. “Now come here, darling.”

He manhandles you so easily, lifting your upper body off the countertop and turning you around until your flushed, sweaty face meets him. He forces you on your knees, still weak from your own orgasm, and you remember he hasn't cum yet. But he is eager to. Your lips part and the tip of his dick lies heavy on your tongue as he jerks himself off, his other hand gripping the back of your head to keep you in place.

You watch attentively through your lashes as he releases his white, hot seed on your tongue and paints your face with it. Ed moans, so dark and sweet at the same time. You close your eyes, feeling some of his cum on your cheeks. His lustful gaze locks on yours for as long as he can, until he is done.

Ed observes you, down on your knees, panting for breath, your dress disheveled… Such a work of art you are, and he confirms that every time he coats you like this. He collects his cum from your face with two of his fingers and forces them down your mouth until you lick them clean. You moan softly once you are done and he admires you for a second, caressing your cheek with the palm of his hand.

It's so intimate and soft the way he touches your cheek, helping you on your feet and trying to fix your clothes as much as he can, not before squeezing your sensitive breasts again.

“You're such a perfect little plaything,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours, and you melt right away.

How can this man act like what you're doing is nothing? Why can’t you push him away and stop this? You try to find an answer but you get lost in his eyes and how they look at you. You know there is only lust in them, but you love it. The sound of the car parking outside the house alerts you and Ed fixes himself, pants and belt in its place again. Then, the main door opens. Lorraine's voice along with Judy's laugh illuminates the place as they go upstairs, the noise disappearing when they reach the bedrooms.

You look up and catch Ed's eyes, still on you.

“Does she know?” you ask.

“On our own accord,” is all he says. That doesn’t tell you anything. You want to push further. Maybe it is their agreement. Maybe you shouldn’t mess with their rules.

But this is wrong, you repeat yourself. He won’t stop and neither will you. And you know you’re just as guilty as him.

[edgessunflower]

You took my soul and wiped it clean

Pairing: Lorraine Warren x Fem reader

Description: After becoming the third member of their business, you get an unexpected new start with Lorraine

You never knew what real, raw, and honest love was until you met Ed Warren and Lorraine Moran when you were at your lowest in life. You felt a sudden warmth and kindness when you first met Lorraine, her smile made you float on cloud nine as you and her talked before meeting Ed, who was the closest thing to an older brother and father you ever had in your entire life, as time went on and you went on investigations with them, you became adored and liked by clients and respected by later clients who had at first underestimated and thought of you as only an assistant. You and lorraine slowly became closer and closer as time and investigations went on, always helping the other when one was hurt, when the other was shaken up by activity in the home you were in, or when one of you just needed someone to talk to, the two of you realized your feelings for each other five months of being with them and helping investigations and with some help from your other shared friends and Ed especially, she made the first move mostly on accident when she saw you in a lavender dress adorned with sunflowers "You look as beautiful as any flower shining the sun" you turn to see her face as red as a strawberry making you giggle as you hold her face in your hands and gently kiss her as she wraps her arms around your waist, the two of you pull apart and smile big as your foreheads touch. You smile as you think back over the past few months as you turn your head, looking at a sleeping lorraine by your side, the two of you went on your first and second date after the kiss and by the time the fifth date came, the two of you had already been together for two months and now six months later you were just as in love with her as you were when you first saw her "Daydreaming huh?" you look down to see lorraine awake as she caresses your face with her hand "More of fondly remembering" she giggles as you lay your head on her chest with her chin on top of your head as you trace the freckles on her skin as she does with the tattoo of stars across your back, you both slowly get up and ready for the day of cooking out smiling at your family each talking with lorraine as ed stands next to you "Guess that makes me your best man then?" you snicker as you smack ed on his arm but nod knowing he would be the best man for the both of you.

[hvlplvss]

| still around

summary: in which colby manages to communicate to his childhood best friend through cody and satori.

warnings: angsty tbh, this is a best!friend!colby x reader btw, mentions of death

authors note: kinda short and i lowkey don’t like this

hell week had just begun for sam and colby. not even fifteen minutes ago, cody and satori had explained and begun to showcase their methods of communicating to spirits. which immediately baffled the duo.

a spirit named abigail arnold, had come through. she was called a friendly spirit, the matriarch of the conjuring house. she’d also managed to bring sam’s grandma through, libby golbach. this of course, freaked sam and the boys took a break, to which the spirits agreed.

as sam had recovered from the contact with his late grandma. the two walked back into the living room of the house. cody and satori checked in on sam, before continuing once again.

the workers connected their hands, by holding one another’s wrists. “hi,” satori began, footsteps echoed a moment after, “is this abigail i’m talking to?” the spirit responded with one step. “great! thank you abigail. is there anything else you need to tell me, or tell sam and colby?”

the ghost responded with two footsteps, satori nodded, beginning to spell out the alphabet. it began to spell out your name.

colby’s eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides. sam recognised the name from when colby first spoke about the loss of his childhood friend at only 14 years old. sam immediately panned the camera towards colby.

eventually, satori had spelt out your entire name. y/n y/l/n. satori and cody turned to look at the boys and noticed colby’s watery eyes. “does that name mean something..?” satori asked carefully.

colby nodded slowly, trying to take a calming breath, “she’s was my bestfriend. uh- she passed when i was fourteen,” colby explained a slight pause between words, reminiscing the thought of the girl.

satori nodded, turning back to cody and grabbing onto him, “abigail, is there anything y/n wants colby to know?” there was silence for a few moments, colby looking up with hopeful eyes, while sam and the camera watched him.

there were five footsteps around the living room. cody and satori nodded, sharing one glance as satori began saying the alphabet.

always watching

the sentence began with. colby’s hand reached up to wipe away the stray tears that seeped from his eyes.

and loving you.

colby stood up and let a few more tears leak from his eyes. satori noticed this and asked abigail for a break, checking that it was okay with y/n as well, who agreed.

colby walked outside with colby following after him, just like they had already done not long ago after they got through to libby.

