#jan stevens x reader

[rippersz]

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore. 

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you. 

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety. 

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed. 

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby. 

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while... 

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh. 

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh. 

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to. 

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience? 

Thinking about it gave you a headache. 

For where was the point in wondering? 

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because- 

Because-

Wait. 

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of… 

“Fuck.” 

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right. 

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood. 

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy. 

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell. 

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength. 

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet. 

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.  

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you. 

Too late. 

You were too late. 

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead. 

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage. 

 Too late. 

You were too late. 

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed. 

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you. 

Something–a sound–made you freeze. 

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement. 

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag. 

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did. 

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then- 

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap. 

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere. 

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.” 

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle. 

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life. 

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.” 

“And the others?” 

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent. 

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in. 

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.” 

The gun still didn’t move. 

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?” 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures. 

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth. 

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.” 

“How long since?” 

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own. 

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned. 

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-” 

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world. 

“-we can’t just leave them-” 

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-” 

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window. 

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone. 

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-” 

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?” 

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told. 

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade. 

But she didn’t move. 

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak. 

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed. 

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went. 

“More like a rat.” 

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you. 

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot. 

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest. 

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked. 

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.” 

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched. 

“You heard me. Shoot them.” 

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?” 

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off. 

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude. 

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact. 

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming. 

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers. 

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-” 

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return. 

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view. 

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep. 

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun. 

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word. 

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you. 

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass. 

The grass. 

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh. 

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit. 

How fucking lucky were you? 

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance. 

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that. 

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger. 

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead. 

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches. 

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her. 

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms. 

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall. 

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps. 

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority. 

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline. 

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck. 

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up. 

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.” 

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group. 

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself. 

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway. 

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue. 

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.” 

Lucifer? Naked under the what? 

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and  crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were… 

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?” 

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?” 

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body. 

“Okay. Yes. Sure.” 

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider. 

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors. 

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you. 

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes. 

Red lips twitched. 

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.” 

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up. 

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.” 

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat. 

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully. 

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right. 

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat. 

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.” 

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard. 

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang. 

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.” 

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips. 

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done. 

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time? 

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa. 

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?” 

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded. 

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted. 

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.” 

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath. 

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it. 

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you. 

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence. 

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.” 

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.” 

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away. 

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering. 

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant. 

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand. 

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.” 

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts. 

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[mouse-of-dimitrescu]

𝟷𝟸 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 🎄 #𝟼 𝙹𝚊𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

BOLD AND BRILLIANT ( NSFW )

Not my gif

WARNINGS: grinding, strap-on, slight overstim, anything else let me know ❤︎

❊╌──┈⊰᯽⊱⊰᯽⊱┈──╌❊

Two months ago, you joined the Sonic Catering Institute and so far, you have been feeling rather isolated. The three other interns kept to themselves, and when they weren't keeping to themselves they were agruing with each other. Hardly anyone wanted to listen to the helpful intructions of Jan Stevens ( if whom you would happily die for ). In order to avoid any trouble, you kept to yourself too, following instructions and going with the flow. It was also the beginning of December. Almost Christmas. The Sonic Catering Institute was decorated with colourful lights and a Christmas tree even sat in the drawing room. You loved the sight, even though the atmosphere created by the people around you wasn't so merry.

You sat outside in the patio, doing a crossword in one of Jan's food magazines. You scribbles with your pencil in the corner of the page while you were thinking of the next word to write down. You didn't notice Jan approach you and sit down at your side.

" I take that you're doing well?" You heard a sudden voice beside you and jumped, startled. You looked over to Jan and saw that she was wearing her large white skirt with her black short blazer. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her posture made the Queen mediocre.

" Miss Stevens. Uh-huh, yes. Yes. I'm fitting in well." You nodded, closing the magazine, using your index finger as a bookmark.

Jan smiled. " That's lovely. You're a very quiet intern." She noted, examining every feature on your face.

You nodded. " Yes. Yes I am. I'm quite introverted."

" Of course. I only meant that I wish you would be bolder. More of an individual. Less compliant with the decisions of the other interns." Jan explained calmly, gesturing with her hand.

" I don't wish to cause trouble. But I see what you mean." You nodded, going back to your crossword.

Jan smiled when she saw the crossword. " Ah, what word are you looking for?" She asked, scooting closer to you.

" Another word for uniformity." You bit the end of your pencil, deep in thought.

" Homogeneity?" Jan suggested. " Does it fit in the blocks?"

You wrote the word down and it fitted perfectly. " Thanks." You smiled.

Jan got up. Before leaving she turned to you. " Bold is best. Maybe I can...demonstrate one evening." Jan's voice darkened as she said this and you felt yourself blush.

" I'd like that," you nodded. Jan smiled and walked away without saying a word. Your were oblivious to the fact that your pencil had fallen out of your hand and landed on the floor. You gulped and watched Jan walk away, not knowing if she meant the innuendo or if your mind was playing dirty tricks on you.

The following evening, after dinner, Jan and a few other interns were chatting about the next show, you remained at the dining room table, drinking your wine. You didn't want to talk about the next show, in all honesty you were actually dreading it.

Fifteen minutes later, things began to quieten down and the interns left. You heard their footsteps up the wooden stairs and sighed in relief, thankful to be alone fully. No one noticed you — or at least you thought. You heard a pair of footsteps getting closer to you, striding along the wooden floors. You let out another sigh, but this time it was one of disappointment. The disappointment soon ceased when you saw Jan enter the room.

" Hello, dear. You're sitting here all alone. Did you not want to converse with the other interns?" Jan asked, taking a seat beside you and placing her hands in her lap like always.

You took another sip of your wine, thinking about how your should phrase your response. " I just didn't feel like it. I'm not exactly a people person." You gave a fake, dry chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.

Jan merely nodded and looked at you quizzically. After a few moments of awkward silence, the woman spoke up, clearing her throat lightly. " Maybe I can give you that demonstration this evening. If you're up for it?"

" T-to work on my b-boldness." You stuttered, feeling as though you had been deprived of air. You had no idea where this would lead, but you were not complaining.

" Yes, dear. Meet me in my chambers in fifteen minutes." Jan gave you a small smile before getting up and walking away.

Your heart trodded in your chest like those damn footsteps you heard — Jan walking upstairs. You knew this wasn't about your ' boldness ' or lack thereof. It was clearly something more — something mercilessly intimate that made your fingertips quiver as they held onto the almost empty wine glass.

You sat there for a short while. It was the longest fifteen minutes of your life. You gulped down the last droplet of wine and walked upstairs, praying to the stars to give you strength. You approached Jan's door and took a deep breath before lifting your hand up, ready to knock.

Before your hand could hit the door, Jan bolted it open with a small smile on her face. She was dressed in her nightly attire and she looked at you for a moment..

" Wait, how do you know I was out here?" You asked, walking inside Jan's chambers and looking around at the large silky bed and the strange, eccentric furniture.

" I heard your footsteps. Now, dear, make yourself comfortable." Jan smiled, gesturing to her bed.

You took a deep breath and sat on the edge of Jan's bed, your leg uncontrollably bouncing, you were clearly anxious for what was to come.

" Nervous?" Jan asked softly, sitting down next to you and taking one of her hands.

" J-Jan, surely this isn't with regards to my boldness." You took another deep breath.

Jan smiled and looked directly at you, maintaining eye contact. " Of course not. I hope you picked up on...what I was actually meaning. I do not wish to give you a boldness lesson this late in the evening." Jan said softly, you heard the high but calm pitches in her voice that made your lips go numb.

" Is this..." You tilted your head slightly.

Jan slightly nodded, playing with the button on your shirt. " If you consent, of course."

" I consent." You said, a little bit too quickly, making Jan smile broadly.

" Good pet. Be a darling and strip for me." Jan said, almost indifferently. She remained sitting while she watched you stand up. You nervously took off your clothes in front of Jan. To hell with dignity. You thought. Once you were in your bra and knickers l, Jan grazed her eyes over your body. It was a painful few moments of self consciousness and doubt. You felt Jan's hand reach for your waist, squeezing it gently.

" Absolutely beautiful." She whispered, not being able to keep her eyes off your figure. Jan stood up and unclasped your bra, letting it slide off you. She smiled and caressed your breasts. You couldn't take it anymore. You needed this woman more than you needed air to breathe. You felt your hands almost wantonly clutch onto Jan.

" Oh...is someone a bit needy?" Jan teased, trailing a line with her index finger down your stomach. You nodded desperately, making Jan smirk. " Words, pet." Jan grasped firmly on your jawline, making you look up at her.

" Yes...I... Please Jan I need you. " You confessed through shortened breaths.

" Good darling. Now, take your knickers off and lie down on the pillows."

You immediately obeyed Jan and removed your knickers, lying down on the silk sheets, your back and head slightly propped up on her pillows. You hoped that you weren't dripping on her sheets. You were already embarrassed as it was.

Jan shuffled through her drawers, collecting a few items before returning to you. She held a strap on red silicone dildo in one hand and some yellow rope in the other.

" Colours of Christmas. Rather fitting, don't you think?" Jan chuckled before coming up close to you. She grabbed your wrist and tied it with rope, tying it firmly to the headboard.

" Do you want this, darling? Are you certain?" Jan asked, genuinely making sure that you were okay before continuing.

You nodded. " Yes, yes, pelase Jan, I want this if you do." You said quickly, not wanting to waste a moment.

Jan smiled and kissed you deeply. " Good, pet. I'm going to have some fun with you. If you want me to stop, say 'chocolate'."

You nodded. " Okay."

Jan smiled and tied your other hand up, standing back and looking at you. " God, you're desperate." She mumbled under her breath, almost in disbelief. On top of that, you whimpered pathetically at her words, enjoying how they made you feel.

Jan smirked and stripped as well. Now it was your turn to look at her. You saw her curved tummy and thighs, shaped by her strong-built and tall form. When she unclasped her bra, her breasts spilled out, her pink nipples were hard and her cunt clearly glistening as much as yours.

" You're... beautiful." You looked at Jan again, unable to take your eyes away.

" Thank you." Jan smiled. " Let me...experiment?"

You nodded. " Okay." You were willing to do anything. Anything at all for Jan.

Jan climbed on the bed, crawled up to you and straddled your waist. She smiled and bent down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss again. You moaned as she but down on your bottom lip and you rugged at the rope, clearly wanting to touch her. Jan smiled at your struggles and patted your cheek softly before pulling away from your face. She aligned her cunt with yours and grinded against you, making you moan out loud.

