Conjuring Universe but the demons are the fandom

As the clock ticked toward bedtime, Lorraine turned to you, her smile gentle but inviting. “It's been a long day,”she said, her voice like velvet, carrying that faint New England lilt. “Shall we go to bed? I have my prayers to attend to first, though.” Her eyes held yours, a spark of something deeper flickering there devotion intertwined with desire, a private language only you two understood.

You rose, taking her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm against yours. The stairs creaked softly under your steps as you ascended to the bedroom, a sanctuary of muted tones and spiritual touches. The walls held framed rosaries and small crucifixes, but tonight, they seemed to fade into the background. The king-sized bed dominated the space, its linens crisp and white, while on the dresser sat an array of white pillar candles, their wicks pristine and waiting.

Lorraine paused by the window, drawing the curtains to seal out the night. “Light them for me?” she asked, her tone soft but expectant. You nodded, striking matches one by one, the flames blooming to life and filling the room with a golden glow. Shadows played across her face as she watched you, her fingers already working the buttons of her dress. It slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet to reveal the lace-trimmed slip beneath, hugging her breasts and the dip of her waist.

“Come here,” she murmured, drawing you close once the last candle was lit. Her lips brushed yours in a lingering kiss, tasting of wine and promise. But she pulled back gently, her hands guiding you toward the center of the room where she'd laid out a thick quilt earlier, its edges embroidered with subtle patterns. “Kneel, darling. Let me prepare us both for the night.”

Your knees met the soft fabric, the anticipation building as you untied your blouse, letting it fall away, followed by your skirt. Naked now, save for your undergarments, you felt exposed yet safe under her gaze. Lorraine circled you slowly, her bare feet silent on the floorboards. She picked up the first candle, a tall white one, its flame steady. “In the name of the Father,” she began, her voice resonant, almost hypnotic.

She tilted the candle just so, and the first bead of wax detached, falling in a slow arc to land on the swell of your shoulder. The heat seared briefly, a pinpoint of intensity that bloomed into a tingling warmth as it cooled and hardened. You inhaled sharply, the sensation pulling a low hum from your throat. Lorraine's eyes never left your face, drinking in your reactions as she continued, “the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Another drop followed, tracing down your arm, adhering to your skin like a secret mark.

Her free hand joined the ritual, fingers grazing your collarbone, then slipping the straps of your bra down. It fell away, baring your breasts to the flickering light. “Amen.” The word hung in the air as she lowered the candle further, wax splattering across your chest—first one nipple, then the other. Each impact made you arch, the sting sharpening your awareness of every nerve. The wax cooled into fragile shells, cracking slightly with your movements, and Lorraine traced them with her thumb, peeling edges to expose the flushed skin beneath.

She set the candle down and retrieved a second, this one scented faintly with sandalwood, its wax a deeper ivory. Kneeling before you now, she parted your thighs with firm hands, her touch reverent yet commanding.' The prayer flowed as she dripped wax along your inner thighs, the heat so close to your core that your pussy clenched in response, moisture gathering between your folds. You bit your lip, stifling a moan, but she noticed, her smile curving.

“Let me hear you,” she encouraged, her voice weaving through the incantation. Her fingers hooked into your panties, sliding them down your legs until you were fully bare. The next drops fell perilously near your mound, the warmth teasing without touching, making your clit throb with need. Lorraine's hand ventured there then, parting your lips to expose you fully. She blew gently on the sensitive flesh, then let a single drop fall onto your lower belly, inching toward your clit.

The sensation was exquisite torture hot wax meeting the slick heat of your arousal. You gasped, hips bucking involuntarily, and she pressed her palm flat against your pussy, rubbing in slow circles to soothe and stoke the fire. Two fingers slipped inside you, thick and curling, pumping in time with her words. The wax continued to rain down across your hips, dotting your stomach in a constellation of white—each one amplifying the thrusts until your walls fluttered around her.

But she withdrew too soon, leaving you panting and empty, the prayers shifting to a more urgent cadence. Rising gracefully, Lorraine shed her slip, her body illuminated like a vision: full breasts swaying slightly, the dark thatch between her legs drawing your eyes. She moved to the nightstand, opening the drawer with deliberate slowness. The harness emerged, black leather straps connected to a girthy silicone dildo, veined and realistic, its tip glistening faintly from prior use.

She stepped into it, buckling the straps around her waist and thighs until it protruded firmly from her hips, the base pressing against her own clit. The sight of her pious Lorraine, transformed into this embodiment of dominance sent a fresh wave of desire through you. “Lie down for me,” she instructed, her tone laced with authority softened by affection. You stretched out on the quilt, the dried wax pulling taut across your skin, heightening every shift.