“dude, how you feeling?” sam asked, turning the camera light on.

colby stood there, wiping both his eyes with one hand. “it’s… it’s just pretty crazy. like we spoke to your grandma, and now y/n?” colby whispered, his voice hoarse. “and i’ve never spoke about her. anywhere. she’s always been apart of my like private life and i’ve only really told you about her, so it’s just crazy to think that she’s there and she’s safe,” colby explained.

sam agreed, turning the camera so he was now also in frame with colby, “and just to think that my grandma and y/n, who are some of the most important people in our lives, are together. it’s sad but so nice to think and know,”

throughout the week, when satori and cody communicated with abigail, y/n was always there. when satori would ask if any other spirits were there, y/n’s name always popped up.

usually, she didn’t have another message for sam or colby. by every so often, she’d warn the boys about what lurks in the house, wanting to keep the boys safe. but sam and colby being sam and colby of course ignored the warning signs from both abigail and y/n.

ever since the first interaction with y/n, colby had begun opening up to the viewers about y/n and her passing. he’d mentioned her on his social media, sharing that she was the one who gave him the idea to create a channel in the future. she never specified what, but she’d put the idea in his head and he’d forever be grateful for the girl he once knew.

when entering places as the basement and they’d ask for abigail’s protection, he’d quietly mutter to y/n, praying for her to stay by his side.

[anika-ann]

A Conjuring - S.R.

Type: one-shot, medieval/fantasy, angst with a sweet ending

Pairining: King!Steve Rogers x reader      Word count: 9100

Summary: Steve Rogers is a kind, just ruler in the true service of his kingdom; the King of the People, they call him. But heavy is the sense of duty and heavy is the crown.

And yet, none is heavier than his heart without you by his side; none is louder than the screaming silence of your absence, turning him into barely half the man he is meant to be.

Warnings: angsty angst, mentions of blood, injuries and death (childbed), grieving for a spouse, less than healthy coping mechanisms, mention of growing up without a parent, vague medieval setting... and did I mentioned angst-- but a happy ending

A/N:  inspired by Karliene's song A Conjuring - highly recommended and came recommended to me by lovely @stellar-solar-flare who is absolutely blamed for my muse latching onto this song; lyrics are through the text in verses, any poetry is my own; divider by @firefly-graphics

The first sunrays of a new dawn are warm on his cheeks, the breeze of the brisk, foggy morning, wrapping him kindly in its arms as he enters the space hidden among the castle walls.

The dew is soaking his boots with every slow step he takes, the cold biting softly into his toes, but he cares little for it; it is his sense of smell and sight which are tuned in the most, the small private gardens welcoming him with aching familiarity. Like a garden of Eden; a peaceful solace breathing of love.

It rained last night. The heady scent of wet soil and roses fills his head and closes up his throat, but he continues walking, much like every single morning without fail.

Steve loves the garden; and he knows that so do you. It isn’t rich in many types of exotic precious flowers; in fact, many would call it simple. A few trees, one of which Steve had planted himself; a few soft-coloured flowerbeds; the pink roses climbing up the artistic constructions you had asked the smith to make. A few blooming bushes.

It’s the roses you brought to life yourself and cared for them with your own hands; with soft hands of the queen, letting dirt under your nails, skin scraped by thorns and bleeding to give birth to beauty, just like the hands of a commoner would.

The Queen of the People, they call you.

The King of the People is what they call Steve; and you both carry that title with pride.

Steve’s mother, the late queen, was the first one of that moniker, having learned how to treat wounded so she could follow her husband to the war camp and lend a helping hand to those in pain, to nurse them back to health.

In the time of peace, with the same care, you and Steve learned to grow and nurture flowers, the way you nurture your kingdom.

The time of wars seem eons away now, even as Steve himself wielded his sword alongside his men in its very battles; life has turned much quieter since then. Steve is glad for it. While fighting for the kingdom brought him sense of pride and brotherhood, he has been longing for sense of life instead. For love.

And he’s been blessed enough to have found it.

As he approaches the roses weaving up the metal construction, he breathes in deeply, his senses drowning in the overwhelming scent; a wistful smile forms on his lips, the memory of the smile you graced him with upon your first meeting wrapping around his heart.

He wrote a letter to your brother.

After King Howard’s death, the word was that the kingdom of Starkenburg had changed, progressive both in technology and social structing. The tales of King Anthony’s sister – a princess of wit quick enough to advise the king himself – intrigued Steve; and upon seeing your portrait, something in his very soul seemed to shift. Whoever the artist was, they had captured you admirably vividly; Steve almost felt as if you were looking straight into his soul and smiled.

He wrote to your brother of his intentions, but he wrote to you as well, to ask your opinion before he’d arrive to your home and attempt to court you. He had had a sense that excessive amount of gold sent with the letter would not impress you; he sent a single pair of earrings he had had commissioned instead, a well-loved book of poetry, and a vial of precious rose oil from his latest travels to the allied kingdom of the East.

And he had been right to do so.

In your response, while thanking for the jewellery, you seemed genuinely appreciative of the gifts of more personal nature, sending a book of fables in return.

You had exchanged two more letters before he made the journey, waiting only upon your request not to intrude on your brother’s wedding festivities; but as soon as Steve could arrive, he brought another three vials of rose oil among other riches to honour the royal family with.

Walking down the steps of the courtyard to greet him, your polite smile widened upon seeing his gift, a vivid spark – reminding him of your portrait so much – appearing in your eye as he brushed his lips over your knuckles, the scent of the very oil he had gifted you filling his head.

“A mind’s a maze, my wiseness sees me through… important truths lie beyond what eyes can see,” you whispered and Steve’s heart thundered in his ribcage upon recognizing those words – perhaps out of place, but all the more familiar. A little test, it seemed, you set upon him; and the spark in your eye might have been the mischief your brother was known for, but was all the more mesmerizing on you.

Warmth spread through Steve’s veins as he stood back to his full height, even as there was faint weakness in his knees already.

“‘tis through my heart I may appreciate true beauty,” he continued the poem softly, your smile turning most sincere in an instant, “’tis through your heart you reveal yourself to me… but I must say, Your Highness, you are an exquisite a sight for my eyes all the same.”