Jan moaned too and grasped firmly into your shoulders, beginning to grind faster. You attempted to help Jan, bucking your hips up and trying to meet the rythm of her body which seemed impossible because of the restraints and her weight on top of you.

" Jan...oh my God." You moved, feeling Jan's arousal mixing with your own. The way her body moved made your mouth water. You needed more of Jan. You were desperate.

" Oh...fuck, I'm going to go faster." Jan breathed out, increasing the pace of her lips. Moans escaped the both of you, you spread your legs wider, wanting to feel more and more as Jan moved against you, creating a pattern of movements that would soon send you over the edge. Your walls contracted around nothing and arousal leaked down your thighs. You didn't know if it belonged to Jan, or yourself but you were definitely going to ruin the sheets after this night.

Jan's hips were moving at a rapid pace, the need to cum ( for both of you ) was urgent. It was an indescribable hunger that brought you both into a primal state. Your bodies syncing. You tugged at the restraints while Jan gripped firmly on your shoulders, her nails dug into your skin.

" Jan...I'm...going— fuck" you breathed out, feeling yourself approaching your climax.

" Me too, pet. Cum with me." Jan ordered and she came with a cry, which made you cum too. Your slick mixing together, Jan's grinding against you began to slow down as she helped you both to ride out your highs. Your breathing was untamed and your eyes shut in the moment of pure ecstasy.

Jan slowed down to a stop and gently got off you, you both flinched at the feeling and she kissed your cheek. " I'm not done." Jan whispered.

Your eyes widened. You were already so sensitive but you couldn't resist. You needed more. It was always more. More. More. More.

You watched as Jan fetched the strap and strapped it on herself. The dildo end of it was long, wide and extremely detailed. Jan smirked at your reaction and raised your hips, placing a pillow under them for better access. She climbed towards you and forced your legs open wider. You spread them and looked up at Jan, casting your eyes back at the strap and up at her again.

" How many orgasms can I pull from you?" Jan asked.

" Not more than three. But I'll be happy to test that theory." You gave Jan a small but playful smile.

" Oh? Look who's being bold. Good, pet." Jan smiled, using the arousal from your cunt to lubricate the strap, stroking it. She inches her body closer to yours and you felt the large tip moving through your folds and into your tight cunt.

You were breathing heavily. Your chest moving up and down as you prepared yourself to take her.

" J-Jan, what if it's too big?" You asked nervously, feeling Jan slip inside slowly.

" It's not. Especially not when you're so soaked." Jan slapped your cunt, making you jolt and whimper, shutting your eyes. Jan smiled and did it again before thrusting the entire girth inside of you.

You screamed Jan's name and tugged harshly on the ropes again. Your walls cluttered around the faux cock immediately. Jan smirked and massaged your thighs.

" Mm, it's nice to hear your voice. Even if it's just your pathetic screams." She said darkly, in a hushed tone that made your cunt soak in its own arousal even more..

" Please...please move, Jan. Please." You moaned. Jan smiled and made eye contact you, rocking her hips back and forth, you felt the cock stretching you wider upon every thrust, but it was a good pain. A desperate, masochistic pain that made you scream in agony, yelling for more.

" God, you're taking me so well." Jan breathed out, unable to take her eyes away from your dripping sex, she watched as your walls squeezed around it, practically sucking it in.

You moaned even louder at her words and tried to tug at those restraints again. Your cheeks burned, your head moved from side to side as you felt Jan thrust deeply inside of you.

" J-Jan I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the pleasure was too overwhelming.

" Is my pet going to cum?" Jan asked, teasingly. She made direct eye contact with you and caressed your thighs as she pounded into you.

" Mmm, yes, please....Jan" you mewled, furrowing your browband looking up at Jan desperately. You felt your walls flutterring and clenching around the cock. Your breathing became unbalananced, your legs shook slightly and it was as if your whole body was shivering like a freezing hell.

" Cum for me, pet." Jan said sternly. At that, you let go. The release your body had been begging for had finally arrived. You screamed Jan's name and groaned out vulgar words. Jan watched you intently, she used her hands to steady her legs as she helped you down from your orgasm.

" Good, darling." She said softly, rubbing your thighs in a soothing manner.

You came down from your climax, your eyes were still shut and you were breathing heavily all the same. Jan smiled down at you and removed the strap — the unexpected feeling made you whiner and shut your legs as you rolled onto your side, your body utterly exhausted.

Jan came back to you and held you gently, giving you small kisses of approval.

" Dear, are you alright?" She asked, caressing your cheek. You nodded in response and slowly opened your eyes, looking up at Jan.

" Y-ye-yes. Thank you, Jan." You mumbled against her chest.

Jan chuckled and kissed the top of your head, picking you up.

Jan ran in bath water and she hopped inside the tub, helping you in too. You felt too tired to move, Jan was rough but you loved it.

" You did so well for me." Jan smiled and caressed your hair. " It seems Christmas came early for someone this year." She let out a light chuckle and kissed your cheek. You smiled and kissed her cheek too.

" Mm, almost Christmas." You mumbled happily. Jan smiled and nodded.

" And I think that a little holiday rest will suit you well, won't it, darling? With me? " Her fingers drew lines over your tummy and she squeezed your waist gently.

" I'd like that. " You looked up at Jan who was smiling down at you, slightly amused.

" Me too."

❊╌──┈⊰᯽⊱⊰᯽⊱┈──╌❊

I hope that was okay, wrote it late last week

❤︎❤︎❤︎

@aemilia19 @winterfireblond @littledollll @blood-red-ocean

@ness029

[milfsloverblog]

I Need You (NSFW)

Jan Stevens x fem!reader

A/N: What can I say? Jan Stevens is my babygirl, I need her to be happy and loved like she deserves (fuck you Billy). Hope you’ll enjoy this (very much) self indulgent fanfic. <3

It’s no secret that Jan Stevens knows how to organise the best orgies, no secret at all. If there is one thing she won’t do, though, it’s partaking in them. She sometimes sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room and watched as naked limbs entangled together, moans filling the institute, but even that was rare. So, partaking? No, never. Not with the residents, she knew it would be highly unprofessional. She would never.

Or at least she thought. Because when you arrived at the Sonic Catering Institute a couple of months ago, Jan Stevens’ convictions had slightly faltered.

She had watched your first performance from the back of the crowd, how hard you poured your heart and soul into your art. And as she watched your trembling form stand there as the crowd applauded, blood splattered all over your naked body, Jan Stevens’ professionalism had gone out of the window. From that day on, she made sure to attend every orgy you would partake in. She would sit on the armchair in the corner of the room, face impassive as the scene unfolded before her eyes.

You could feel Jan’s stare digging holes into your body as a fellow resident’s hands glided on your skin. You always tried your best not to stare back at her, and it was torture to know that she was just a couple of feet away, that you could probably graze the fabric of her skirt with your fingertips if you only reached for her.

And when you closed your eyes, losing yourself in the mess of moans around you and the caresses on your body, all you could think about was her. How it would feel if the head between your legs was hers, if it was her mouth sucking on your clit and her fingers curling inside your cunt. All you could think about was her.

Oh, Jan Stevens.

You were thrown over the edge so hard that you didn’t even realise her name slipped from your mouth as you climaxed. But it wasn’t lost on Jan. She’d hear her name being called a dozen times a day around the institute, and even if it had been barely audible, she clearly read it on your lips.

Jan Stevens’ face twitched and she was on her feet in less than a second. She needed to get out. Out of the room, out of the institute, and most importantly out of that silly shirt that made it so hard to breathe at that precise moment.

She crossed the garden from the institute to her house in a few long strides, the heels of her stilettos digging into the damp mud.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt which she sent flying through the hallway, and by the time she’d reached her bedroom Jan was left in nothing but her long black skirt and her nude bra.

The woman sat down at her dressing table and faced her reflection in the mirror, watching the way her face twitched and how her lips wobbled. Don’t you dare, she thought.

She couldn’t, she would not allow herself to feel these things again. Not after the fiasco that Billy had been and how long it had taken her to stitch the broken pieces of her heart back together.

Jan was reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra when she heard the bell ring and her head snapped to her bedroom door. No one ever came to her house, everyone knew it was off-limit unless they were actually invited.

-

You had left the orgy a few minutes after Jan, when you’d come down from your high and realised what had just happened. You gathered your clothes and quickly got dressed as you hurried down the institute’s corridors, hoping to catch the tall woman on her way back to her house. You were pretty sure your panties were on backward and your silk shirt was misbuttoned but you couldn’t have cared less, you needed to see her.

You waited for five long minutes after ringing the bell, knowing full well Jan was inside. You could have tried ringing again but something told you that it would be useless, the woman wouldn’t open.

Your eyebrows shot up when you tried the handle and the door was pushed open. One would think Jan Stevens would be more careful with her safety, after all, there were people out there who wanted to see her dead.

“Miss Stevens?” You called as you walked inside the hallway and made your way inside the house, your body startling when the light was suddenly turned on.

“What do you think you are doing exactly?” Jan asked as she stood only a few feet away from you with her hands on her hips.

“Miss Stevens, I’m very, very sorry to disturb you. I know the residents aren’t supposed to enter your house but-“ your voice died in your throat when you finally registered that she was wearing nothing but her bra and skirt.

God, she was a vision. Milky white skin peppered with constellations of freckles, small breasts clad in nude fabric. You wanted to reach for her, now more than ever before.

“Did you…Think of me?” The woman asked, your eyes snapping right back to her face.

“I’m sorry?” You frowned and shook your head a little, unsure what she meant.

“During the orgy,” She said as she took a step closer, then another one. “You moaned my name, I heard you. Were you thinking of me or was that a way to mock me?”

Your frown deepened, why on earth would you want to mock her? Why would anyone do that?

“Yes, yes I was thinking of you. It’s hard not to do so when you’re sitting so close to me and staring. I know it’s inappropriate. It’s highly unprofessional and-“ Your rambling was interrupted by a hand cupping your cheek and lips crashing onto yours.

You melted into the kiss, your hands coming to tightly hold onto Jan’s waist when you felt your knees wobbling dangerously. The urgency in her kiss struck you like a slap to the face. How long had she been wanting to do this?

When she finally pulled away, her red lipstick was smudged up to her nose and you were pretty sure the bottom half of your face was covered in it too. And it made you laugh, which in turn made her laugh too, and you decided that her unabashedly loud laugh would be your favourite sound from that moment on.

“I need you.” Jan Stevens admitted in a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since I first met you. And I know I need to be professional but I can’t stop thinking about you…And now I know you feel the same about me.”

The way she said it dripped with softness, but there was something else there too. Jan Stevens was scared, she was insecure. You could tell by the way her big blue eyes searched for an answer in yours. And you couldn’t help but curse the imbecile that came before you and did this to her.

