#the conjuring imagine

[frost-queen]

Coming down sick (Daughter!R & The Warrens)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

The tv was playing as you were all gathered around it. Your parents in one sofa, your dad’s arm over hers. You sat in the other sofa with a blanket over you. You pulled it tighter around you, letting out a shiver. It alerted your mom Lorraine. – “Are you cold honey?” – she questioned. Ed looked around, trying to feel the temperature for himself. – “It is rather warm in the room.” – he stated lowering his hand once more.

“Just a cold shiver.” – you responded, not sure what it was. – “Okay.” – Lorraine answered turning her attention to the tv once more. You snuggled under your blanket to keep as much of your own body heat as close as possible. After half an hour or so, you started to feel sleepy. Your eyes almost falling shut. Blinking rapidly, you sat yourself better.

It made your dad look briefly at you, reposition yourself. You couldn’t understand as you felt wide awake an hour ago. Not long your eyelids started to fall shut. You let them close for a second, before waking yourself up. Flashing your eyes back open to focus on the tv. You hid a yawn by moving your blanket in front of your mouth. Lorraine laughed at something on the tv.

Overcome with exhaustion, you were debating to give in to it or not. It was just 8pm. Barely any time to go to sleep, unless you were a child. For a brief moment, you were wide awake. Only for the exhaustion to kick in double. This time you yawned loud, body shivering. – “That boring?” – Ed joked pointing with the remote to the tv. You shook your head. – “Just a bit tired.” – you responded.

“Do you need some Camille tea?” – Lorraine suggested. You politely shook your head. – “No thank you mom. I think I’m just going to head upstairs. Occupy myself a bit to get this out of my body.” – you went on, pulling the blanket from you. – “Okay.” – Lorraine spoke watching you get up. You went over to them, bending over to give them a kiss on their cheek.

“Night mom.” – you said receiving a kiss on your forehead in return. – “Night dad.” – you then spoke, leaving a kiss on his cheek. Ed drew a cross on your forehead for protection. Something he had done since you were born. It was a habit now. – “Night darling.” – he answered.

You left the room, heading upstairs. Hearing the last of your father chuckle at something on tv. Getting up the stairs, you started to notice just how exhausted your limbs were. Feet barely wanting to move. Your knees buckled as you needed to clamp onto the railing to stay upright. Panting loud, you had no idea what your body was experiencing.

With a lot of effort you, made your way up. Everything felt sore. Groaning soft, you barely had the strength to brush your teeth, but you did anyways. Entering your room, you wondered what to do to occupy yourself. To get yourself to wake up again. Nothing came to mind or seemed to tiring to put the energy into it.

With a soft groan, you let yourself fall onto your bed, face forwards. Your mind told you to get back up, but your body wouldn’t budge. Instead they kept laying stubbornly still. Exhaling loud, your eyes closed as your world turned blank.

Lorraine and Ed silently went up the stairs. – “I’ll just check up on our girl.” – Lorraine said standing in the corridor upstairs. Ed nodded heading for the bathroom. Lorraine knocked gentle on your door. – “Y/n, your dad and I are going to bed. You should too…” – she said upon entering.

She frowned seeing you lay down on your bed, the lights still on. Lorraine approached the bed. – “You must’ve been really tired.” – she whispered, lifting your legs up to move them under the blanket. She then pushed your body a bit, to get you to lay in a more comfortable way. She tugged you in, leaving one last kiss on your head.

Flashing the lights out, she left your room. She joined Ed in the bathroom. – “Already fast asleep.” – she told him. He hummed soft with his toothbrush in his mouth. They went to their bedroom. The Warren’s house falling silent.

Around 3 pm you woke up. Your sleep interrupted by own doing. Your mind simply let you know to open your eyes. Groaning soft, you sat up, rubbing your eye. Then the soreness came. A pain moving through your limbs. They shuddered as you shivered. Despite it being blazing hot under the covers, were you cold.

You had to lay down again, not sure what was happening. Touching your forehead, you felt that it was warm. Rather hot. Wrapping the covers around you, you tried to close your eyes once more. It was no use as the bothering in your body was ever present. Tiredness expressed in your limbs as everything felt too exhausting.

Even your limbs resting felt tiring. Touching your forehead again, you knew you were coming down with a fever. Exhaling deep, you rolled over. Eyes wide open as you couldn’t catch any sleep. Staring at your wall, you watched the hours tick by till morning hit.

You heard your parent’s bedroom door open. They were awake. You barely had it in you to get up. Stomach hurting now as well. Since you’ve been awake for several hours  now, your stomach interpreted it into I need food. There was no denying it now. You were sick. Groaning loud, you rolled over to the other side. You knew your parents had an important interview. One they couldn’t miss.