You accepted the compliment graciously, as well as the gifts – but more importantly, you accepted his courtship, warmly so.

Whatever longing Steve had felt in his chest for many years now, wearing your face since the moment he had set his eyes on your portrait, it was this very first encounter that ignited something beautiful and fierce in his heart.

And then, with every glance, word or touch exchanged, no matter how innocent, he found the fire kindled gently until it consumed him whole, the late afternoon sunrays following your steps in the royal garden having nothing on the genuine warmth of your smile, little shy, little cheeky, or the shine of your beauty.

Enchanted; that was what you made him with your presence and absence all the more. The scent of your skin with the notes of the roses haunted his dreams, day and night, and made him long and crave for more.

The day you agreed to the marriage, Steve realised he was at true peace for the first time in his life.

And the memory of that joyful day, too, was linked to the sweet scent of white roses, decorating the wedding feast.

I drew your shape in crystal shapes every single night I weaved a dream of fire for you under stormy skies In every life I've loved you so The only home I've ever known The magic part of me

The scent fills his nostrils now too. It wraps all around him with every breath as he instinctively moves closer, not worried he might step on and crush a single blossom. After all, he knows the garden like the back of his hand and could navigate it blind; he prefers it that way, in fact. With eyes closed, he can see you, your tender fingers caressing the petals, the fruit of your love and care. It is no wonder the garden used to bloom so wild upon your touch; Steve knows its effect, the way it awakes life in one’s veins, the way it fills his lungs with light and makes the very essence of him hum with the sense of rightness.

With well-practiced ease, he follows the way your fingers would run over the blossoms blindly; dew dampens his fingers, cold, but the rose itself feels almost warm, as if it holds your very soul. And soft. So beautifully soft it makes Steve’s ribcage ache with the next generous breath he takes.

He remembers the softness and the warmth of your body too well.

The line of your jaw he caressed before finally cradling your face, before leaning to kiss your lips on your wedding day, to commit your features to memory beyond what eyes could see; he thought of his fingertips like the extension of his heart that allowed him to appreciate your beauty properly. The exquisite happiness humming in his chest that day settled in your expression as well, in that vivid sparkle in your eyes, fluttering shut when his lips finally met yours after long weeks of dreaming of it.

The moment he did kiss you was written into his mind as revelation; for all the poetry he had ever read, for all the longing, for all the mad swirls of feelings and sensation haunting his days and nights ever since he had the fortune to meet you, it all made sense then; even the past bloodshed and pain. It all made sense for it had all led right into the blessed moment.

“My husband… my king,” you whispered to his lips breathlessly, your smile tasting like sunshine against his own and he could not but respond in kind before kissing you once more:

“My wife… my beautiful queen.”

And your lips were just as soft the night he took you to his bed for the first time; and if kissing you was revelation, to be able to touch your body and hold you close was what he imagined ascension felt like. The welcoming heat of your skin was a taste of heaven as he carefully stripped your chemise, breath wavering under his burning gaze, the silver of shyness soothed by his mouth exploring every exposed inch of you.

“Steve-“

You had been so careful to address him properly when in company he thought he could die right there, hearing the breathless sound of his name, a shuddering plea. He remembers the way your own touch turned him into a man possessed, your careful but burning fingertips appreciatively mapping out his body. He took you with a tremble in his very core and with an overwhelming sense of being right where the two of you were supposed to be. He loved on you for half the night, the air full of heady scent of your lovemaking and rose oil oozing off your thoroughly warmed-up skin.

“I love you more than the stars could ever know,” he whispered into your hair that night, as you laid on his chest, thoroughly exhausted, but with a serene smile on your face. As if you heard him, you pressed to him closer, and with your proximity, you brought love and peace into his soul.

Time changed none of it. The softness of your body against his, every night, so beautifully alive and warm under his greedy tender hands, the sensation never failing to fill his head and roar in his veins with need to claim, to mark, to love; always. Body as soft and warm as your belly was when you placed his hand over it one day, tears pearling in your eyes, telling him you were with a child before you even spoke a single word.

That day, Steve kneeled in front of you, pressing his forehead against your belly, and thanked the gods for all the blessings he received; and he thanked you all the same, silent words spilling from his lips before he looked up at you, your fingers having carded through his hair in appreciation of his joy and gratitude. With sudden burst of emotion, he jumped to his feet and picked up and spun and spun and spun with you, your joined laughter filling your chambers and probably raising quite a few questioning eyebrows Steve could not care less for at any moment, let alone at a moment like that.

The entirety of his world had been blessed; and he thanked the gods and you alike for it diligently every single day.

The day after he’d found out, he planted a tree, as common people said a father-to-be should; and he did so without care for whether his child – your child – would be a son or a daughter. He’d love and raise the child with tender care and dedication either way, the same way he would care for the symbol of his love for a new life planted.

You, in turn, planted roses into the very same garden, taking care of them ever since, come sunshine or rain, a new life growing under your hands as well as under your heart.

Steve never had the heart to scold you when you kneeled in the dirt, with barely any strength remaining to stand up with how you belly had grown; instead, he observed you with a smile, kissing your temple and helping you stand on the rare days when he didn’t feel like simply scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to your chambers to rest properly, like the Queen and a future mother should.

It never failed to make for a gentle laugh when moments later, cleaned up and in bed, he’d find you falling asleep as soon as your head laid down on the pillow. 

He’d kiss your forehead, brushing your untidy hair from your face with a smile, and went to kiss your belly, before covering you properly and thanking for all his blessing once more.

Will I always find you Neath every moon Singing from the cold gloom My spells for you Are you just a conjuring Or my dream come true For my heart was calling calling, calling for you

Are you just a conjuring Or can I keep you?

Steve loves the garden and so do you; you love it still. He knows. He knows it with agonizing certainty because even now, this is where he feels you. This is where your warmth lingers, years after your passing. This is where he hears you whisper his name, in the rustle of leaves, feels your gentle touch in the breeze caressing his face, carding through his hair like your hands used to, especially on days when the weight of the crown became too heavy. This is where he feels your lips on his ear, whispering of your love, the softness of your kiss on his forehead, on his own lips when they brush the petals.