“Let me take care of you.” You simply answered, pressing your lips on hers once more.

She led you to her bedroom without ever breaking the kiss, her hands making quick work of unbuttoning your shirt and letting it fall to the floor in the corridor without much care.

She barely had time to step inside the room that you already had her pressed against the wall, making her whine when you pulled away from her lips to catch your breath.

“I need you too.” You groaned when your hand bunched up her skirt. And it was true. You needed her, she was all your heart and soul were craving. You needed to hear your name fall from her lips like hers had fallen from yours.

You planted a trail of soft kisses from her pulse point to her shoulder, taking pride in the goosebumps that appeared on the older woman’s skin and the small whimper that she let out.

Your hand found its way inside Jan’s underwear and her hips bucked as soon as your fingertip grazed her clit.

“Needy woman.” You whispered in her ear, eliciting another whimper as well as another thrust of her hips.

You stifled a moan when your fingers slid between her folds only to find her drenched already. She looked at you through hooded eyes, a faint smile pulling the corner of her lips.

You delved two fingers inside her sex, parting her slick walls with a delicious pressure.

Breathy moans filled the air as your speed picked up, your fingers pumping into her cunt faster than her languid mind could keep up with. You slid in and out of her in quick motions, drawing her arousal down your knuckles and onto her inner thighs.

You wished you could capture her face at that moment, head thrown back, eyes half closed and mouth agape.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Taking me so well.” You praised her and felt her walls clenching around your fingers. Oh, Jan Stevens had a praise kink then.

“Is that what you want? For me to tell you how good you are? How well you’re taking my fingers?” You grunted and curled your digits inside her, quickly finding the spongey spot you were looking for.

“You need to be worshipped, don’t you?” Your free hand joined the other one between the woman’s legs to draw quick circles on her clit.

The tightness that had been building inside Jan’s core became almost unbearable, and with a couple more thrusts it eventually snapped, throwing the tall woman over the edge. You closed your eyes as she cried your name out, your heart swelling in your chest.

You moved your hand to grab onto her waist, holding her up and keeping her from sinking onto her knees while your fingers slowed inside her. You eventually pulled them out and slipped them into your mouth, moaning as the taste of her settled on your tongue.

“Don’t go.” Was all Jan Stevens said once she had come down from her high.

“I won’t, I promise I won't.” You answered, watching the worry instantly leave her blue eyes.

How could I ever go, you think as Jan lay in your arms, the fabric of her bunny pyjamas rubbing on your naked skin with each movement of her sleeping form.

How could I ever go?

[theflashesoflove]

amuse-bouche

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

a/n: i present to you my monstrous love for this woman. you can tell what her voice does to me. i have been writing it for several nights and completely fucked up my stupid sleep schedule. proofread, but there might be some mistakes i didn't catch. perhaps i need to go outside and touch some boob- i mean grass.

warnings/tags: descriptions of an injury, blood and cunnilingus

word count: 5k

💌: @maximoffslovergirl

A loud thud. A wooden stool slipping from under your legs, a mixer falling down to the floor, smearing everything with sweet sticky substance. A bowl of cream tipping over onto your dress, your skin, all over the floors. A strangled cry in pain, a dislocated kneecap. A blood stream flowing down your leg in a perfect straight line, an attempt to stand up- more pain. 

Silence.

Your bandmates turned off the hardware, vibration and rustle of your symphony faded out. The first rule of performance: if you mess up, pretend it was intentional. Audience’s applause was a distant noise – standing on all fours, you were dumbfounded by pain, a white veil covering your vision for a split second. Good, they thought that your embarrassing collapse was just the last strike of a chord. The hall became deserted in a few minutes. A few long, unendurable minutes, and not a single person paid attention to you still being on the floor, petrified by pain. 

Finally, your bandmates surrounded you, their hands reached out to your shoulders to help you get up, but you waved them away. You knew you couldn’t stand up, no matter how many hands would help you get on your feet. You groaned, falling over to the side to get your weight off your hands and knees. Blood and sweet cream mixed on your skin, making it sticky and hard to tear away from the floor. Fuck, it hurt. Like a fire burning under your skin, the pain streaming down your right knee across your calf and ankle to the tips of your toes. Your other leg was in pain as well, but a different kind of pain. A familiar cramp twisted the muscles of your left calf, turning them to stone. Excellent, both of your legs were nonfunctional. You bit your lip to suppress your cries and blinked the tears away. 

The world around you didn’t exist anymore, pain placed you into a vacuum. At that moment, you thought it would be easier to just pass out from it, to come round when the pain was over and your bandmates miraculously delivered your body to Dr. Glock to deal with the injury. Speaking of Dr. Glock, you really didn’t want to see him. So when your bandmates suggested calling for him, you refused. They stepped away and proceeded to pack the equipment and clean up the food from the table. At least you didn’t have to attend the afterparty anymore. Stones scribbled something in his notebook, observing your agony. Perhaps he would bring this situation up during the interview. 

You looked at your leg again, the wound still didn’t stop bleeding. Pink patches of blood and cream on your skin were connected with the scarlet river system. Your knee pulsated and swelled, pain capturing all of your senses. 

But something managed to sneak in. Something soft, warm, intriguing even, something soothing and yet so very intoxicating. A hand on your shoulder. A flash of white fabric, black fabric, white fabric again, black eyeshadow, the scent of her hairspray. 

This woman thrilled you right from the auditions. No one from your band understood your obsession with her, and they jokingly scolded you for getting distracted from perfecting your performance. But you had it all figured out. You’d managed to focus on your performances, but a part of you, a very big part of you, wanted to impress her. It worked like a perfect mechanism, her scrutiny, praise and helpful remarks brought out the best of your performing abilities, which rewarded you with more of her attention. Though you were sure, it wasn’t anything bigger for her. Her attention never meant anything beyond appraising your art, and the older woman was so out of your league anyway. Elegant, statuesque, with mouth-watering curves and dainty fingers. Her signature makeup complimented her soft features, her attires were so very her, quite formal yet with unmatched grandiosity. And you knew that all of it was expensive. That the fabric of her skirts and blouses was pleasant against her body, that no seams irritated her satin skin. However the thing that brought you to the edge the most was her sultry voice. Voice that made you want to crawl out of your body to no longer be limited by the human form and encompass every vibration of her vocal cords, every movement of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, every barely noticeable breath that accompanied her words. No angel choir could ever compare to her giving dinner speeches, to her squeaking when she was enraged, to her reprimanding your bandmates for ignoring her advice, to her guiding your band through the shops practise with her languid tone.

“Jan Stevens,” you whispered, suddenly so very aware of her proximity. And of the unappealing state you were in. You must have looked pathetic. You imagined that she was about to scrunch her nose and snort, but she just looked at you and crouched beside, a worried expression on her face.

Her voice drowned out your pain for a split second, “Poor thing,” she murmured, brushing your hair off your face. “Can you stand up?”

“She can’t,” your bandmate stepped in, but Jan Stevens didn’t even turn her head away from your face to acknowledge them speaking. She indeed heard them, though, and furrowed her brow, alarmed. 

“We suggested calling for Dr. Glock. She refuses to see him,” the other bandmate meddled, annoying you to no end. You didn’t want Jan Stevens tut at you being whimsical and hard to deal with. To your relief, she did no such thing. 

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Wim!!!” Before you could answer, she called out the institute's technical assistant. When he finally approached the two of you, her gaze still didn’t leave your pained face. “Please, bring her to my house. She can’t walk.” Wim sighed, but didn’t protest. He never did. And Jan Stevens tipped generously, so he scooped you up in his arms, ignoring your hisses. 

Jolts of pain stroke you with every step Wim took towards Jan Stevens’ house. You tried not to press yourself into him too much and keep as quiet as you could. Well, you tried not to howl your lungs out, restricting yourself to teary whines. Jan Stevens followed both of you, but Wim had to wait before the front door for the older woman to open it and hold it for him to enter. He found the nearest seat he could settle you in and left, gaining a nod from Jan Stevens. 

The woman disappeared somewhere and you tried to sit as comfortably as you could. But no matter the position, it ached, and ached, and ached. You became awfully aware of how sticky your clothes were, covered in stupid melted buttercream you used for your confectionery themed performance. You didn’t mind the feeling for performance's sake, but it wasn’t about art anymore. It was about your clumsiness, your foolishness, and it was suffocating. Squirming, you decided to take your dress off and clean yourself with it, ignoring Jan Stevens’ curious look when she returned to the couloir to see you in your underwear. 

She held a small white box in her hands with a bright red cross on its lid, a first aid kit. Kneeling before you, she placed it on the floor, and waited for you to finish dealing with the cream. You hesitated as to where to put your dirty clothes, and the woman took it from you to carelessly drop it to the floor. She licked her lips and focused on your injured knee, tilting her head from side to side to examine it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be observing the afterparty?” you pried, feeling hot at being the centre of her attention.

She shook her head, “I have something more important to deal with. My absence is justified.” Your ears flushed at her words. “Are you in pain anywhere else?” 

“My other leg,” you said, “is cramping. It’s… fuck…” Your left leg was stiff, toes unnaturally curled, and the more you focused on that pain, the more insufferable it felt.

The older woman stroked your legs, not caring that one of her hands got immediately covered in gore. Humming, she decided to deal with your cramp at first. She took your left leg and stretched it out, it made you shriek, muscles tightening so hard as though they were going to be torn apart. She bent your knee and pulled it toward your abdomen, leaving faint palm prints on your skin with your own blood. You couldn’t tell if your cramp was relieved at all, because your other knee still ached immensely. Jan Stevens looked at you under her lashes as she moved your leg. She visibly swallowed, tracing the path of your half-naked body with her eyes, and finally settled your left leg to the ground. Your mouth slightly agape, you watched as she turned her attention to your wound once again, her fingers circled around the source of bleeding, barely touching, feeling how swollen your knee had gotten. 

Then, she did something you never expected. Jan Stevens leaned closer to your oozing wound, and stuck out her tongue to press it against you. You gasped, your fingers twitched – you had to stop yourself from burying them in her curls to push her away or to pull her closer. She lapped at your sore skin, acting surprised when the sudden sweetness of buttercream hit her tongue. She looked unabashedly satisfied. Your stomach flipped, a sudden gush of wetness covered your sex and you knew that you were doomed. If she had lowered her gaze, she would have been able to see the dark spot spreading on your underwear, exposing you.

"It hurts," you whined, grimacing. Her cool tongue gently swiped across your knee, aggravating. There were so many sharp sensations. And not a single question about her actions. A cramp in your left leg died down a bit, the echoes of the pain flaring up under your skin from time to time. The other injured leg ached, it ached even more now that Jan Stevens’ mouth was pressed against the mixture of your blood and sweet cream, devouring it like the best dessert she had ever had.