You didn’t want to be the reason for them missing the interview. There was only one option left. You needed to lie. There was a knock on the door. – “Honey time to wake up.” – it was your dad, speaking through the door. – “Okay.” – you answered. You waited for his footsteps to die out before leaving your room. Rushing into the bathroom. You almost freaked out at the state of you.

The lack of sleep wasn’t glorifying with the illness. You looked even worse. Splashing some water in your face, you hoped to wake up more. When it appeared presentable enough, you got dressed and went downstairs. Your muscles aching with sore and tiredness. Every step, every movement felt like taking up too much energy.

“Morning Y/n darling.” – Lorraine said baking some eggs. – “Morning my girl.” – Ed spoke whilst setting the table. Normally you’d help him out, but today it felt too exhausting. You sat down, trying to look alive as possible. Lorraine quirked her eyebrow up, eyeing her husband at your unusual behaviour. Ed shrugged it off, thinking it probably just wasn’t your day. – “So honey, you know mom and I have that interview today right.” – Ed began.

You forced a smile, knowing it damn too well. – “You’ll have to eat lunch alone. Don’t worry we’ll be back around 5.” – he explained coming to sit down as well. Lorraine hummed loud to agree. – “Okay…” – you responded softly. – “It is only for a couple of hours.” – Lorraine said, setting the pan down. She moved over to you, kissing your head before you could keep her at bay.

Her eyes widened slightly, moving your head back, pressing her hand against your forehead to feel. – “Mom.” – you groaned out, pushing her hand away. – “Y/n feels hot.” – she expressed wanting to feel again. You slapped her hand away. – “I’m fine. Just go do your interview.” – you answered a bit bitsy.

“Y/n?” – Ed said confused to from where your sudden behaviour came. – “What’s wrong?” – he asked. – “Nothing.” – you replied. Lorraine surprise attacked you, pressing her hand against your forehead again. – “You’re burning up. Are you coming down with a fever?” – she called out worried. – “That’s it, we’ll post-pone the interview.” – Ed declared. – “No!” – you blurted out. – “Y/n…” – Lorraine looked worriedly at you. – “It’s just an interview.” – she explained.

“A really important one. Me being sick isn’t a reason for you to stay home.” – you ratted yourself out with your own stupidness. Sighed soft, there was no lying about it anymore. – “Were you feeling like this since last night?” – Lorraine wanted to know. You nodded as she tilted her head to the side. – “Y/n darling why didn’t you say anything.” – she asked. – “Because you had that interview.” – you explained. Ed got up, going round the table. – “Nothing is more important than our girl.” – he wrapped his arms around you.

Lorraine joined, giving you a good squeeze. – “Ed, post-pone the interview.” – Lorraine ordered. Ed nodded, already heading over to the phone. She took your hand, pulling you up. – “We are going to take care of our daughter.” – she said. She helped you back upstairs, tugging you back in. Ed came running up the stairs with some medicine.

Lorraine accepted it, assisting you to some medicine. – “You’ll feel better and be able to get some sleep.” – she said. Ed laid his hand on her shoulder. – “We’ll be right here.” – he spoke. You smiled at your parents before laying your head down and trying to catch in on that sleep.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[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

[ironboyxs]

Love above everything

Fandom: The Conjuring

Pairing: Ed and Lorraine Warren & Son!Reader

Word count: 1858

Warnings: homophobia and internalized homophobia, but in the end everything turns out well

P.S. For anyone who grew up in abusive religious homes and wants to find comfort in this reading, you are not alone. And thanks to @jokekinsjoke505 for requesting this.

Also

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

- Hey son, how was school today? – Ed Warren asked as soon as his son got in the car.

- It was ok – (Y/N) replied.

(Y/N) was not ok.

He always felt there was something different inside him, always felt out of place. Since he was a child, the boys at school teased him for being the son of “psychics”, and for a while (Y/N) didn't care. Then he began to see and feel things, just like his mother. Sometimes he spent too much time staring into the void, which wasn't always empty, and things got worse.

But ever since he entered high school it was as if things had escalated from 100 to 1000 at breakneck speed. He was the boy with the creepy basement at home, the boy who could see ghosts, and now he was also the boy who liked boys.

And that terrified (Y/N) far more than any apparition or demon that could show itself to him. He could deal with disapproval at school, with not having friends, with everyone being a little afraid of him. But he couldn't handle his parents' disappointment, and it terrified him completely.

In the last month things seem to have gone downhill from 1000 to 1500 when Theo started school. He and his family had recently moved to the United States from Mexico, and since that was a despicable country, obviously Latino immigrants suffered prejudice.

Firstly (Y/N) thought it would be nice for the boys to have someone else to pick on and forget about him, but he couldn't be more wrong. Theo was alone in class, just like him, no one sat next to him, or with him at recess. So (Y/N) decided that he would try to talk to the boy.

And what a big mistake he made.