Here, he can hear you the clearest, tender; his chest tightens every time, a sharp memory of your screams behind the closed doors and the calming words of his friends that the cries he only knew from battlefields and sick tents, torn from your lungs, were but a part of the process of giving birth.

When the new voice cut the air and your screams turned into sobs and the softest murmur, no one could hold him back anymore, rules of propriety be damned; throwing the doors open, his eyes filled with tears upon the sight of the little miracle crying in your arms – your baby, your son. A little prince letting the world know there he was at last, loudly so; until you held him close enough for his cries to ease into sniffles and content hums.

That day too, Steve kneeled before you; by your bed, a few tears of undiluted joy rolled down his face as he welcomed James Samuel Anthony into his world and promised to love him for the rest of his days. To you, he thanked like he thanked to the gods, kissed your hands, your sternum, your lips. He could not imagine what pain you had endured, not even with the screams having echoed through the castle; but your smile and your tears, so warm on your soft skin, told him enough of how worthy of the struggle the result was.

“I love both of you, so much. You must never forget,” you whispered in a hoarse voice, tears rolling down your cheeks as you didn’t seem to know where to look – at your son, at Steve and back and forth, smiling through your tears.

Steve should have known then. He should have known the gods themselves had touched your soul and perhaps told you in their riddles what was to come to force you say those words. Perhaps they had told you what was to follow the most joyful night of Steve’s life; what the moments just before the dawn would bring.

But Steve was blind and deaf to it; all his senses and his heart alike caught in the precious moment, a cherished memory in making. The sensation of being touched by the divine in the most beautiful blessings of all; seeing you cradle the child to your chest, damp hair stuck to your forehead, skin glistening with sweat, eyes glazed over with tears and exhaustion… an intimate voice whispering to your child like you had been to your bump since the day it had become visible: you are so, so loved, our sweet child, our little starlight. Humming a lullaby until you could not keep your own eyes open, passing the child to Steve for a longer while.

The child never returned to the arms of his mother, never felt her warmth or loving touch ever again.

And neither did Steve.

All he was given was a new memory, made out of the worst nightmares he had never dared to speak of out loud even as they had been haunting him from time to time: your motionless, cold body, cleaned of the blood but terrifying all the same.

Steve had seen men bleed out on the battlefield before, enough terror for a lifetime; but to have that happen to you, at the threshold of the happiest day of your life, broke his very spirit. For the second time in the course of mere hours in which his world had been turned upside down as easily as if someone had turned an hourglass, he fell to his knees by your bed; your deathbed. Forehead pressed to your icy hand, his heart comprehended something the rest of his body could not yet. Unlike when he had welcomed the new life, he did not shed a single tear upon saying goodbye to yours. His sobs were dry, even as his chest was heaving so violently his whole frame shook, a part of him still praying so your hand would move, fingers card through his hair to comfort him, his grip on you growing harder by the moment despite the numbing weakness in his muscles.

You didn’t move. You had left the earthly realm long moments ago, ripped suddenly and violently from the centre of Steve’s whole world, creating an unrepairable tear in his soul.

He loved; he still does. Both the life given and the life taken that night. But the scar of having half of his heart torn out never healed. It never would; he did not think he’d want it too. He kept his wound wide and open so the love could pour out, for your memory, for his son. Your son. The only living thing left of you.

Your son and your roses.

He had your ashes dispersed into the soil under the roses, to nurture them like you had been in life; and he has your thoughts, shared only in whispers of your bed chamber, and he has all your love nurture your child.

He takes care of, raises and loves his son for you and himself alike; he keeps the roses alive with the most tender and careful care for you only. To keep your love and spirit alive and present.

You loved the garden and you still do; Steve knows.

Here, in the garden, he can feel you the best. Hear you in the wind, feel you in the warmth of the sun and blossoms alike, wrapped in your scent and the ghost of your touch, soft and clawing deep into the gaping wound in his ribcage all at once.

Here, his memories of the most joyful moments with you feel vivid. The dew sings your whispers of affection and the rain carries your tears spilled for the grief of leaving your son and your husband all too soon.

I know your face in fractured time, and I know our kiss A thousand lives, our love remains, pulling me back in Through all the dark, I've searched for light And found you waiting every night But are you even real?

The garden is where he feels you most tangible; but your spirit hovers around him at all times.

Sometimes the memories creep at him gently; a colour you liked catching his eye out of instinct, your words echoing in his head, your favourite book still lying on the table in your shared room. Sometimes they slam into him with violence that knocks air out of his lungs, having been filled with the sweet scent of roses; a royal celebration with a dance overflowing with emptiness without you in his arms, without you following his steps with elegance, utter faith in his lead, your wide sparkling eyes full of affection and fond memory of your first dance shared. His bed, a wailing void, swallowing him every night. And of course, the soft and so beautifully violent reminder of your absence, ever-present in the face of your son, in his questions about mama.

Steve talks about you. James cannot quite understand yet, he’s too young, his heart too pure and his mind too full of magic this world offers; but his little hand on Steve’s damp cheek when he fails to keep his tears at bay, his son’s worry about his father being sad, breaks his heart and mends it all the same. Steve answers James’s questions; he speaks of you out of turn too. Your son knows your face from your portraits, ones painted by artists, ones drawn by Steve himself, and knows all about your and Steve’s love for him. They prayed for you together. He knows your garden and the significance of the roses and he looks at them with the strangest affectionate expression in his soft, carefree features.

James has your smile, your eyes, and your wit.

In the grey of Steve’s days, he is his light. James and the garden, where he can feel you and the echo of your love.

Steve’s hand slips from the blossoms, the missing weight setting the flowers in motion, sending a small shower of droplets down his hand, on his face, nature’s blessing bleeding into his burning tears, his eyes fluttering open, the pink and rich green and grey of the stone swimming in his tear-filled vision. His lips are unsteady, trembling under the crushing weight of your absence; and yet, your voice is so clear in his mind as if you stood right next to him.