She knelt between your legs, the dildo's head nudging your entrance, slick with your juices. She pushed in, the stretch immense and fulfilling, inch by inch until she was seated deep. You cried out, legs wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. Lorraine began to move, hips rolling in a measured rhythm, the harness grinding against her as she fucked you.

Her hands braced on your shoulders, she leaned in, capturing a wax-covered nipple between her teeth, tugging gently before soothing it with her tongue. The dual assault her mouth hot and wet, the dildo plunging relentlessly—drew whimpers from you. She grabbed another candle, holding it overhead as she thrust harder, letting wax cascade onto your breasts in rhythm with her strokes. Each drop hit with the force of her entry, making your nipples ache deliciously, your pussy gripping the silicone tighter.

Her breath ragged now, sweat beading on her brow. She shifted angles, the dildo hitting that deep spot inside you, sparks igniting with every grind. Her free hand snaked down, fingers finding your clit, pinching and rolling it between thrusts. The room echoed with the wet sounds of her pounding into you, your moans rising like a chorus to her prayers.

You felt the coil tightening, pressure building unbearably. More wax fell on your neck, your thighs—marking you as hers in this profane-sacred rite. “Lorraine... I'm close,” you gasped, nails raking down her back, leaving red trails on her pale skin.

“Come for me sweetheart,” she urged, abandoning the prayer for raw command. Her thrusts grew frantic, hips snapping forward, the base of the dildo rubbing her clit to the brink. She dropped the candle safely aside, both hands now on your hips, pulling you onto her with each drive.

The orgasm hit you fast, your pussy convulsing around the thick length, waves of ecstasy pulsing through your core. You arched high, a scream tearing from your throat as pleasure shattered you, body trembling in aftershocks. Lorraine rode through it, her own climax cresting moments later her body tensing, a guttural moan escaping as she ground against you, chasing the friction until she shuddered in release.

She eased down onto you, the dildo still embedded, both of you slick with sweat. For long minutes, you lay entwined, breaths syncing in the cooling air. Gently, she withdrew, setting the harness aside, then began the careful work of removing the wax. Her fingers worked methodically, peeling flakes from your skin, massaging the tender spots with oil from a small vial on the dresser. Each touch was worshipful, her lips following to kiss away any lingering sting.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, really) Lorraine savors the raw intimacy of your release, licking it from her fingers with a reverent gaze, as if tasting your essence connects her deeper to your soul.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Deep down, Lorraine harbors a fantasy of sneaking away to a church—your bodies pressed against the altar, her usual restraint shattering as she begs you to fuck her hard amid the echoes, the thrill of sacrilege making her come undone like never before.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they are doing?) Though her devotion to Ed shapes her public life, in this intimate fantasy, Lorraine's experiences are exploratory and intuitive, guided by her empathy. She's a quick study, using her sensitivity to read your every gasp, making each encounter feel profoundly attuned.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying) Missionary with a twist—she positions you beneath her, eyes locked, her body pressing down as she grinds slowly, whispering affirmations of love. It lets her watch your face, sensing your pleasure like a vision unfolding.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.) Lorraine is earnest, her moments laced with soft laughter only when you tease her faith-tinged moans. She'll pause to bless a particularly fervent thrust, turning intensity into shared, sacred joy without breaking the rhythm.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.) Her dark hair is always neatly pinned during the day, but in private, it cascades freely. Below, she's naturally groomed, soft and inviting.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) Intimacy is her core; she intertwines fingers, murmuring how your connection wards off darkness. Kisses are deep and soulful, her clairvoyance making every touch feel like she's seeing into your desires, building a bond beyond the physical.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) Alone after a case, she touches herself thinking of you, fingers circling her clit while envisioning your hands on her. It's quick and guilty at first, but she surrenders fully, biting her lip to stifle prayers that turn to your name.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) Sensory play occasionally —a silk scarf blindfolding you, heightening her whispers. She craves gentle dominance, holding you down with loving restraint, her faith making submission feel like divine surrender.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do) The quiet sanctuary of her home study, surrounded by holy relics, where the air feels charged. Or outdoors under starlight, away from hauntings, her back against a tree as she pulls you close for urgent, grounding passion.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Your vulnerability after sharing fears draws her in; she wants to heal through touch. A brush of your hand during a séance ignites her, turning spiritual tension into physical need.