Because now he felt like a magnet pulled him to Theo and his wide smile, pulled to how his accent was nice to hear, pulled to the way the boy made school a little less bad.

And he was confused, because he always felt a strange frenzy whenever they touched. And today everything had just fallen apart when Theo, thanking him for a favor, kissed (Y/N) on the cheek. The boy had never felt so ecstatic in his life. But the feeling didn't last long, when one of the boys from the school saw it and started spreading it to the whole school that the two were gay... but with worse words.

- Are you sure it's okay? – Ed asked again noticing that his son was more airy than usual.

- Yes? - (Y/N) asked, still lost in his thoughts.

- I asked if it's really okay.

- Yes, I'm just thinking about the algebra test I have to do this week.

- Okay, you know you can tell me everything, right? - Ed said still suspicious.

-- Uhmm. - (Y/N) replied, still distracted.

The trip home didn't last long, they soon arrived at the comfortable house they had in a good neighborhood of the city. The two, father and son, entered. Lorraine was making lunch when her son and husband came to greet her.

- Hi my love, how was school? – the woman asked

- It was okay. -(Y / N) replied and soon went upstairs to his room.

He wasn't well, he was confused, afraid, afraid of being a complete freak not only in the eyes of his classmates, but also in the eyes of his parents and God, in whom he faithfully believed.

- Did something happen? – Lorraine asked her husband downstairs.

Lorraine had a great sixth sense not only for supernatural things, but also for people's emotions, especially her son's, whom she knew like the back of her hand. She had always loved the boy more than anyone else, and since he had displayed the same gift as hers, her concern for him had redoubled. She knew school wasn't easy for him, but she would face human or demon so nothing would hurt her son.

- I don't know, but I think so. He didn't want to tell me anything during the trip. Usually he at least complains about how classes went. Is he... seeing something? - Ed questioned.

Ed Warren was the best dad in the world, and (Y/N) would never deny that. Even at the age of 15, he never felt ashamed when his father showed up at school, or when he publicly showed affection. Ed wasn't as good with words as Lorraine so he showed his love for his son through touch and quality time. He and (Y/N) would always hang out together to see the latest horror movie that was playing, and they loved to talk for hours about how wrong the films' approach to demon affairs was. Ed wanted to be everything his own father wasn't.

- No, I would feel it too if it was something like that. – Lorraine argued with her husband. – Did the new friend, Theo, do something that could make him upset?

- I don't know, but I know we should talk to him.

- I'll just turn off the pans and let's go upstairs. - Lorraine said.

They always dealt with their son's issues that way, together. They wanted (Y/N) to know that there was no secret between them and that he could always count on both his father and mother for whatever he needed.

(Y/N) was lying down, still wearing the same school clothes, he was staring at the ceiling thinking about Theo and how his body reacted to the boy. It wasn't as if he didn't know what puberty was, and what happened to boys during that period, his parents had already had a rather awkward conversation with him about it.

But (Y / N) never imagined that his body would have these reactions to a boy. He knew what homosexuality was, of course. He read a lot, and it wasn't something entirely forgotten about the classics of literature he loved so much.

But he also knew what the Bible and the Church said. And well... his parents were almost Church employees, so they should agree with everything that was preached, right? At least that's how (Y/N) thought.

A knock on the door takes the boy by surprise from his daydreams.

- (Y/N) it's mom and dad! Can we come in? - (Y/N) managed to hear his mother's sweet voice outside.

- Of course, the door is open.

(Y/N) was very grateful that his parents respected his privacy in his room, God knows how many awkward moments he has lived alone inside his little hiding place.

- Is lunch ready yet? - (Y/N) asked while his parents came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

- Yes. But we need to talk first. – Ed told his son.

(Y/N)'s heart went into panic, already wondering if something had left the school corridors and reached his parents' ears. He definitely didn't feel prepared for this conversation.

- My love, we know there's something wrong going on, you're not very good at hiding your feelings. And your mom here is even better at knowing when you're not feeling well. - Lorraine said with a worried voice.

- You know that whatever is happening, we will help you, we are here for you. – Ed said, sitting next to his son and taking his hand.

That was enough for the boy to start crying profusely. Lorraine and Ed soon hugged their son, looking at each other now even more worried about what was happening.

- Hey calm down, it's going to be okay, we're here – Ed said while stroking (Y/N's) hair.

The boy, for a little while, managed to compose himself and felt that there was no point in trying to hide his feelings from his parents anymore, maybe they could help him repress them and understand what was wrong with him.

- Do you remember the text of Leviticus 20.13? – The boy asked sinking into his place on the bed.

- Not exactly, nor do we know all the texts of the Bible dear, why? - Lorraine said.

- "The man who lies down with another man as if he were a woman, both committed an abomination" - The boy said quickly, without pausing to breathe between words.