Don’t cry, my love, whispers the breeze, a warm breath as if tickling his ear. I miss you too.

“There is no day I do not miss you,” he whispers back soundlessly, blinking away his tears as a ghost of your touch caresses down his spine, “my wife, my precious, my heart.”

I know, love. I know. I wish I could take your pain away.

He grants himself another deep breath, all that used to be you – including the kindness and worry you probably did have for him even in afterlife – washing over him.

The sudden ruckus by the gates startles him, his heart skipping a beat; the bubble of his own world he still gets to share with you bursts as the rustle of cloth and quick little steps instantly followed by a sniffle push through the veils of solace the garden offers.

The only person who can be forgiven to do so bursts into the garden, red blotches on his damp cheeks, eyes finding Steve with relief and bottomless trust Steve will never fail to appreciate even as it squeezes his heart in a vice.

He’s crouching on instinct before the scene is even complete, James’s governess’ rushed steps and her scolding surprisingly far away.

Little James lands in Steve’s arms and clutches him with an awful vigour for a three-year-old, his choked cry of fa-eh muffled by the fabric of Steve’s attire.

“James-" he whispers gently, arms coming around him like thousands times before, one hand laid over the back of his head as he rises to his feet, encouraged by the grip of the little fingers on him tightening.

“James--! Your Majesty, I am-“

Steve shakes his head at the poor woman, an understanding smile on his lips before he turns his attention back to the toddler in his arms, careful to keep his voice soft despite the flash of fear in his chest – his son truly was getting stronger and faster by the day, able to run away quick and get into all sorts of trouble.

James Buchannan Bucky Barnes, his namesake, would always say Steve’s son was the payback from the gods. Steve does not disagree and swallows his pride and worry at that very fact every time little James is up to something Steve is sure he himself could have never come up with at his age. Bucky would probably argue about that and Steve might believe him, because Bucky knows him as well if not better than Steve knows himself; that was why Bucky is the only person who has not nagged him about a new queen, has not pushed him about a motherly figure needed in James’s life.

For now, and perhaps for ever, it is enough for Steve to know about his own mother and you.

His mother had the patience of the gods and their strictness all the same; Steve believes you would have been the same and he tries his best to live up to such standard of parenthood.

“Jamie, little starlight, what is wrong?" he inquires, the child wiggling in his arms to hold on tighter, face still hidden in Steve’s chest.

“Miss momma. Bad sweep.”

The unrepairable crack in Steve’s heart gapes open, his lips pressed tight as he runs his hand down James’s back, barely holding back a sigh. He knows the feeling all too well, even if in his world, your absence, however painful, translates differently.

“Did you not sleep well? Had bad dreams?”

James nods in confirmation, repeating his words. “Miss momma.”

“I see,” Steve hums, breathing in deeply, pondering. It is not the first time this has happened; Steve knows he’s partly to blame and guilt pangs in his gut, the familiar dilemma of honouring your memory and loving you, keeping you in your son’s memory, and reminding the child of your glaring absence in the process setting heavy in his ribcage. “I sleep badly too, when I miss her.”

Which is every night.

James pushes away from Steves chest a fraction, looking up at his face with tear-filled eyes and a pout that feels like a whiplash to Steve’s soul; he’s your mirror image painted with sincerity and innocence, his whole generous heart on display.

“Ya? Ugwy dweams?”

“Yes,” Steve says gently, even as his voice cracks with emotion. “That is why I come here every morning.”

James’s expression turns serious – and way too intelligent for a boy his age, Steve thinks, even as his heart flutters at his son’s words.

“Tawk to momma. Is why I wun heew.”

“Oh. Do you… want to say something to your mum too?” Again, James nods; and again, Steve’s ribcage constricts, the burn of tears in his eyes as familiar as the gentle warmth kindled in his veins. “I see. But first – you must not run away from Lady Brigitte like that, alright? She would be upset and get worried. Me too.”

Little James nods quickly, his pupils growing bigger.

“Sowy…. Sowy Wady Bwigitt.”

“Your Highness,” she smiles benevolently at the child, nodding at Steve, already stepping back, understanding her services are not needed at the moment, “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Brigitte.”

With one last brief smile, she is gone; not too far for she might be needed soon, but far enough to grant privacy to the grieving family.

It is not the first time Steve explains what he is doing here to his son; that is how James knows in the first place to come here. It is, however, the first time the child has run here and Steve is not blind to the importance of the moment, his heartbeat rushing past his ears, his touch a little shaky with nerves as his son observes him with curious, sad eyes.

“Tawk now?”

“Yes, little starlight, talk now,” Steve assures his son with a smile with a heartbroken edge, crouching again by the bunch of flowers. “You don’t have to, but what I do, is that I stroke the roses first. Carefully. And then I tell her what I need to say.”

He licks his lips, a lump in his throat growing, voice cracking as he continues.

“And I tell her how much I love her and miss her.”

James nods, a single step from his father’s embrace, petting one of the blossoms with his fingertips with clumsiness but undeniable care, sending a few droplets falling.

“Miss you, momma. Wove you.”

Something digs its claws into Steve’s heart and lungs and yanks violently, tears springing from his eyes at the sincerity of James’s words, all the more touching as they are slurred through his wobbly lips. Steve smiles encouragingly when little James seeks his approval. He’s crying too; fat tears are rolling down his cheeks, but as he continues to caress the flower, the corners of his lips turned up tensely.

“She say she wove too.”

Steve clears his throat, swallowing the pitiful sound born there – profoundly proud and happy as only James could make him.

“Yes, she does that. She loved--- she loves you very much, little starlight. More than anything in this whole wide world.”

“Wike you wove me. Wike she wove you.”

“Yes, exactly that, son,” Steve says, breathing in shakily, slightly startled when James’s fingers slip to the stem.

Steve is too slow, his hand unable to catch James’s before blood pearls on the child’s index finger, a surprised yelp of pain torn from the his lips.

Steve opens his mouth, words of comfort ready as much as the comfort of his embrace; but to his awe, James frowns and moves back to the blossom, murmuring he loves you still.