“I know, dear. Didn’t you know that saliva had healing properties?” Jan Stevens gave you a sickly sweet smile, but your pained expression made her face twitch in worry that she might have crossed the thin already nonexistent line. “I’ll help you, let me just…” and she caressed the skin of your calf, hands crawling up towards your knee where her mouth pressed against your skin again, making you whimper from strange, uncalled desire and, of course, boundless pain. “Shhh…” she cooed, her fingers grabbing your knee, open mouth pressed against your skin. She wasn’t kissing or licking it anymore, she just sat there, on her knees before you, her face flush against your dewy skin, hands snapping your kneecap into place with one quick motion. You cried out, hands gripping the arms of the fauteuil, nails scratching antique wood, tears splashing out of your eyes. “Oh, sweet girl,” her solacing voice brought you back to reality and you noticed that it was much easier to breathe. 

The overwhelming pain gradually stepped away, leaving behind a soreness that was much more bearable. Absolutely crushed in the armchair, you suddenly felt so, so tired. And so fucking aroused. Because Jan Stevens planted one last kiss to your knee and turned to her first aid kit to treat your wound. There was a little bit of blood on her face, almost the same colour as her lipstick. She cleaned your leg, lost in the process, and you just wanted, just needed to feel her mouth again. To see her lips wrapped around your wound, to hiss as her tongue would lap on your injured flesh again. Her soft hands flew across your skin, applying bandages, and once she was done, she sat back on her heels and placed her hands on her lap, looking up at you. 

“Better?” she asked, and you nodded, pursing your lips. Smiling, she added, gingerly, “You still must see a doctor, darling. I can arrange for someone else to examine you.”

“Thank you.” You knew that you looked like a mess. Dried tears on your face, dishevelled hair, weakness in your voice. Jan Stevens smiled and smoothed the fabric of her skirt, however she didn’t rush to get up and go on about her night. Her gaze studied you, curious, yet… unsure? She licked her lips, remnants of your blood hitting her tongue. Why did she look so hesitant after just almost drinking from your wound? You didn’t have enough strength in you to stare back, so you busied yourself with observing the couloir, now that your attention was no longer captured by strong pain. Jan Stevens fitted in this environment perfectly, and for a moment you wondered what her bedroom looked like. Was she her startling self even in the privacy of her home? Was she always wearing that makeup? She surely had to take it off at some point in the night, hadn’t she? What clothes did she sleep in? Did she sleep alone or was there someone keeping her warm from time to time? And did she even have a kitchen? It was most likely that she did, but did she use it? 

Her voice snapped you back from your thoughts, smooth as silk, “The fall was not planned, was it?” 

“Lost my balance,” you replied, not really willing to elaborate. 

“You never had problems with it before,” she wondered. 

“I just… I got lost in the sound and,” you started, unsure how to put it, “my thoughts lead me elsewhere.” 

“Where?” she leaned closer, curious. 

“Sometimes I forget that- that art isn’t all about the outcome. It’s about the process… I was carried away with anticipation of the result.”

“Tell me more,” her eyes bore into you. “What result did you anticipate?” And when she spoke like that, you knew you couldn’t withhold anything from her. 

You blushed and looked away. “I anticipated… being seen. That once we end our performance, people might get frustrated it was already over. And some of them might… might think of me, even for a second. Might… notice something about me, might be interested in something about me… and- oh, it sounds so silly.”

“And what?”

“And some of them… might want me to be in their life. Some of them might want me,” you whispered, horrified at your own thoughts. 

“Don’t you feel wanted?” She sounded almost disappointed.

The question was phrased rather oddly, you contemplated. Like you were supposed to feel wanted, like you didn’t recognise someone’s efforts. The truth was that maybe at that particular moment you did feel wanted. That maybe Jan Stevens’ treatment, and the way she still sat in front of you on her knees, looking deep into your soul, her sultry voice kissing your ears and making your body shiver with every word she spoke, maybe all of it made you feel wanted.

“I… I don’t know. My band needs me, although I’m sure they hate me for ruining the performance. But they can always replace me. And- I don’t want to be replaceable.”

It was too much to ask, you recognised that. Every person was replaceable, after all. Even directors of the Sonic Catering Institute, they had replaced one another until it was Jan Stevens’ turn to take the position. And someday there would be a replacement even for her. No person is truly unique, truly indispensable. There’s always someone else. Someone better, even. Your friend found new friends after you isolated yourself from them, your teacher found a new favourite student after you graduated, the company you worked for found a new employee after you quit. And even after your performance the audience walked away and found some other form of art to admire. They forgot about you – they probably didn’t even memorise you in the first place – until your next performance. But maybe, maybe there was someone who felt drawn to you. Maybe they weren't able to get you off their mind, maybe they attended every performance just for you alone, and maybe they would still think about you even after the residency would be over. And maybe they thought about you at night, and maybe they cried, because they would never be able to reach you, to hold your hand, to kiss you. And maybe you would inspire them to make art of their own. And maybe they would silently dedicate every art piece to you, or maybe they would say it loud and clear. And maybe they would live with a heavy soul their whole life, never having gotten a taste of you. Never having spoken to you. You would leave a trace in their heart, a scar even, and you would be irreplaceable for them until they draw their last breath. 

Having such thoughts made you feel guilty. It was hard not to lose yourself in this craving for being special, hell, these thoughts had already made you fall down and bleed and cry in pain.

“This is why you create, to feel wanted?” Jan Stevens’s voice brought you back to earth once again.

“Partly, yeah,” the older woman tilted her head to the side in question and you explained, “I value the process. I revel in the process, but I also… I also crave the unachievable outcome, is it a bad thing?” 

“Of course not,” Jan Stevens lifted herself, standing on her knees, and reached her hand to your face to gently stroke your cheek, “It’s better than lying to yourself.” 

Fuck, why didn’t she kiss you already? You reminisced her face, contorted with pleasure as she licked the blood off your skin. You reminisced her hungry gaze, the breathtaking blues of her eyes swallowed by the dark pits of her pupils. And she was so close now, she caressed your cheek, and you noticed the corner of her mouth twitch in something she tried to suppress. “Do you do that?” you breathed out, looking her in the eyes. 

“Do what?” her voice was sweetened by the amused smile that spread across her features. You wanted to grab her by the hair and bring her lips to your ear for her to whisper, and whisper, and whisper the filthiest of words. You wanted to wrap yourself in her voice. 

“Lie to yourself,” your words made Jan Stevens’ expression turn stone serious. Did you upset her? Was she about to throw you out of her home on your broken knees? She slowly rose, your head leaned backwards, following her movements. Her hand grabbed the back of the fauteuil, and after regarding you from her full height for a second, she bent down until her breath tickled your cheeks once again. 

“Yes. A lot lately,” her upper lip twitched again, and she breathed out of her mouth, hesitating for a second. “Every year,” she started her revelation, “I dread that there will be someone who catches my eye and I won’t be able to resist it.” She made a small pause, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “But I also secretly hope that among my residents… there might be someone… for me, not for the audience, just for me.” Her intense gaze turned you inside out. “Don’t you feel wanted, Y/N?” the older woman asked again, her tone different this time. “Just like you craved to feel?” And you knew you had to be honest.

“I… I think I do,” your voice trembled, ragged breaths left your mouth as she leaned closer, so painfully closer. She looked satisfied with your answer.

“Good.” And she kissed you. Slowly, although it was clear that she suppressed the urge to swallow you whole. She grabbed your chin and dug her nails into your jaw to keep your mouth open, and she swiped the tip of her tongue across your lips, moaning, the knot inside of your stomach made itself known again. “I could give you it all,” she whispered into your parted lips after tearing herself away. “I could make you feel so, so special.” Jan Stevens shifted to the side and licked the helix of your ear and you whimpered, and you clamped your thighs, the slickness between your legs was audible at this point. “But beware, once I start, I won’t be able to stop, ever,” her mouth captured your earlobe, tongue playing with your tiny earring. 

Every word she spoke melted on her tongue like sugar, syrupy sweet syllables, meringue consonants and honey vowels. Her gaze bore into you like a spoon dipping into crème brûlée, and you were finally between her teeth, an indulgence she could never resist. She caressed your torso with featherlight touches, looming over you, her nails scraping your rubicund skin ever so slightly.

“Please,” you begged and spread your legs, instantly wincing and cursing under your breath from the pain. You grabbed her hips and leaned closer, hiding your face in the delicate fabric of her white blouse. 

"Do you really think you can take it?” Jan Stevens spoke again, her voice almost dangerous, cutting through you like a knife. But there was something else in her question. It was half playful, half sincere. As if she asked 'Do you think you can handle me? My desire? Do you think you won’t get sick of me the second we finish? Do you think you really want to stay with me?’

“I can,” you said confidently, answering all of her questions at once. “Or do you want me to beg for you to finally fuck my face?” you snapped.

“That won’t be necessary, dear” Jan Stevens uttered and sharply breathed out through her nose. The upholstery dipped under her weight as she climbed onto the fauteuil, it was a tight squeeze, but she managed to fit your legs between her knees, not straddling you, not applying any pressure to your much-suffering legs. She towered over you even in this position, her crotch right in front of your face. She rushed to hike up her long white skirt, exposing her ivory thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings. Your eyes focused on her red lace knickers that looked like a cherry you wanted to catch with your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, breathing her scent in. You pressed your nose against her thigh, hands squeezing her heavenly flesh bedecked with stretch marks. She peeped at you from above, biting her lower lip in seething anticipation. 

Two of your digits dove past the band of her underwear, you coated your fingers with her essence and slowly, carefully pulled them out and sucked them into your mouth. You groaned at the taste of her, tongue ripping the string of her wetness that connected your fingers. Once your fingers were out of your mouth, she tightly fisted her skirt in one of her hands to instantly pull you towards her with her now free hand, an airy moan escaping her throat as soon as your nose pressed against her clit through her knickers. 

You lapped at the soaked lace, causing a delightful friction of fabric against her sensitive spot. With one finger, you finally pushed her panties to the side and immediately kissed her slit, eliciting a blissful sound out of the woman. Her hand was still in your hair and she was firmly holding you where she needed you the most. 

“Oh, darling,” she drawled out and closed her eyes. Her fingertips massaged your scalp, and you hummed against the slickness, causing her to growl. 