- Yes, one of the commandments for the Hebrew people. But where are you trying to get son? - Ed asked genuinely a little confused.

- I think... I like boys. How am I supposed to like girls, and I know that's horrible, that it's a sin, so I want you to know that I'm sorry and I'm going to pray more for these impure feelings to leave me.

Ed and Lorraine looked at each other with a little regret, they had never made it clear in the family that this was a space open to love and only love.

- Is that what you were worried about? Lorraine asked.

- Yes. - (Y/N) said looking down with a lot of embarrassment.

- Oh my love.

Lorraine hugged her son as tightly as she could.

- Son, this text was written millennia ago and not even the Church itself considers everything that is in the ancient laws. - Ed said joining the hug.

- But what about the texts of the New Testament? - (Y/N) asked.

- You know they were mistranslated, we've talked about this before. – Ed replied, kissing his son's hair.

- But... what about what the Church talks about?

- The Church says a lot of things that are wrong. Do you remember what is the most important commandment in the Bible? - Lorraine said.

- Love your neighbor as yourself. - (Y/N) replied a little confused with where his parents where getting into.

- Exactly! Why would God condemn love when he himself said that love is above all things? - Lorraine said still hugging her son.

- So does that mean... everything's fine? - (Y/N) asked looking at his parents.

- Of course it's okay. This is never a problem. - Ed said.

- But what about God? Don't you think He would despise me?

- You, of all people, have a unique gift! God chose you for this, do you really think He would despise you? And even if your gift wasn't what you have, all people are loved equally by God. - Ed said.

(Y/N) hugged his parents and cried again, but this time not with sadness but with relief and joy, knowing that those he trusted the most were not disappointed, or sad with him, but that they would welcome him no matter what. And in that particular moment, he felt like the most loved boy in the entire universe.

-But tell me, which boy should I threaten if he breaks your heart? - Ed said getting out of the hug and wiping his son's tears.

- Dad... (Y/N) started to say.

And in that instant, in that particular moment, the Warren family was more united than ever, and it wouldn't be demon, or any social prejudice that would take away Ed and Lorraine's love for their (Y/N).

[river-of-wine]

I finished Sunrise on The Reaping yesterday… I had to draw something about it

[eiravolence]

severance rlly said "our whole show takes place in an Office Building so when we go outside it will be BEAUTIFUL and cost ONE TRILLION DOLLARS and you will LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL SCENERY for FIVE MINUTES STRAIGHT"

[vilyar]

March's vsartparty piece! My victim was @moonlit-grove's Anders fan character >:)

[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.

[nicodiangeloing]

can nico di angelo communicate with haunted things, personal items of the dead? can he sense the life they once lived, visions of it racing through his mind if he focuses hard enough? how they felt, how they died? could he have held bianca’s jacket between his fingertips, expecting terror or regret in her final moments - when all he feels is the overwhelming warmth of love?

[bunnieswithknives]

Alive Beetlejuice AU that I am rotating in my brain rn. He is so so bad at acting human, he doesn't even bother looking the part and he has no idea how much money is worth.

[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 🥰

[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.

[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!

[marciaillust]

more chara design

[tobeafangirl]

forbidden; masquerade

Words: 2,994 Rating: M (language, cheating, unprotected sex, it's pretty straight forward) Type: Oneshot? Maybe short series idk, you tell me. (Harry Styles x Reader) A/N: I am sick but I wanted to get this out, not my best but ily.

Some said he had dark hair, perfect to match his light-hearted eyes. However, you had never seen him up close before, always admiring him from a distance. You had known about Harry for years, ever since 5th grade when all he ever did was talk about baseball and Cassie Hope, his now girlfriend, but you’ve never approached him, always too afraid to speak, thinking that you would make a fool of yourself. Most people looked over the long haired, green eyed, dimple blessed boy, and you never quite understood how. 

There was so much more to him than anyone gave him credit for. The loud whistle sounding from their PE teacher is what snapped you back to reality, bringing your attention back to the point, his hair. From the distance you say it seemed light, a deep honey brown color that shone in the sunlight, complementing his soft pale skin that was being slightly washed out by the deep red covering his body. He was doing some type of dance, it almost made you snort, apparently he made a shot, something that was rare coming from him. It’s not like he was a bad football player, he was just never given the chance to show what he was really made of. 

“What do you think Zayn is going to do since Kira is not here anymore?” One of the many gossiping girls of Thortenberry Secondary asked another, watching as Zayn and Harry high fived each other, bright smiles on their faces. “I am hoping he is open to trying new things, being with different people.” The other replied, it made you roll your eyes. You weren’t sure what happened to Kira, no one really was. 