Steve is not sure whether his chest is too heavy from bursting with pride, affection or grief.

Finally, his son smiles, abandoning the flower and showing off his little injury.

“Not cwy. Stwong wike dad,” he declares, arms rising in an universal gesture. “Up?”

Without a word of protest, Steve lifts him to his arms, suddenly acutely aware of the morning truly being rather brisk when he feels James’s cold hands on his neck and curses himself for not having thought of that.

“Of course you are. Let’s say bye to mum and go get some tea and breakfast, yes? If you want, I can tell you all about the most beautiful queen there ever was.”

James obediently whispers g’dbye, nuzzling into Steve’s neck, allowing him to shield James’s small body from the cold as he heads out of the garden, one last glance and a silent goodbye to his sanctuary and your spirit that seems to reside there.

Neither of them notices that the one flower little James has touched begins to wilt.

When morning comes Will you fade away Like all my dreams I never, ever want to wake This love we've made Is like a spell upon my soul I'm bound to you for now and evermore

Between playing with and trying his best to teach his son, between holding court and training with his brothers in arms and friends, Steve’s mind is occupied; too full to ponder and to feel.

The weight of the morning experience comes crushing him at night.

It had rained in the evening, but then the wind blew apart the clouds, moonlight streaming into Steve’s bedroom – his and yours – light and shadows playing wicked games on the walls. You are on Steve’s mind, memories haunting him with intensity he cannot remember since before James was taking his first steps and Steve wished you were there to witness it and celebrate it.

He hears your voice, a ghost of your touch stirring him awake every time he feels sleep might finally take him into its merciful arms; drifting between consciousness and dreamland, he sees things. He could swear the moonlight keeps taking your form by the window, taunting him to follow; but whenever he does, feet all but dragging from the lack of a shuteye, the mirage disperses, only to materialize in the armchair where you used to read to Jamie before he was even born, then in the bed where Steve held you for far too few nights, loved on you for too short of a time, the aroma of rose oil hovering in the air, an untouchable torment and bliss to his senses.

He ends up dozing off in the chair by the fireplace, shivering, and waking up too soon to the first crimson and fiery orange of a new dawn.

Dressing up, he refuses to take a look in the mirror to see the shell of the King of the People he must resemble. He knows it without looking; the red-rimmed glassy eyes, the dark circles under them, the pale skin, the numb lips he is not sure will be able to speak a single word today, let alone lead and inspire.

Should anyone come at him with a sword in the next few hours, he’d be dead before he could swing his own just once; and yet, he attaches the sword to his waist as a part of his attire, the weight comfortingly familiar. Today might be a battle where no sharp blade could help him win, but he had spent years with his trusted weapon. It was how he approached your court too; a man of riches and conquered lands, a soldier and a king, but also a simple man longing for love.

The castle is still and silent safe for the guards on duty, abandoning their proper stance only to pay him respect by shallow bows; the garden, as per usual, awaits him in its peaceful solitude.

The dew was still falling abundantly, Steve’s hair damp and sticking to his forehead by the time he walks through the gates, the first sunrays shining through the leaves of James’s tree, blinding Steve for just a moment, enough for him to have to shield his eyes before they adjust, drawn towards his destination.

He freezes mid-step so sharply it hurts; air is knocked from his lungs and it hurts more.

It was back at Harrigörn where an army skilled more any other they had encountered before massacred many of Steve’s own; where too many good men laid down their life for their kingdom, for their king. It was back at Harrigörn where Steve’s own blood soaked the lands, a lucky strike delivered after a significant part of his armour had been knocked off, exposing his left side, an opening his enemy eagerly took and pushed his sword right through under Steve’s ribcage the very moment Steve hesitated. That day, Bucky, striking the man and dragging Steve to safety, might have as well ripped Steve from the fingers of the gods themselves who were about to guide him into afterlife.

As a reminder, Steve has been carrying a nasty scar that sometimes aches still; and a piercingly sharp memory of blood on his tongue and brutal, numbing pain whose echo interrupted more than one of his nights.

He truly remembers the moment with shocking clarity; the way all the sensation came crashing down on him, stunning him motionless and speechless, mouth open, no sound coming out.

His body remembers.

He stands stunned just the same right now, a guttural no falling from his lips, pulse rushing past his ears; metallic taste of blood and tears and panic on his tongue.

Your smile flashes in front of his eyes and he can’t breathe; his stomach swings so violently he retches, his first coherent thought being a desperate prayer to all gods above to wake him up from the nightmare unfolded in front of his tired eyes.

He stands there stunned for a moment lasting an eternity.

And then he’s finally moving, frantic breaths fogging the cold air, dew soaking his boots and biting into his toes and he does not care; he does not even notice, a string of raspy no no no falling from his lips, desperation colouring his grey world black around the edges.

The roses.

Your roses.

Your precious roses, your flowery children, your memory: dead.

Every single one.

Dry and wilted and rotten, seemingly all three at once, the dew caught on them but a mocking, like a salve numbing pain on a dead body; beyond any salvation.

All of it gone, not a single blossom left. Just an image of utter devastation.

It strikes him harder and sharper than any sword, weighting his body down to the ground faster than armour made of lead.

He falls to his knees, hands landing in the soil, fingers digging in as if it could speak and tell him how to fix that – to tell him what and how and why has this happened in the first place, when he had studied and learned about how to enrich the soil and protect the flowers from disease, just how, over a single night, over the course of a few hours, could life be ripped away so suddenly and violently, a life that was blooming so fully and beautifully only a day ago-

A life ripped out just like yours.

A life that’s been a memory and a monument to yours.

The pain that rips through his chest has him digging his fingers deeper, his head falling between his shoulders with a cry that might not even be human, more akin to one of a dying animal.

He can’t let out more; he can’t let anything in. His chest feels too tight, air too heavy to breathe in, burning in his lungs as much as shame and self-loathing burns in his veins.

He failed. He failed to keep your memory alive, he failed you, a terrible letdown and it was just flowers, one would say, but they were not. The flowers are not the only thing gone.