With a simmering passion, you lapped at her folds and pressed onward onto her entrance. Eating her out was an otherworldly experience, it seemed like all of your life events led you to this particular moment. Her breathy moans encouraged you to press harder, to grind your nose against her clit and keep worshipping her. At that moment, you thought of the afterparty that was held in the main building, and with a certain smugness you realised how lucky, how special you were to be here, with her, while your bandmates must have revelled in the audience's tribute. The honour of being with her was transcendent, it was the highest praise. A course that you wanted to prolong until her knees would give in, until she wouldn’t be able to release anything other than muffled sobs of overwhelming pleasure. 

Her legs trembled above you. Grabbing her ass, you helped her steady herself, squeezing and squishing her plump flesh, and losing yourself, and allowing yourself to lightly slap her cheek to give her more, to give her the diversity of sensations. To show her that you would do anything with her, anything she would like, as many times as she would like, as filthy and rough as she would like, as lovingly and tenderly as she would like. To tell her, I wanted this for so long, and I can’t believe I’m here, and I won’t let you down, and I want all of your eccentricity, all of your ardour, all of your greatness, all of you, all of you, all of you. 

I want to sleep in your bed and wake up next to you, and kiss your beautiful face the first seconds of the morning. I want to sit next to you during performances and hold your hand, and stroke your thigh when no one sees. I want to sit near you at dinners, and soothe you, when residents test your patience as they always do. I want to protect you from intruders, hell, I would slash their throats for you to finally feel at peace. I want to walk with you in the gardens and compare your eyes to the clear sky. I want to help you take off your makeup at night and apply fresh eyeshadow in the morning. I want to help you dress, I want to undress you as a night ritual. For I am greedy for you. For you finally, finally gave me a taste of life I missed so dearly. 

The agonising aching in your knee never stopped, but you didn’t allow it to distract you from her. When some sudden jolts of pain made you let out a strangled ‘aw’ against her cunt, the older woman stroked your head, comforting you. 

Jan Stevens groaned as you sucked on her clit, and you pushed your hand up under the band of her skirt, under her blouse, and you groped her tummy, nails biting into the softness. Her skin was warm, covered in sweat, – god, she must have been very hot being still fully dressed when the air around the two of you seemed so heavy and stuffy – and you kneaded her flesh before reaching even further, fingers crawling to her bra and under it to graze her hardened nipple. Your tongue swirled across her lower lips as you rubbed her nipple between your fingertips and pinched it, causing her to let out a hoarse ‘Y- yes, Yes!’. How enrapturing it was, feeling her come undone above you with the palm of her hand wrapped around the back of your head. Feeling her fingers tangling in your hair, as your digits moved in crushing waves across the skin you could reach, as her pussy fitted in your mouth oh so perfectly. A mixture of her juices and your saliva dripped down your chin and your jaw was on fire already, moving up and down, mouth closing and opening around her. And your tongue dipped into her just right, as far as it could go, and she moved her hips to meet its thrusts. 

Eventually you retracted your hand from under her clothes, it replaced your tongue, massaging her sticky entrance in circular motions. Fuck, the way she dripped on your fingers made you groan, and you tried to pull away for a second to admire her form, but Jan Stevens protested and pushed your back right on her clit.

“Ah- f- fuck, don’t- don’t stop, don’t stop, ahh- don’t you d- dare stop,” it came out under her breath, sweet whimpers getting in the way of her words. 

Clenching your thighs, you felt so close to your own release. Just a little bit more pressure, just something, something to rut against, just for a second, just a couple of swift strokes, just- oh. Maybe you didn’t even need any of that after all. Maybe Jan Stevens, oh Jan Stevens, rubbing against your face in fast hard motions with your name on her lips was enough to bring you over the edge without any stimulation. You shuddered underneath her and your fingers that previously just applied pressure onto her surface, slithered inside of her and were immediately clenched by her wet walls. She came, shivering so hard it made her slip out of your mouth and from your fingers and smear your cheek with her essence. Her moan rang across the room, you trembled under her, and your clit pulsated, triggered from that sound, causing a whimper of your own. You leaned back on the armchair, sweat dripping down your temples. 

Jan Stevens dropped her skirt and gripped the baсkrest with both of her hands, breathing heavily. She looked at you from above, a clouded gaze admiring your exhausted state. Next thing you knew, she leaned closer and kissed you with such urgency it made your teeth clash against hers.

“I have never felt so desired,” you almost didn’t catch her whispering, still coming down from your own orgasm. Her words sounded detached as if she was pondering to herself rather than talking to you, almost surprised, stunned even.

I have never felt so lucky, you wanted to say. And I would give you more, and I would push you down to the floor and unravel you, and I would let you use me again and again and again. I would do all of it, if my leg didn’t hurt so fucking bad. Oh, there was so much she still didn’t know about your feelings towards her. 

Soon after her feet met the ground, and she studied your appearance once again. You could see her musing upon something – she must have thought of the ways to help you get up. Without further ado, Jan Stevens scooped you up in her arms, and you let out a mixture of light giggles and quiet grunts from the pain. 

“Now, I will tuck you into bed like a doll you are. And I will call a doctor in the morning,” she murmured, carrying you to her bedroom.

“Can I help you take off your makeup?” you muttered, pressing your cheek against her shoulder. 

“Oh dear,” she thought about it for a second, an amused smile on her lips. You pouted, awaiting her answer. “Yes, yes you can.”

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

a/n: i can assure you that reader absolutely adored her bunny pyjamas

[s1nful-sa1nt]

MORE MEMES

i am having too much fun making these

[readingtheentrails]

Look, it's all of us when new Larissa/Miranda/Lucifer/Jane/Jan Stevens fics drop

[weemssapphic]

Do you think you could do a fic where the reader has a chronic illness? I don’t have a preference for which Gwendoline Christie character you choose, they’re all lovely. Any genre 💗💗💗

A/N: thank you SO much for this request. as a chronically ill girlie i love the idea of writing more fics like this - both hurt/comfort style but i guess also just reader having an illness and it being apart of their every day life. huge thank you to @eveymay for helping me brainstorm characters and settle on jan stevens - i think she'd be the most considerate, sweetest person to comfort someone. and thank you so much to @milfsloverblog for helping me to beta - i trust her as my number one source for everything jan stevens. anyway i hope you enjoy 💖

slow down, you’re doing fine

Jan Stevens x reader

Words: ~2.8k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: hurt/comfort, discussion of chronic pain and illness (symptoms such as fatigue, pain, dizziness, brain fog, nausea), migraine

“Hurry up! We’re leaving, you’re going to be late.” Elle’s words were accompanied by a knock on the bathroom door, and you couldn’t help but clench your jaw. 

“Just go ahead without me, I’ll catch up,” you replied - you heard a huff, and then the shuffle of footsteps moving away from the door. With a sigh, you directed your gaze into the mirror, regarding yourself carefully as your lips settled into a deep frown. You looked tired. Fitting, considering how poorly you’d been sleeping this past week. So not only did you feel like shit today - you looked like shit, too. Cool.

You’d started your residency at the Sonic Catering Institute with your group a few months ago and so far it had been like a dream come true. You finally had the time to devote yourself 100% to the pursuit of art - nearly all your time was spent rehearsing, experimenting and performing. Every day was dedicated to your craft, and it was your version of bliss.

But even bliss was hard to enjoy with a chronic illness - you constantly felt as though you were seconds away from crumbling, as though one bad day could take away everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. You’d been having a flare-up the past few days (as you seemed to have every few weeks lately, almost like clockwork) - every evening you would go to bed and pray that, come morning, your body would afford you some brief reprieve. It never really did, of course - today was no different.

A dull throbbing could be felt behind your eyes - ever present, but no less painful or frustrating - and your joints ached before you’d even moved a muscle. You’d briefly considered staying in bed today - getting up meant facing the day, meant facing your body. But staying in bed meant having to call in sick - it meant curious looks from your bandmates, it meant disappointing Jan Stevens.

Oh, Jan - infamous, enigmatic director of the Sonic Catering Institute. Your relationship was still fairly new and, well… undefined. She flirted with you relentlessly, and you flirted back, though neither of you had made a move yet. Sometimes you caught her watching you, or staring at your lips a bit too long as you spoke, but someone else was always there to interrupt the two of you. Still, you found yourself dying to impress Jan, to get closer to her, to be with her even.

So, no, staying in bed wasn’t an option. It’s not like it would magically make you feel better anyway. You’d still feel like shit - you’d just be in bed instead. 

After a few minutes of just holding yourself up on the edge of the sink, you went about your morning routine, mechanically half-assing all the necessary steps - brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, splashing water on your face.