Her father had given light detail and acted like it was no big deal his daughter went off in the middle of the school year, it had always made you curious, but you never were one to push any buttons. You actually cringed when you thought about what the girls across from you were talking about. There was a dance coming up at the end of the week, something about being seniors and how it was important to have one last dance. It was also known as prom, but you didn’t like to use the term. The theme was masquerade, and almost everyone had a date. Of course, you did not fall in the line of people who were going with a significant other, but that didn’t bother you. You had better things to do than to dance in a pool of sweat with some guy who only asked you because he wants to get lucky. No, you did not need to go to—

“Prom?” You were standing at your locker, trading out books from your next class when Zayn Malik came up to you randomly asking you to prom. You figured that it was more of a last resort type of deal. Closing your locker, you were met with a jawline that could cut and a bright smile. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” You questioned, moving around him to begin walking to your next class, you could hear scuffing behind you as he followed. 

“Technically, yes, but it’s senior year. It can be a strict friend only thing.” He tried to plead his case, which only made you laugh. “So, you want me to go so you don’t look lonely going by yourself and since it’s just as friends, you’re telling me that all you are going to do is sit and talk with your other friends the whole night while I drown myself with poorly flavored punch?” You cocked an eyebrow as you studied the baffled look on his face. 

“Told you she’d say no.” Your eyes traveled to the voice, holding onto his bag tightly in front of you was Harry, his other hand was placed lightly on Zayn’s shoulder and there was something about his voice that showed some form of happiness. “Actually, I haven’t given an answer yet.” Smugly, you crossed your arms over your chest causing a sarcastic surprised look on Harry's face. You took the time to study his features, the way his nose curved and how his eyebrows never seemed to be able to stay still. “I’ll go with you.” You smiled at Zayn before shooting Harry a look, turning and walking off before anything else could be said. 

The rest of the week passed by too slow, and the sad part was you were asked to prom on Wednesday. You were not excited to go, not even close, you were excited for it to be over, and the fact you had to wear white to this particular event is what was causing you to almost have a mental breakdown in the mall. “If you don’t care, just pick one.” That was the annoying sound of your mother who worked at the current clothing store you were in. 

If you were going to have to buy a dress, why not get it at a discount. “They don’t fit right. There is no way I am going to run around and have to hold up my dress the entire night. If I am going, I will be comfortable.” You sighed, reaching for the sixth dress for you to try on, waving for your mother to go away as you continued to browse. “I don’t think that suits you.” 

There was that voice again, filled with yet more sarcasm than before. “Harry. What are you doing here?” You didn’t even have to look up, you could feel his eyes burn into you. “I was just enjoying my day out, saw this horrible struggle happening in here, thought I’d offer my services.” The grin was practically painted on his face as you finally brought your eyes up to him. “I’m sorry? Is this some new show called Say Yes to the Prom Dress? Because no offense but I really don’t think I need your help.” Something about this boy lit a fire underneath you. You started to wonder if he was always like this or if he just changed whenever he got a girlfriend. Which, he had by the way. Another glaring red flag. No wonder you admired him from a distance, getting too close shows the truth. 

“I think this one would look best.” It was like he completely ignored everything you said as he held up a classic white dress. It was completed with a dipped neckline and lace, you wanted to smile at it, but you tried to hold yourself back from it. He walked until he was behind you, holding the dress up to the front of you as he pulled you back into him. You tried to dismiss the thumping of your heart, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. You looked at yourself in the mirror ahead of you, picturing yourself in the dress. 

“Just think of how good you would look, this dress hugging in all the right places.” His hand gripped onto your hip. “That neckline, finally putting those beautiful breasts on display like they deserve.” Your eyes are closed now, your breathing heavy. This is not what you expected, you never thought Harry would be this way, but to say it wasn’t turning you on would be the biggest lie you’ve ever told. You could feel the light brush of his lips on your neck, causing small goosebumps to arise on your skin. He hummed, and it vibrated your entire body. “I’ll leave you to it.” You could feel the smirk as he placed the dress back on the rack, disappearing and leaving you in a puddle of ache and want. 

To say you bought the dress would be an understatement, you had never taken a garment off the rack so fast, and part of you hated yourself for it. However, there was no turning back now, it was Friday and prom was here. You placed the mask that you had made yourself upon your face, it was pure diamonds, or well, diamond look-alikes, but still. It looked expensive and fit the part perfectly. 

You opened the door to an eager Zayn, even with a black mask on his face you could tell he was excited for this, but possibly for all the wrong reasons. “I see you traded in the motorcycle.” You made reference to the car that was parked outside instead of his two-wheeled normal form of travel. “I did, just for the night.” He smiled, it was nice to have playful banter with someone for once. “Okay, let’s get out of here before my mom realizes what is actually happening and brings out her camera with too many settings.” You rushed out, closing the door behind you, already making your way to his car before he could even speak. You were ready for this night to get started.