Your spirit, usually so present, seems to have evaporated, having bled out from the sanctuary as if it had been tied to the roses; as if it has been keeping the roses alive or vice versa.

He has lost you, for the second time; that is the feeling tearing his heart apart.

The garden usually filled with memories of you screams with emptiness; the breeze bushing his damp hair is cold and dull and harsh despite barely being there. The warmth of your affection; gone.

He swallows the scream clawing its way up his tight throat, a violent shudder cutting through his spine, his eyes squeezing shut.

He hears the light steps but he cannot make himself to react, to open his eyes, to move; he does not recognize them even as there is a grief-struck part of his mind he tends to keep locked that tells him that he does.

It’s not little James; it’s not Bucky nor Bucky’s wife. It’s not James’s governess either; and no one else has been permitted to enter here unless Steve would have had to leave the castle for days and a gardener had to be appointed.

If a stranger came to slash his throat, the numbness in Steve’s fingers whispered of him not caring at the moment; if anything, Steve might call it an unjustified mercy to him.

The steps stop behind him, the hand softly laid on his shoulder making for a burning sensation in his nose, tears prickling in his red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” the ghost of your voice reaches him, the scent of rose oil enveloping him, a lovechild of a sob and chuckle of relief exploding from his lips.

Gods, you were still here. Still, despite it all, he could feel you, more tangible than ever, hear you even, the clearest in the past three years.

“I am so---- so--rry I couldn’t-“ he chokes out, but the phantom touch seems to grow firmer, reassurance he does not deserve.

“It was never your fault, Steve,” the breeze whispers kindly, and yet, his breath hitches as thousands of icy shards stab his broken heart.

It might as well be his conscience speaking, and it does not relent.

“I know of the guilt you carry and you need to let it go. It was never your fault.”

It was never your fault that the child born out of our love, the life you had given seed to, took me away.

At those words, the very guilt consumes him more than ever, burning like midnight oil and ice. Of course he had thought that; it was one of the nightmares haunting his nights. If he had only… he loves little James with all his heart, and it’s such blasphemous thought he asks penance for and loves his child all the more in the days that follow, but if Steve had only never—would you have lived? Or would have the gods ripped his happiness from his hands still and gave him no solace at all?

“You’ve given me a son. I love you and always will.”

The echo of your voice shakes with emotion and another sob is torn from Steve’s lips, shaking his whole frame, his hand instinctively moving to his shoulder where the warm memory of your touch lingers.

Will I always find you Neath every moon Singing from the cold gloom My spells for you Are you just a conjuring Or my dream come true For my heart was calling calling, calling for you

His heart stops in his chest when the tips of his fingers, still covered in dirt from where he has dug them into the soil, meet skin instead of the fabric of his own coat.

He turns so fast he lands on his backside, his head spinning with the unexpectedly fast movement; and his heart stands still for one moment longer, his throat suddenly dry unlike his cheeks.

Gods, he can see you.

Beautiful and ethereal, the sun shining from behind you and yet overshadowed by your presence.

Steve’s lost his mind for certain; another of his sleepless nights finally having pushed him into the realm of insanity.

But by gods he’d trade it all if he could look at the smile, no matter how sad, adorning your lips for jus a minute longer.

You are in all white; a nightdress Steve knows like the back of his hand, an attire he held you in during your nights together or stripped it with tenderness or vigour. The very nightdress you wore the night you left this world. 

You crouch by him, the scent of rose oil filling his nostrils so intense a pitiful whine is born in his chest, even as his eyes adjust and he notices your hair ruffled rather messily, streaks of dirt on your skin, on your dress; you are barefoot.

You are the most gorgeous, divine mirage.

“It’s not your fault the roses died. You took care of them with as much precision as love, every single day. I know. I watched you.”

Steve only gulps, all coherent thought leaving him, his hands shaking; he must not touch you. He has never seen a mirage of you so vivid – he cannot afford to lose it, to have you dissipate into thin air if he tries to hold on too tight.

“It is my fault… the price to pay.”

Steve does not understand. Not your words, not the blessed image his mind has conjured, not even the wild swirl of suffocating joy and heartbreak upon seeing you; he only understands the terror of realisation that his own memory, until now, did not seem to do you justice. He has been forgetting your face despite the amount of time he has been spending looking at your portraits and reminiscing; he has almost forgot what your voice sounds like, a soothing caress to his soul.

But conjuring of you is kind and patient; it smiles warmly, tears gathering in its eyes Steve longs to kiss away.

“I was visiting town when she approached me, a blind fortune teller, a harmless youngling, beautiful beyond what my own eyes has ever seen… she told me she was bringing an important message from the gods,” you say, “but she told me she could only unveil it to me and no other living soul. Asked me to follow her.”

Steve’s breath hitches in fear; a fear that makes no sense. A story that has likely never happened and his broken mind had just dreamed up, and yet; the image of his wife, his precious heart, following a woman she had never encountered before without the trusted guards, shakes him. The Queen of the People they call you; visiting the commoners was no strange nor exceptional occurrence, but Steve would have never let you walk alone. Beloved as you are and were by most, there is always evil lurking and looking to hurt the crown; but you know as much. You always knew.

 And Steve knows that because beauty has not been the only quality of yours he loved and loves; it is your wit too. For all your kindness, you are no fool and do not trust without evidence.

A spark – a heart-wrenchingly vivid spark of affection – flashes in your eye as you continue, as if you can hear his thoughts.

“I would have never followed her had it not been for her next words and her gentle touch. As innocent as she appeared despite the air of something divine, there was no telling who could be hiding in her hut, to whom she wished to lured me to under false pretences.”

“What did she say?” Steve hears himself rasp, in the very back of his mind well-aware he is entertaining a conversation with the result of his own fatigued mind.

The tears pearling in your eyes fall over, making Steve’s hand twitch with the need to gently wipe them away.