Getting dressed was a little more challenging - it was the more exhausting part of your routine, and it was on days like today that you wished you’d chosen some stupid work-from-home job at a computer instead of your current career, if only so that you could show up to work in your pajamas and no one would care. A small (or maybe not all that small) part of your mind wandered to Jan, however, so you grimaced as you attempted to look your best for her.

~~~

Getting through the day was more of a challenge than you thought it would be. During your weekly meeting to go over notes and changes to performance techniques, you were seated directly next to Elle as she engaged in a heated discussion with Jan - Elle’s raised voice directly in your ear was enough to make your head pound viciously. You wouldn’t take pain meds yet, though - you didn’t want to risk them wearing off before the concert tonight. 

Every so often, Jan’s impenetrable gaze would flick over to you. She seemed to be able to tell that something was off - red lips pursing in thought, deep blue eyes regarding you curiously under heavy black lashes.

Elle ended up storming out of the meeting, with Lamina close behind, already beginning to argue with her. Stones excused himself, one hand on his stomach as he rushed out of the room. That left you and Jan as you slowly packed your things, feeling her gaze upon you.

Jan flashed you a smile and stood from her seat, walking over to your side of the table with her voluminous white skirt swishing behind her. She perched herself on the edge of the table in front of you, placing a hand on the papers you were about to pick up, effectively stilling your movements.

“Well, well, I finally have you alone,” she said playfully as she loomed over you - her height was as intimidating to you as it was attractive, and you swallowed visibly.

“Jan Stevens.” You tilted your head in acknowledgement. Normally, you would have thrilled at such an opportunity - right now, though, you wished you were curled up in a ball in bed.

You attempted to slide your papers out from underneath Jan’s hand - her eyes dropped to the table and she placed her hand over yours. “They’re so pretty - your hands, I mean. Here, let’s compare sizes.” She lifted her hand and nodded eagerly at you - mesmerized, you couldn’t help but place your palm against hers - it was larger than your own, her fingers longer. It was surprisingly warm and oh so soft and you felt a spark of electricity go through your body when your bare skin touched hers.

“Oh! Look how well they fit together.” Jan’s lips pulled into a wide grin and she batted her lashes, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “A perfect match!”

You flushed, feeling a warmth rising in your face, and you pulled your hand away with a timid smile. “Y-yeah.”

Perhaps, if you’d felt a little better, a little less like complete garbage, you might have had the energy to flirt back - but it seemed your traitorous body couldn’t even let you have that much, unable to summon up the effort for a witty comeback. 

Jan’s brows knit together, her lips parted slightly as she searched your face. “Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You offered her a weak smile. Jan looked skeptical, watching as you stuffed your papers into your bag and stood - too quickly, apparently, as you swayed slightly and your vision became hazy around the edges. You tipped forward a bit, catching yourself on the table and taking deep breaths, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Jan pushed off the table in an instant, standing behind you and placing a hand on the small of your back - you couldn’t help but shiver.

“Are you not feeling well, darling?” she asked, her voice gentle and breathy.

“What?” You gave her your best doe eyes, hoping she wouldn’t probe you further. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Will you be alright to perform tonight?” You could sense the anxiety radiating off of her in waves - you knew how much pressure she’d been under lately, and it was one more reason why you couldn’t let her down.

“Yes, of course.” You used all the effort you could summon up to beam at her, hoping it would set her mind at ease. “Please, don’t worry about me.”

Jan looked slightly unconvinced, but she nodded and smiled all the same.

“Then I’ll see you tonight,” she murmured. With a curious glance and a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your skin tingled pleasantly where her lips had been moments before, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. She reached out a hand to help you stand, watching as you left the room.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon passed by torturously slowly as you attempted to avoid all human interaction and wait for your pain meds to kick in - they never did. The concert was even worse. Your body was screaming at you to get some rest, but you couldn’t risk your residency - and, most of all, you didn’t want to let Jan down. So you tried to smile through it, pretending like the sound of the flanger wasn’t making your head pulse and like standing for an hour and a half wasn’t making your body ache and like the stuffy air, filled with the scent of various cooking foods, wasn’t making you feel dizzy and extremely nauseous.

And then there was the orgy after the concert - the mere thought of attending made you feel ill. You wanted to - you knew Jan would be there watching, and you would do anything for Jan. But a wave of nausea hit you just before entering the room, so you rushed to the bathroom instead. You left the bathroom door open - everyone else was at the orgy, surely no one would even notice you were gone. You sat on the floor in front of the toilet, a cool, damp washcloth pressed to your forehead. The nausea had begun to settle, but you were so tired and the bathroom tiles were pleasantly cool, so you stayed there, eyes closed, head leaned back against the wall.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the clicking of approaching heels - it wasn’t until you heard a voice in the doorway that you jumped a bit, your eyes snapping open.

“You’re not feeling well.”

Jan Stevens looked down at you, eyes flooded with concern. It wasn’t a question - rather, it was a statement - and you almost tried to deny it - then your eyes flicked to the toilet in front of you and you realized you couldn’t hide from Jan any longer. 

“Yeah… I feel like shit, to be honest,” you admitted quietly, not quite able to meet Jan’s gaze - afraid of the disappointment you’d surely see there.

The taller woman surprised you by stepping towards you and sliding down the wall until she was sitting next to you - close enough for her scent, light and floral, to fill your nostrils, but not close enough to touch you. You looked at her curiously.

“I’ve been missing you tonight. I was wondering where you’d gone.”

The thought of Jan Stevens - the Jan Stevens - missing you made your stomach do a somersault, your heart beginning to pound violently.

“I had a date with an old friend,” you joked, tilting your head towards the toilet. Jan’s lips curved up into a smile, before she turned serious again.

“You’re ill. You could have told me.” Her voice held no reproach or anger - it was soft and gentle; if anything, she sounded worried. “You could have stayed in bed today, skipped the concert.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint or- or worry anyone. Especially you.” You added that last part quietly but from the way Jan’s eyes widened, you were certain she’d heard you loud and clear.

You chewed your lip as you searched for the right words - a way to convey how you felt without giving cause for too much concern. “If I stayed in bed every time I felt like this, I don’t think I’d ever get out of bed.” You tried to keep your voice light, chuckling slightly - one of your biggest fears was always being misunderstood, not being taken seriously, being seen as useless due to your illness.

Jan reached out for your hand, threading her fingers between your own. 

“What is it? Can you describe it to me?”

No one had ever really asked for details about your illness before - some people asked to be polite, but Jan seemed so sincere, like she really cared. You cleared your throat nervously. “Well, part of it is chronic migraines. They’re, uh… not really treatable. I get nauseous a lot, and sometimes I get dizzy when I stand. I’m also really, um, tired all the time? Tired isn’t the right word, it’s more like exhausted. And it’s not just my head that hurts, it’s everything, all the time.”

You paused, thinking for a moment. “Doctors haven’t figured out why yet, it’s kind of hard to be taken seriously. But sometimes it’s bearable, you know? Like, it’s there but I can deal with it. But sometimes I flare up and that’s… harder.”

Jan nodded along as you spoke, her eyes scanning your face with great interest - when you finished, she was silent for a moment. Just as you began to wonder if you’d said too much, she stood and reached out her arms to you. 

“Come with me,” she said. You furrowed your brow but allowed her to pull you into a standing position, and then she took you by the arm and escorted you out of the bathroom - you didn’t realize where she was leading you until you were ushered into her bedroom, the door closing behind you.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here tonight. It’s just me here, you know. And you won’t have to worry about the others getting back late and disturbing your sleep.” She regarded you carefully, some emotion you couldn’t quite identify swimming in her cerulean pools.

You felt your cheeks grow warm, nerves washing over you as you looked around the spacious room, eyeing the large, luxurious bed. “You’re right, that does sound nice. I just…”

“What is it?” Jan asked, suddenly looking utterly nervous. 

“I don’t want to impose, is all - this is your private space and-”

“Is it imposing if I want you here, darling?” Jan cut you off, her lashes fluttering as she watched you drink in the space.

“Uh… no, I suppose not.” You smiled hesitantly - Jan’s smile matched your own.

“Then you just stay right here, darling. I’ll get you something to wear.”

Jan left you standing at the center of the room to head to her walk-in closet, coming back with a pair of silk pajamas and directing you to her en-suite bathroom, where she pointed out an extra toothbrush. Soon you were ready for bed and, at Jan’s insistence, you settled back on the plush mattress - it was large and comfortable, and you found your fatigued body sinking into it, your eyes fluttering closed in momentary bliss.

When you opened your eyes, Jan stood at the edge of the bed watching you, a small, adoring smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose you’d like to go back to the orgy then?” you asked quietly, feeling a familiar gnawing sense of guilt at taking up too much of Jan’s time, at asking too much from her and taking too much.

Jan hesitated, stepping even closer to the bed. “What if I want to stay here with you? Will you have me?”

“Of course,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering and your eyes widening.

A wide smile bloomed on Jan’s face, and she left the room for a minute, her hips swaying and her dress swishing back and forth. She came back in light pink, silk pajamas with a matching bonnet that had two long bunny ears dangling from the sides, perching herself on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t help yourself - you pushed yourself up and ran a hand over one of the silky, dangly ears and let out a giggle.

“What?” Jan eyed you curiously.

“Nothing,” you said sheepishly, your face flushing. “I just find you very endearing, Jan Stevens.”

That remark earned you the warmest smile you’d ever received.

After such a long day, lying in the warmest, most comfortable bed you’ve slept in in a while, you allowed your body to go limp. The aches and pains were still present, of course they were, but exhaustion was slowly taking over and your eyelids were beginning to grow heavy as Jan tucked you securely under the duvet. Jan’s scent surrounded you - it was everywhere: on her sheets, her pillows, her clothes, clinging to the air. On her, as she snuggled in next to you, eyeing you intently - those deep blue irises sparkling with adoration.

A question formed on the tip of your tongue, one that suddenly began to nag you as you felt the pull of sleep, one that you couldn’t leave unasked: “Will I still be welcome here in the morning?” It came out a low mumble as you tried not to let your sudden apprehension become too apparent.

Jan furrowed her brow, her face falling slightly as adoration and awe morphed into confusion and concern in equal parts. “Of course, silly.” She gave you a reassuring smile and placed a warm hand on your arm as she scooted closer to you, daring to rest her head on your chest. “You know, I’d like to have you in my bed when you aren’t in pain, too.”

Your belly tingled pleasantly as a shy smile spread across your face. “I’d like that very much.”

x

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[littledollll]

Y/n suddenly goes tense

Jan: “Sweetling, what’s wrong?”

Y/n, pointing at the ground next to them: “spider! Jan- spider- step on it!”

Jan, baffled you’d even suggest that: “what kind of animal do you think I am? these shoes are designer.”

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

beautiful (nsfw)

jan stevens/f!reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tags: lesbian sex, body image issues, rosacea, relationship study, oviposition

written for @alexusonfire

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

beautiful

Jan knows how to love you.

She peppers sweet kisses all over your flushed face, your rosacea rendered more prominent by the blush born out of desire as she rubs gentle circles over your underwear, the fabric growing damper by the second. She laughs when you thank her.

“What exactly are you thanking me for, darling?” she chuckles into the soft, flushed skin of your cheek as she pulls the soaked underwear aside and gently, slowly slides a single finger inside of you. 