***

The music was loud and you couldn’t tell who was who and part of that was somewhat exciting. You walked in, arms linked with Zayn as he led you through the crowd. “I know I didn’t say this earlier, but you look really beautiful tonight.” Zayn tried to say above the music, it was something that made you genuinely smile, because for once a guy was not saying that to get something, he actually meant it. 

“Thank you, Zayn.” You pulled him into, “Now let’s dance.” You said as you began to move your body to the music and along with Zayn’s. It was time to make this night something you would remember. No, you didn’t want to be there, but you were and you were going to make the best of it. You had a very nice and great guy in front of you dancing the night away, not to mean you were wearing the most beautiful dress you had ever laid your eyes on. You didn’t see how anything could go wrong, that until you felt someone behind you, dancing on you in ways that were not okay for a school dance, not even prom. That smirk radiating heat waves, you knew exactly who it was.

“Harry!” Zayn yelled out, dancing around not noticing what was happening in front of him, and if he did, he was not about to address it. “Sup man! You two look hot tonight.” Harry directed all of his conversation to Zayn, yet his hips were swaying with you, taking you off into a world of wonder as his hands roamed down your sides. You shouldn’t like this so much, cursing yourself as your eyes slipped closed letting the sensual feeling take over you. 

Before you could comprehend anything, the warmth was gone and so was Harry. You turned to see where he went, watching him as he joined his girlfriend at a table. You watched the way he interacted with her, how different it truly was. There was no glint in his eye, no smirk placed on his face. He didn’t look too happy to be in her presence. “They are on the rocks.” Zayn’s voice chimed in. “He’s been acting a little weird lately, I think it’s been a while since they have – well, you know.” Zayn’s laughter filled the air, but your eyes squinted at the thought. “Want some punch?” You slightly questioned how he could be so calm about the whole situation, you wondered if he even knew what was going on around him. “Yeah, punch would be great, thank you.” You smiled at him and he scurried off to find the possibly spiked punch bowl. 

That’s when eyes met from across the room, he looked so small with the black mask surrounding his features, he sort of looked elegantly beautiful, but that smirk came out to play again. He used his head to signal, tilting back towards the door that led to the school hallway. You contemplated, eyes darting from his to the door. A part of you was saying to stay there, that going out in that hallway was going to be the biggest mistake, but then there was the other part of you, the curious part that would do anything to have this chance. Eventually, that part won. 

You gave him a small nod, watching as he quickly began to walk his way to the door as you started to follow. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, the sound completely feeling your ears as thoughts ran through your mind of what was about to happen. Walking outside of the dance, it was like immediate silence, your eyes adjusted to the darken hallway as Harry was nowhere in sight. 

“Harry?” You hissed, slight confusion in your voice. You heard a hum of approval behind you, turning around and you were face-to-face with that smirk. “I like that. When you say my name.” his hand reached up, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Would like it more if you were screaming it.” That low rumble of his voice sent your body in a frenzy, before you could say anything his lips were captured with yours. He was eager and it showed, lips pressing hard against yours as hands roamed as if he had never touched a female before. 

“Did you not think I noticed?” He kissed down your neck, sucking on the skin enough to make you want more but not enough to leave his mark. “The way you look at me across the room, the way you’ve always looked at me?” His lips were not stopping, making their way down your dangerously plunging neckline and you were starting to wonder if this was all part of his plan. 

You couldn’t reply, couldn’t find words to speak, just soft whimpers and moans fell from your lips. The boy holding onto you so tightly became so intoxicating you felt like you had drunk the entire punch bowl before coming out here. “I’ve been dreaming of this for a while now.” And with those words, you found your back pressed upon a door, the coolness of it reminding you how hot your body really was. 

You reached behind you, turning the knob hurriedly as you fell back as you entered the room. Luckily, you landed on the semi-plush feeling of gym mats and part of it made you laugh. Your giggles didn’t stop the boy who landed perfectly on top of you, his hands were slowly trailing, making their way up the bottom of your dress. He was mummering, talking about how beautiful you were and how much he wanted this, but you could barely hear him. Your mind was still buzzing, hands roaming the now shirtless boy and you wondered when that happened. 

“I want you” You found yourself saying, “Need you.” And you couldn’t wait any longer, realizing the buzz in your head was from the lack of friction that your body needed. Harry pulled you down, closer to him as he pushed your dress up. He wasn’t about to take his time, not when you were as eager as you were, when he knew how much you wanted it. “No panties?” He said breathlessly over the sound of the jingle of his belt. “Who would have thought that you were so naughty?” You started to giggle at his words, your giggling turning into a hitch pitched intake of breath.

His body was flush against yours now, you could feel every inch of him inside of you and all you wanted to do was roll your hips down against his but the way he was holding your hips prevented you from doing so. You whimpered, “Fuck, you’re so tight.” His lips pressed against your neck as his hips finally began to roll, colliding with yours in such a slow pace it had you seeing stars. 