“The paths laid down by gods are full of twists and turns… to know them all I would surely have turned mad,” you recite softly and Steve has to force himself to keep his eyes open as your voice washes over him, like the times you whispered this very first poem of the booklet he had sent you along with his first letter in the sweet darkness of your shared bedroom, like he whispered them to you back. He can’t. If he closes his eyes, you might disappear again. “Fate in the stars written by lighting dust of souls… if I’d known how, I would have rather read.”

Steve, having been mouthing the words along unwittingly, feels his lips moving almost soundlessly as he finishes:

“But I am but a man, I’m blood and heart and faith; Walking the one path that I believe to be true. I follow the path to which my heart’s been calling… for I have faith t’will lead me back to you.”

“Yes,” you nod, warmth blooming around Steve’s heart despite it all. This is a kind memory, he decides. Whatever has brought you here, whatever has killed the roses, your image has been sent here to sooth him. It might hurt all the more later; but for now, he finds himself almost, almost at peace. “So I did follow her. She told me that in quarter of a moon, I will find myself with a child. And I did. She told me to plant the roses… and so I did.”

You take a wavering breath and Steve finds himself doing the same; you face twists in grief before you continue.

“She told me to nurture them and cherish them like the child itself, and so I did – because once my son was born, I would not have but short moments to hold him.”

With a wince, the outrage rushing through Steve has him straightening his spine, his hand instinctively moving to his sword. To protect his wife, to eliminate the person who dared to make such threat to his beloved.

But there is nothing to fight; it is all but the past that might have never even happened except for your painful passing. And yet, Steve’s mind is whirling, memories falling into place, of your thoughtful expression upon returning for the town one day, the abundance of tears upon your announcement you were with a child, your solid feeling it would be a boy, your words, spoken quietly but with conviction and finality Steve has wondered so many times about: “I love both of you, so much. You must never forget.”

“My love-“

“And I did,” you cut off his raspy voice. “And she told me that should my ashes nurture the roses, I would come back, once they’d meet the blood and tears of my love… and the blood of my blood.”

Steve watches, stunned, as you move to kneel next to him, the ghost of the warmth of your skin radiating and calling out for him, a temptation to catch the mirage and condemn it to disperse in this air smelling of freshly cut roses.

The image of little James, scratching his finger on the thorn yesterday, staining one of the pink blossoms with his blood is the last thing Steve thinks of – before your hand, much colder now, goosebumps having risen on your arms, settles tenderly on his cheek, damp with tears he cannot recall having cried.

It strikes him like a lightning, rushing through his soul, stunning him motionless.

You were touching him.

He felt your cold skin against his, your warm affection, your smile a thousand suns and your voice just as unsteady as his heart and as real as the dirt under his fingernails or the wet ground under him as you whisper, voice cracking with emotion:

“And I did.”

A single beat of his heart; and his hand is rising with a violent tremble, hesitating for just a moment before he dares to cover the back of your hand on his cheek.

You are still there.

Undeniably and completely true.

“Oh gods-“

He chokes on a sob so potent his whole ribcage vibrates, painfully so, but he does not care.

He is already moving.

He springs from the ground, dropping your hand only to throw his arms around your form and pull you against him, inhaling into his already tight chest when your solid warm body meets his, one arm around your waist, the other around your shoulder, gripping your nape, tangling in your hair and gripping with violent force just so if anyone tried to pull you away he’d never let them, because you-

You’re still here.

You press your face against his neck, the tip of your nose making him shudder not because it’s cold, but because it feels as cold as it used to on a brisk morning like this one when you’d press yourself to him and smile into the skin of his throat when he’d faux-chastise you for not dressing warm enough and thus forcing him to give you his own coat.

--which is something he will absolutely do in just a second or two of hundred once it settles that your tears soaking into his skin are real and his own tears are seeping into your hair as he buries his face there and inhales, the scent of wet soil and rose-oil so intense and overwhelmingly familiar with years of grief and blissful memories he feels his muscles give out, sending both your you toppling over into the tall wet grass, the complete opposite of keeping you warm as he should but you don’t seem to care and he cannot think, let alone move.

Your name is falling form his lips, over and over, a prayer, a plea, a thank you, ragged breaths held just to keep still, to remember this moment for the rest of his days.

You are here.

You are here, somehow alive, right in his arms.

And you are saying his name, over and over, sweet endearment and apologies for not telling him, for being scared, for perhaps being foolish, for all the grief your absence has condemned him to and Steve just laughs.

He laughs so hard he is crying and he is not sure which came first, but he rolls over with you to protect you from the cold ground at last, your weight the most soothing thing he could ever conjure, perhaps safe for your blinding smile broken on its edges or your I love you, or your hands cradling his face for a long silent moment before your lips descend to his, sending tremble through his body, his heart, his very soul.

“My husband… my king.”

“My wife… my beautiful queen, my precious, my heart,” he whispers in return, choking on the last word, because his heart truly has just returned, beating its way out of his chest, brought by the woman the stars themselves had conspired to lead him to, only to steal her and then give her back. The stars, the gods, the fairies, it does not matter as long as you’d get to stay.

And again, your wit, your impeccable ability to read him like the very book of poetry he had given you years ago, have you caress his face with your fingertips, one of his hands leaving your nape to keep your other hand warm, and whisper to him:

“And she told me I’d get to kiss my husband again… and to hold my son, after only watching him grow in the loving hands of the kindest man there ever was and I shall have the chance to do it all for a very, very long time.”

Steve brushes the unruly hair from your face and kisses you softly – all but a meagre reminder of the overwhelming love humming in his very being. He sits up, wrapping you around him, legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, and stands up, rising full of life and strength as if he has not lied awake all night; he lifts you both, carrying you from the garden, to ensure you could do exactly as you said.

“You will, my love. You will.”

Of that – he vows to himself and to the gods above with gravity of the word of the king, a warrior, a father and a husband – I will make sure.

He will. For the rest of his days, he will.

Are you just a conjuring …or can I keep you?

S.R. masterlist  // Complete masterlist 

There we go... I suppose that due to the magical elements here, this can be read as the fic for this year's Walpurgis Night. May yours mbe a good one, may you May be sweet 🌸

Thank you for reading 💕 thoughts, rants, yells and reblogs are always welcomed 🥰