N = No (Something they wouldn't do, turn-offs) Anything that mocks her beliefs or involves true harm—she draws the line at desecration, preferring passion that honors the soul. Roughness without consent feels like inviting shadows she fights daily.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) She excels at giving, her tongue delving into your folds with devoted laps, eyes fluttering shut as if tasting salvation. Receiving makes her arch, hands in your hair, guiding you softly while she chants breathy encouragements.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Slow and sensual, building like a ritual—deliberate thrusts of fingers or hips that draw out every sensation. She accelerates only when your pleas echo her visions, chasing mutual release with fervent rhythm.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Rare but electric; between cases, she'll pull you into a shadowed corner for hurried kisses and grinding, her skirt hiked up as fingers slip inside you. It's a stolen blessing, leaving you both breathless and renewed.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.) Cautious yet adventurous within her moral compass—she experiments with toys beforehand, or risks a quiet moan, her hand sneaking under the table to tease your thigh.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) Impressive endurance from her resilient spirit; she can go multiple rounds, each building on the last, lasting until you're both spent. Her empathy keeps her attuned, prolonging pleasure without exhaustion.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) She discovers a discreet vibrator, using it on you with wide-eyed curiosity, pressing it against your clit while kissing your breasts. On herself, it's tentative, but with you watching, it becomes a shared exploration.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease) Not overtly teasing, but her knowing smiles and lingering touches build anticipation. She'll trace your inner thigh during dinner, whispering, "Patience, my love," until you're begging for her fingers.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) Soft and melodic—gasps like whispered prayers, moans that rise in pitch as she nears climax. She encourages your cries, muffling them with kisses to keep the moment sacred and private.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character) In the heat, her clairvoyance flares, letting her "see" your peak before it happens—she describes it vividly, heightening the ecstasy as she urges you toward that foreseen bliss.

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on under those clothes) Petite and curvaceous, with soft breasts that heave under her blouses and hips that sway with quiet confidence. Her skin sensitive to your every caress.

Y l= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Moderate but intense—ignited by emotional depth rather than constant urge. Once sparked, it's all-consuming, her drive matching yours in waves of spiritual and carnal hunger.

lorraine who absolutely loves sitting at the edge of the bed with you kneeling between her thighs while she slowly pets your hair and makes you confess every filthy thought running through your head. she’ll ask whether you were imagining her fingers inside your pussy while she prayed. whether you thought about her mouth on your tits while she held her rosary beads. every shaky answer makes her wetter too.

lorraine who gets addicted to the way your body reacts when she starts dirty talking in that calm voice of hers. she’ll slowly spread your thighs apart and hum at the sight of how wet your pussy already is before whispering “look at this mess, sweetheart… all from watching me pray?” meanwhile her fingers are rubbing slow circles over your clit just to watch your hips jerk helplessly against her hand.

lorraine who loves playing with your boobs while kissing you senseless against motel pillows after rough investigations. she’ll squeeze them slowly through your shirt first, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden for her before she finally pulls the fabric down with this hungry little look in her eyes. she adores hearing the pathetic noises you make when she sucks bruises against your tits while rubbing your clit at the same time.

lorraine who loves when you cum with her cross necklace wrapped loosely around your fist. she thinks the image of you trembling beneath her while whining her name and clutching onto something holy is unbelievably filthy. she’ll keep rubbing your clit through every pulse of your orgasm too, watching your pussy clench around her fingers while she softly praises how pretty you look cumming for her.

you who can barely sit still whenever lorraine starts praying after cases now because your brain immediately goes somewhere filthy. the second she kneels beside the bed your pussy starts throbbing and you catch yourself staring at her mouth instead of listening to a single word she says. lorraine notices every single time. she always notices.

you who completely lose composure the first time lorraine gently pushes you onto your knees for her. your hands are shaking. your thighs are slick already. and the second she cups your face while softly asking “can you be good for me tonight?” you feel yourself clench embarrassingly hard around nothing. lorraine thinks it’s adorable.

lorraine who absolutely loves fingering you while still half dressed after investigations. silk nightgown bunched around her thighs while she presses you into the mattress and slowly works her fingers into your soaked pussy. she keeps eye contact the entire time too, whispering filthy praise about how easily you fall apart for her while your legs shake around her wrist.

lorraine who secretly enjoys overstimulating you because she’s fascinated by how sensitive your body becomes after the first orgasm. she’ll keep two fingers buried deep inside your pussy while rubbing your clit slow enough to torture you, calmly telling you “one more, sweetheart… i know you can give me one more.” meanwhile you’re crying and squirming beneath her because your body physically can’t stop cumming for her.

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

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

moving on to ℳ𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓈.

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

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

poly relationship

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

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

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

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