“Harry.” You breathed out, fingers reaching up and tangling in his hair, tugging at the short strands. “Faster.” You moaned, his hips complying with your demand. The noises that were emitting from him were something from an X-rated movie, hot breaths and groans along with muddled curse words and still proceeding to send shivers down your spine. The mats beneath you began to squeak, his hips rapid, your head leaning back as screams filled the room. “Harry! Don’t stop.” There had to be scratches down his back by now, sure to leave marks for weeks. “You like that baby? Huh? Like it when I fuck you like that?” Those words were enough, feeling that hot coil within you spring loose, you had an orgasm you’ll never forget. 

Movements become uneven, frantic as he nears his release, “That’s it baby, cum for me.” You whispered in his ear. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he came, you could feel him filling inside of you, his body collapsing on top of you as heavy breaths filled the air. “Fuck.” He moaned, letting a chuckle follow after. Before you could say or do anything, he rose up, quickly pulling his pants back up and straightening himself up. He looked down at you, the look of lust still in his eyes as he smiled. 

“We should do this more often, you know.” He said as he rolled his cuffs back to their original position. You found yourself smiling but you couldn’t find the words to speak, watching as he gave you one last look over, “See you later.” His words were confident and strong as he walked out, leaving you alone with a spinning head. You couldn’t put together what just happened, but you also didn’t regret a thing. You sat there for a moment, cursing yourself for not having a condom, your thighs slick with him as you raised up. You wondered how exactly you were going to go back to the dance and continue your night. One thing you did notice about him though, now that you've thought about it. His hair was kind of dark.

[sthefanywilson7305]

WHAT A HOT MAN... 😍🛐🍷🫦✨

WHAT A HOT MAN!! Patrick definitely made my days when he showed up yesterday like this... OMG, look at those strong arms, look at those thighs... How delicious, how tasty 🫦🍷✨

I'm completely in love with this video 😍😍 I've always wanted to see Patrick training like this, he is so amazing and strong💪✨ By the way, if anyone has more videos of him training and can send them to me, I would love it🥰🥰☺️☺️✨✨

👁️🫦👁️

[urfavleo777]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, alcohol, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers.

"Having fun?"

You look up from your phone and see Colby staring at you. You wonder why, out of so many people, he chose to approach you. Well, maybe because half of the guests have lost touch with reality. Your best friend Sam's birthday party didn't end the way you thought it would. Instead of innocent dancing and honest conversations over a bottle of wine, one of the guests decided to bring weed and spoil the whole party.

That guest was, of course, Colby Brock himself.

You'd be lying if you said he wasn't handsome. He definitely was and he knew it perfectly well, but due to his intolerable character, especially when drunk, his appearance didn't matter.

"No," you answer flatly. You direct your gaze back to the Instagram post of some unknown model to block your view of him, but he quickly snatches it away and puts it in his pocket at the back of his pants. "Give it back to me, you freak!"

"Such a shame. You should be dancing on the table, not sitting alone like a puppy," he says with a taunting smirk. "Let me entertain you, Y/n."

You roll your eyes as he sits down on the almost empty couch next to you. Sitting in the main room, where most people have lost contact with reality and are rolling on the floors, reminds you a bit like a scene from an asylum. Colby snorts when he notices you looking at them with a look of horror on your face. You wonder where Sam is. It takes you a moment to realize that he's probably already jumped into his fancy swimming pool. Or is just busy with doing something… else.

You decide to check on him, but as you're about to get up, your dress gets caught on the table, causing it to rip. You curse under your breath, pissed that one of your favorite dresses was ruined. You sit back on the comfortable sofa so that no one notices you exposing your leg up to the hip.

Well, you are wrong if you think this may help.

"Woah, slow down, Y/n," you shoot him an angry look and he responds with a short laugh. His mocking voice is probably caused by too much alcohol in his blood, and it starts to piss you off.

"Give me my phone back, Colby." You say seriously, senselessly trying to cover your legs.

"Take it if you want it so bad."

This is the second time you roll your eyes in his presence. There's no way you're going to touch him. Indeed - now, staring at you with those hypnotic blue eyes of his, messy dark hair, red cheeks from the amount of alcohol he drank, and lips that just ask for a kiss, he is even more attractive than usual, but… no. You can't give up that easily.

"Colby, I swear to god," it was becoming more than taunts. "Give me back something you took from me. If not, that would be the perfect reason to accuse you of st-"

"I want to shut that pretty mouth of yours." You barely suppress a flinch when he whispers the words into your ear.

You don't even look at him, but in your mind's eye you see that damn smirk on his face again.