Besides the hot, aching want, there is confusion. Does she not see you?

“I know I’m not, ah,” you breathe out, “the prettiest girl, and yet you make me feel…”

You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to find the right words, because Jan curls her finger and presses into that rough, sweet spot that makes your mind go blank. “Ah, Jan!” you cry.

“How?” she murmurs in-between soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, chin. “How do I make you feel? Tell me.”

She pumps her finger faster, applying just the right amount of pressure — she knows your body well by now, never fails to pay attention to what makes your thighs tremble and your breathing grow laboured, what makes you moan louder. 

“Wanted,” you whine as pressure deep in your belly starts to build. “Ah! You make me feel… wanted.”

“My beautiful girl,” she coos at you when you come undone around her finger. She's always warm and gentle, but still somehow overwhelming. The only thing you are aware of is Jan. Her lips on your burning cheek, her warm breath on your flushed skin, her body that radiates heat, looming over you, trapping you against the bed, her finger still inside of you. Jan, Jan, Jan, everywhere. 

“Beautiful,” she continues to whisper into your skin. She kisses your cheeks that are speckled red and that you hate so much, but she seems to love. 

She sounds so genuine that you don’t dare argue with her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She never closes her eyes when she kisses you. It’s somewhat unnerving — or it would be if it were anyone else but Jan.

“Why do you never close your eyes when we kiss?” you ask one day as you sit in the garden under the apple tree that barely started blooming, admiring blackbirds chirping.

She cups your face and pulls you close. Her bright blue eyes lined with perpetually smudged black eyeliner and that signature messy eyeshadow shine with adoration. 

“Because you are art,” she says. “And it is a crime not to admire art when it stands right in front of you.”

You laugh in disbelief, and she shuts you up by crushing her mouth into yours, making your head spin with her wet, hot kisses. 

She doesn’t close her eyes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You kiss in the drawing room, sprawled on the sofa. “Jan,” you say, pulling away, “shouldn’t we go upstairs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait to touch you,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “I want to have you right on this sofa.” 

“But it’s — ah! — only five minutes to get upstairs!” you breathe as she bites your neck. 

“Too long,” Jan chuckles into your skin and pins you down onto the sofa, straddling you. You have no further argument to offer. 

She kisses the flushing skin of your cheeks as you grind against each other. The small sofa creaks under your weight, mirrors the rhythm of your hips. Laboured breathing and quiet moans echo throughout the empty, dark drawing room. Jan watches you with love and reverence in her eyes as she reaches her peak and coats your thigh in her wetness. The mere sight makes you come undone as well. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She has a lot of love to give — too much, everyone always says — she’s too much. Too tall, too imposing, too prone to meddling into everyone’s affairs, too preoccupied with her job. She is too eager, wears too much makeup, has too extravagant tastes, likes young, pretty artists that come to the Institute just a little bit too much. 

They don’t see her the way you do. Love swirls inside of her, begging to be released, to be given. If anything, she is too loving, too generous, too kind. They say she’s too much, but perhaps everyone else isn’t enough. 

“I’m fat,” you say one evening as you’re getting ready for the afternoon mixer — an informal press conference of sorts, to announce your new album. You look at yourself in the mirror, pinching your thighs, your belly, tugging at your underwear that digs into your soft skin. 

Jan, now out of her bunny pyjamas she lounged in all day and already half-dressed, puts her hands over yours and presses her front into your back. She towers over you, and you lean your head onto her breasts. You watch her reflection in the mirror, relieved to tear your gaze away from your own image. Her eye makeup is somehow even darker than usual (if that sort of thing is even possible), her hair styled in intricate finger curls. She looks enchanting and just a bit unsettling — like an oversized doll.

She squeezes the soft flesh of your belly. “You are perfect,” she says.

“I’m fat,” you repeat.

She comes in front of you and kneels. “I never said you weren’t. I said you are beautiful.”

You sometimes wonder if Jan simply doesn't see what you see, you worry that you somehow tricked her into thinking you're beautiful — but it seems that she sees exactly what you see, and yet something completely different at the same time. 

You rest your hands on her hair as she kisses your belly, your hips, your thighs, leaving plum lipstick marks all over your skin. Her hair is hard and clumped from hairspray. You caress it fondly. 

“My beautiful girl,” she whispers, planting a kiss right onto the band of your underwear. Her fake eyelashes flutter like butterflies as she blinks up at you, watching you like you truly are a piece of art — something exquisite, something special, something to be admired. "You're simply gorgeous."

For the first time ever, you don’t argue with her. “Thank you,” you say.

She kisses your belly button and gets up. When you dress, she compliments you again, and she seems to be unable to refrain from touching you. 

She doesn’t stop showering you with compliments all throughout the evening. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You gasp when she inserts the gelatine eggs inside of you. They stretch and fill you deliciously. She discards the neon dildo once all three eggs are inside of you. 

“If only you knew how pretty you look like this,” she murmurs into your thigh as she kisses it, all while eyeing your filled pussy with lust in her eyes. Pink gelatine drips out of pink folds as the eggs slowly melt inside of you. She licks it. 

She never breaks eye contact with you as she eats you out. Your muscles convulse with pleasure, and one egg slips out of you. She catches it with her mouth, spits it out in her hand, and then shoves it back inside of you, making you groan as you’re stretched once again. 

“No one else would let me do this. No one ever let me love them like this,” she says, wiping gelatine from her lips — a futile gesture, for moments later her mouth is back on your aching pussy. She watches you as she sucks at the pink flesh and licks the pink gelatine.

“No one else would ever love me like this,” you say, unable to peel your eyes away from the odd, beautiful, fantastic, absolutely mad woman between your legs. 

She stops pleasuring you for a moment, huffing in disbelief. You feel the gust of cool air on your wet, hot cunt. “You say it as if it were a chore,” she says before continuing to devour you with gusto.

“I love you,” you breathe out after a mere couple of minutes, when an intense orgasm washes over you and eggs slide our of your pussy and onto the silken sheets. 

“I love you, Jan,” you cry as she continues to suck on your clit that aches with overstimulation, making your thighs close around her head. You close your eyes. Hot tears stream down your red, splotchy cheeks. After a couple of moments you feel her wet and slick lips on your cheeks, kissing the tears away. 

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” she says.

You believe her. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[imtheindiekid]

Sweet creature.

Prompt: Reader is the new resident at the Sonic Catering Institute run by the excentric Jan Stevens, the woman who sponsors her art and in exchange asks reader to become her lover.

Ship: Jan Stevens x fem!reader.

Warnings: FLUFF in caps, literally so much fluff and besotted reader (lol), pet names, Jan Stevens being the bundle of joy I know she is. Reader is not a minor! Kisses LOTS OF KISSES (bc you cannot tell me Jan is not a softie for giving and receiving smooches). Kisses as love language, mention of alternative food art but not really. Mostly reader and Jan being two fools in love.

A/N: Hello again! Here I come to fulfill my dream of Miss Jan Stevens having an affair with one of her residents (but a real relationship, we're a big no no when it comes to Billy Rubin and his lack of international love smh) So yeah, hope you enjoy! xo.

----

Food it was always more than the simple sustain for life, or a way of living or making profit by creating meals to offer at a place. No, it was more than that when it came to you and food, almost like a deep connection to know more about it, your curious mind wandering trough the cook books and kitchens you had access to, always wanting to know why such bond held a very special place in your soul.

The only explanation you could give it was that the universe granted you this rare talent in order to pursue it, even at a young age.

Enjoying any kind of dinners was an experiencie, and everytime you did it never failed to feed the craviness of reaching new levels when it came to food. Almost like a miracle, you decided this uncertain but luring path was the one you needed to follow.

----

It took some years and a great amount of failed plans, but you were finally happy at the way this whole thing of food music turned out, even when at an early stage of it people thought you went completely mad for creating art made by food that was not eatable at all. If they put it out like that it sounded crazy, but you knew they didn't understand, not even one bit.

Great thing you never cared for hearing others peoples opinions about you ditching college and embracing the alternative yet excentric art of sonic food catering, the one that made your heart fully happy. And so there you were, after small gatherings in cramped spaces, effort and love for this art carried you to the magnificent Sonic Catering Institute; a place where your ideas and wishes could rest easily and get sponsored by the right people. By her, and only her.

Jan Stevens was the woman you would never see at the street or a common place. You were sure she was a woman you would never see her at all, and yet, the only one if she randomly appeared behind an aisle at the supermarket or a the next table in a restaurant. The oddity about her and the looks she always wore were the whole essence why you reached for her, the reason why pleasing her was as important as creating your art.

She had you in a chokehold, your muse.

And of course, Jan Stevens knew the power she held on you as well the the love and praise that seemed to escape without shame from yourself when it came to her. It was adorable, seeing you so enamoured with her and always behaving like a puppy around her expensive dresses. She loved it, so much that it wasn't so long after you both came to an agreement; she would sponsor after the residency if you became her lover, stating that she could do international love and being thousands of miles apart wasn't a problem for her to keep loving you.

You sealed the agreement by kissing her so unexpectedly, making Jan Stevens smile.

----

It had been two and a half months since your acceptance at the Sonic Catering Institute and one month since becoming Jan Stevens newest lover, and those were blissful days. Making art and sharing a compassionate love with a wonderful woman it was truly more than you have dreamed of.

A wonderful woman whom had her slender hand wrapped around your arm while taking a peaceful stroll with you through her mansion gardens. The day was beautiful and sunny enough to make both of you take a break from brainstorming ideas for the next gathering and soundchecking, so instead of spending the rest of the day in between the sheets, you and your lover went for some calmness at their favorite place.

"Look there my love, those flowers are blossoming today."

"They are indeed sweetling. Thriving and shining like you, Y/N."

A smile appeared in your face as soon you heard the soft voice praising you and comparing your success to the bush of flowers that bloomed so beautifuly that day; Jan Stevens never failed to burst love and adoration beneath your skin, with her words and pretty names she used to call you most of the time; she still had to maintain the façade of professionalism when it came to presentations or those dinner parties she threw occasionaly.

You didn't mind it though, that people weren't aware of your relationship, they had no right to know about it or think that you're only using Jan Stevens for getting her money. So therefore, it was kept secret in order to enjoy it in your way. In a few months, you would be pursuing the next phase of your art, and at that time the residency would be over; so no worry about secrecy.

But right now, strolling by the bushes and old trees with your excentric yet handsome lover, was more than enough to you.

"How can you say such things and not make me blush like a poppy?"

You asked, gazing at her and actually starting to look as red as a strawberry, which made Jan Stevens laugh softly and reach one of your cheeks with her free hand, caressing it. The mere action had you almost like a puddle, if you could actually turn into that, but it wasn't very practical if you thought about it.

"Because sweetling, I love the red flush that crawls through this beautiful face of yours. So beautiful and kissable and which I absolutely adore."

"Jan Stevens, please my peach!"

The blonde laughed again, finding cute the way you would turn bashful at the praise she threw at you. Having enough of standing up, Jan Stevens gently pulled at your arm and grabbed the skirt of her black and white dress, leading you both to a bench near the shadow of a big tree. There, you took a seat next to the older woman, careful of not stepping accidentally on her dress.