"Wanna hear something that you'll hate?" He is a whisper in your ear, gooseflesh rising on your arms and the fire igniting in your abdomen. You decide not to play unavailable any longer and nodd without saying anything. He smacks his lips after noticing your obedience. Then he moves even closer, breaking any distance between you two. "I've wanted to rip that dress off of you since the beginning of this party. I see that fate has done me a favor."

Speaking in a low voice directly into your ear, he hit your sweet spot. But it doesn't matter when you finally realize that he's only saying it because he's drunk. In a few hours you will be just friends again with Sam, who is actually your connection to keep in touch.

"Come with me. I'll show you what having fun exactly means."

And truly, you're so close to agreeing if it weren't for the fact that you're overthinking too much.

You lower your head and look away in embarrassment. Maybe it's also the alcohol, which always makes you more sensitive, but you feel like you're about to cry. You try hard not to burst into tears, because knowing Colby he would use it to tease you and make fun of you in the future.

"Is something wrong?" His wild nature disappears in the blink of an eye. Colby cups your cheek, forcing you to look into his eyes. There's no turning back as he grabs your waist with his other hand and pulls you closer to him. "Do you want me to stop?"

You just shrug. You are a conflict full of contradictions. Part of you wants to push him away and send him to hell, and the other part wants to do the things that you only secretly dream about.

Colby, seeing your indecision, respectfully moves away from you.

That’s kinda sweet, actually.

Then he closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it feels like he's even drunker than usual.

"We can't.. do this." You say, looking up at him.

Colby nods sightly, but you know the darkness in these eyes too well. He's not looking at you the way friends looks at each other. Colby notices the way your body shifts next to him, looking at him from under your lashes and biting your lip unconsciously. Nevertheless, he says the following words:

"I have always been far from your ideal man," your face contorts in confusion. You want to tell him he's stupid, but he stubbornly continues. "You've always preferred chasing the nice guys next door, like that fucking church fanatic Dylan. You never paid attention to me, even though I tried. Remember that Halloween night at Sam's? I remember you complaining about your lack of outfit ideas. You thought that by not dressing up at all, you would spoil everyone's fun. The night before, I drove around for several hours looking for the perfect costume shop. Of course, Sam told you that he dug that outfit out of the closet, but you knew that was impossible. A witch outfit in Sam's closet? Sounds bizarre, doesn't it?"

You open your mouth in confusion. True, something like that had happened and you felt strange that Sam had such things in his closet, but you ignored the feeling and just thanked him. Now you finally know who was behind it all.

"Colby…"

"Yeah, I know I'm making a damn fool of myself right now, but I want you to know that I don't want to just use you for a one-night stand. You're beautiful. When Sam introduced you to me, that was my first thought of you. Fuck, you're so beautiful, Y/n."

"Shut up and kiss me."

This answer surprises him a bit, but soon afterwards he smiles slyly.

"Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Colby kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake.

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair.

"Please, let's get out of here," you literally beg.

He nods and takes you up the stairs. It doesn't take long before you're in Sam's room. You giggle at the spot he chose. You close the door and let yourself be carried away by the touch of Colby's delicate big hands.

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight.

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face.

"Mh-" You cut off your sentence by pushing him onto the bed. With one movement of his hand, he tears off the remnants of the fabric of your torn dress and admires your half-naked body.

You sit on his lap, continuing to devouring him with kisses. In the meantime, you grab his belt and clumsily try to undo it.

"Let me help you, puppy," he chuckles as he continues kissing. You sigh at the word he called you. As he throws his pants down, you hear a loud thump on the floor.

"My phone!"

"Fuck your goddamn phone," he slaps your ass, making you moan loudly. "I'll buy you a new one."

Soon you're sitting on top of Colby, whose only clothes are his underwear.

You continue grinding on his bare thigh, his boxers pushed up high. The outline of his cock shows through the cotton, and you can’t help but grab it. He inhales sharply at the sudden contact, making you giggle.

"Love seeing you all turned on, Colby," you murmur, sucking his neck that has his eyes rolling back in his head. He moves his hand from your waist to your clit, pressing slow circles to the sensitive bud over the lace. A moan slips past your lips, quickly turning into a whimper of his name. "F-Fuck, Colby. Right there."

He throws your legs over his shoulders so quickly that it has you laughing in surprise, but that laughter stops as soon as his mouth is on you. His tongue immediately finds your clit, flicking over it until your toes curl. He wraps his lips around it and sucks gently until he has you on the brink of orgasm. His fingers return to your needy hole, filling you expertly until you cum with a wanton moan.

"So fucking good," Colby says, still between your legs. His mouth and chin are covered in a slick sheen. "You wanna taste now, baby? Wanna know just how delicious you are?"

You open your mouth and eagerly accept his fingers. They taste of your arousal and a hint of strawberry; it does bear a striking similarity to your chapstick. Once Colby lets his fingers drop from your mouth, you’re whining and writhing below him.

"Now, get on your knees for me."