As soon you sat down, a couple of hands went straight at your face and turned you to look at your love, who was smiling before closing the gap between you two in a series of short kisses. You didn't waste anytime and found a place for your own hands in the waist of the blonde, tracing so slightly and lovely the curves of her body possesed.

The sound of hums tickled against your lips, making you smile at it and knowing that your beloved peach was really enjoying this demostration of love. It turns out Jan Stevens love language was mostly kisses, and she loved giving them to you or receiving them happily from you; the lipstick she used always got smeared in the corner of her plump lips while you ended with a face full of lipstick stains and a drunk in love face.

The range of her kisses would vary on the mood she was; sometimes, they were no more than a peck to remind you of their love. Other times, she would pin you against the matress and leave you breathless by how her kisses grow hotter and needier, this time reminding you of the power they held.

But the ones you loved were the ones that gave with such patience and grace, holding you as if you were a fragile and delicate thing. Those were the ones that gave you at the garden and you totally fell for it.

"Jan."

"Too tired to say my name, sugarplum?"

She whispered against your mouth, kissing you a couple of times before pulling out of the embrace, but not totally to be apart. Your eyes felt heavy and tired, but an enamoured smile was in that face of yours; the sight of you, fuzzy and high in love was endearing to Jan Stevens, who couldn't stop looking at you.

"Perhaps my lovely bunny would love to go and take a nap. Looks like someone's tired."

"Not tired, just simply love drunk thanks to you peach."

"You're always seem to be love drunk baby."

This time it was your turn to laugh at her response, squeezing gently her hips while a foolish grin appeared on your face. She was right of course, you were always love drunk and all because of her; of her captivating love she had in her soul. You simply rested your head in her shoulder, pulling her body close to yours.

Jan kept a hand on your flushed face, stroking your cheeks or playing with your hair, while the other one found a place in your lap. Silence filled the space rapidly at the absence of words, but it was okay; there were moments with such intimacy like this one that words didn't need to be said. Both of you just knew how much love was in between.

It didn't take long for Jan Stevens to kiss you, never having enough of your kisses which you gladly give. Pecks turned into sweet kisses that turned into a full make out session, suddenly initiating a fire in your lower abdomen and made you whine against Jan's lips; your hands gripped her hips while the elegants of your beloved traveled to your torso, teasing you so slightly.

Then, she drew out again and caused you to protest at the lack of her warm, but a finger was placed in your lips to silence you.

"No whining darling, and let's take this into bed."

The mention of laying with her instantly cheered you up, and also caused you to stand up to take her hand and pull her out of her seat. Amused and in love with your reaction, Jan Stevens followed you through the gardens and into her mansion, already looking foward for all of the things she plans to do with you.

Oh how she loved being the headmistress of a place like this. And how she loved you.

----

The end. <3

[igelmanz]

I'm thinking about writing a Jan Stevens x Reader oneshot

[rippersz]

𝑷𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

(A Jan Stevens x Fem!Reader ~3.3K Word Oneshot) (NSFW: Daddy kink; Bondage; Degradation; Slight corruption kink; Lewd language; Cock-warming; Orgasm-denial) (MINORS DNI)

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

She’s just… sitting there. Keeping her eyes on her documents and writing for so long you believe she’s slipped into some sort of workaholic coma.

Not even bothering to look up. Not even bothering to meet your mean frustrated glare.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Instantly you try to backchat, shooting for a mocking tone as you struggle against the binds holding you in place.

“DmPh M MpH yMPh GHmPhg tMpH?”

“I don’t speak ‘cloth gag’, darling. Try again.”

But you’re too wound up to listen, so you huff and roll your eyes and look down at your predicament.

If anyone came in, they’d be shocked and horrified and probably also very turned on by the sight.

Of you on your knees. In front of Jan Stevens’s desk. Legs spread. Beautiful red rope twirling around your skin, creating pretty boxy diamond designs before sliding back to bind your hands together behind you. Nude. And blushing. With a dark rolled up cloth tied around your head, tucked in between your lips, silencing your sass. And the magnum opus of Jan Stevens’s erotic design, the very thing that’s keeping you sitting there, swirling in and out of lust and irritation, the thing one’s eye is drawn to instantly: a thick silicone toy between your legs. Suctioned cupped to the wooden floor. Tall and inhuman, with a flared base and a large head and a big shaft and a good amount of lubricant and sex slicking the entire length of it. Making it shine in the dim light of Jan’s desk lamp.

It’s black, matching the eyeshadow of her makeup, and it’s annoying as the tip of it brushes over your clit, making you jolt.

You can’t escape it. Of course. That’s the entire point of her ‘lesson’. You’re forced to endure and take and be quiet while she gets her work done. Panting and sweating in the middle of the room, abdominal muscles clenching nearly painfully, thighs burning with the spread, cunt stretched and aching for some real action. Minding your own business and searching for a climax the two of you know you’ll never get.

That’s why she likes this game so much. Sitting there in her chair, smirking to herself whenever you let out a particularly pained whimper. Always trying to get her attention but never succeeding unless you’ve gone against the rules and stopped.

Which you have.

Which is what you’re doing right now - hovering above the fucking thing while you catch your breath and curse her with your eyes. She can feel you looking, but she doesn’t give you the satisfaction of her attention. Or her praise. Or her degradation. Or anything at all! It’s maddening! It’s torture.

And it’s pissing you off.

“Jan!” You try to bark at her, struggling more in your bindings, but it only comes out as a muffled “Hmpn!”

She doesn’t respond.

If you had the strength and energy, you’d get up. But you can’t. You’re tired and dripping sweat and the situation is so erotic that you wish you had some extra stimulation to send you over the edge. Having a cock in you isn’t enough. You need her hands, her pointed touch, her lips, her breath, her words.

You need Jan Stevens.

“Continue,” she says airily, distracted and uninterested and wholly engrossed in her work.

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

You huff, roll your eyes, and after a minute of weighing the scales, finally sink down onto the toy again.

It’s pure bliss. And it feels good. And she knows that. She knows you like being filled up, feeling heavy with the pressure that spreads through your abdomen as the fake cock pushes into you. And she knows you won’t complain. Not really. Not when you enjoy how degrading it feels to slowly fuck yourself in a means so controlled. This is her design. She sits at her desk, yes, but she controls your pleasure.

“Faster.”

Just like that.

A growl bubbles up from your throat but you listen to her anyway - and your hips flex while you reach the base of the toy and grind your clit down against the silicone. It’s a soft stimulation, not nearly enough to make you cum, and it only frustrates you further. But you are nothing if not obedient, despite your irritation, so you roll your eyes and give her what she wants and fuck yourself faster. Lifting your hips and letting them fall while your muscles clench and relax. It’s a shame the head of the toy only barely brushes against that wonderfully pleasurable spot inside you. If you could angle yourself differently, and weren’t bound, it would sit right against it and make you see stars; but with the way your thighs are spread, all you can do is bounce.

It’s amusing to Jan Stevens - who continues her writing as soon as you resume your play. You notice the way her lip twitches in the light of her lamp. She’s beautiful from that angle. A cruel mistress. You want to crawl into her lap and demand kisses, but you were bad earlier. Touching what isn’t yours without even asking for permission… it was stupid to think you wouldn’t get caught. Jan has a sixth sense for nearly all things regarding you. It’s why security measures are put in place for times like these - times in which your mind is a little fuzzy and your body isn’t your own. The stop light check wouldn’t work here, not in earnest, so you decided on something a bit more abstract. If the discomfort got too strong, you’d hum a little jingle. She’s hard at work, yes, but she’s still listening. Always keeping half of her mind and heart open for you.

It’s a comforting thought.

It’s why you’re willing to endure.

“Faster.”

A whimper tumbles from your chest. The ache feels heavenly but going faster won’t get you anywhere. It only makes you warmer, hotter, more desperate for more pleasure.

But you like seeing her proud.

So you continue. Breasts bouncing with vigor and clenched hands falling open while your body moves at the sound of her commands. You go down to the base and don’t allow yourself to linger, instantly pulling up and using short fast thrusts to go down again. And up again. And down. And up. And god- it does feel good. So good. So- fuck.

“Hnh- hnh- hmmph-,” the noises are endless, forced out from your diaphragm while the toy just grazes the source of your pleasure - never hitting it in the way you want. Never making your body shiver, never making you double over and keen and pant and thrust your hips in the way you know you can when Jan is fucking you.

When her breath is hot at your neck and her hands are gripping your waist and her tongue is licking at your skin lazily. Lavishing you in her version of love as she moans into your ear and makes you whine around her fingers. Never fucking you quickly. Never giving you the rapture you truly desire. Always on edge, always cumming with permission, always a slow build and a deep bone-shaking fall. It’s a nice feeling, but you desire more. You are greedy for her true passion. You always have been.

“Stop.”

You stop. Your thighs shake. Your cunt clenches, tightening around the toy’s shaft. Slow and pleasurable. Your body’s way of trying to milk the faux-cock of any essence it can give you. Of any warmth.

The sound of a creaking chair has you looking up, and you watch with a fierce blooming hope as Jan Stevens slowly rises from behind her desk. The tips of her fingers press against the dark wood before she’s taking them away and gently dragging them along the edge - making your eyes run to the sensual sway of her body. Admiring with as much passion as you can while she takes her sweet time in getting to your side. Heels clicking slowly. Long legs oscillating with the small side to side of her hips. She looks glorious. Strong. Like your ending world and your burgeoning life. All wavy blonde hair and smokey eyes and rose red lips. Beautiful and evil and sexy and towering and dear gods you want her with a vicious hunger.

And you can tell she knows this by the shadowed look in her blue eyes. Full of a fiery lust and desire all her own. All for you. Looking at you like you’re nothing and everything all at once. Like you’re the answer to every question she’s ever had. And you watch as she kneels in front of you, pressing one knee to the floor and leaning on her other leg. It stretches the fabric of her skirt, but she doesn’t seem to care. All she’s interested in is you.

You, who looks at her with an endless amount of hope. So much of it you can see the way her lips part into a sweet proud placating smile as soon as her face lines up with yours.

You stare at each other until Jan tilts her head - and your chest heaves with a small husky whine. She’s proud of the sound; of the lust she’s inspired in you, and takes that time to drag her gaze over your body. Sweating, shivering, wrapped up like a present for her, hovering over a cock that’s far too big for you. Barely able to lift yourself off of it without collapsing down on it again. Sitting there even while the silence builds, looking at her like she can give you all you’ve ever wanted, cunt clenching around something that can’t fulfill you properly.

“You deserve this darling,” is the small coo that falls from her tantalizing red lips. “A punishment is always due for disobedience.” And then a pale hand is lifting from her lap to reach up and cup your jaw. You press into her hold, delighting in the slightly clammy feeling of her soft skin. It makes her expression soften. “You know that, don’t you?” High pitched and child-like, she mocks you.

And you want to say no. You want to demand that she give you the pleasure you so desperately want. But instead, just to appease (and gain her favor), you nod. Your eyes are brimming with frustration and desperation and a hint of sadness and fury and an overwhelming amount of lust for her - but still you nod. And Jan is delighted by that. Her eyes roam over your face, still held in her palm, before she’s letting her eyes linger along the length of your body. Over your breasts, your thighs, the pouch of your tummy, the red of the binding ropes, and finally - the heaven between your legs, shadowed by your bodies, holding her treasure. It sparks a streak of deep sadism in your lover, and she doesn’t hesitate to show you that.

“Mmm yes. Taking cock like a good girl, aren’t you?”

Her sudden low purr, warm and full of praise, makes your hips jolt. Skin goosebumped with surprise, you swallow a keen that begs to fall from your mouth. Yes, you want to say, Yes yes yes taking cock like a good girl for you Jan. But you’re gagged and you’re dumb and you can’t. So you wiggle your hips instead, cunt aching for release and clit twitching with desire. So hot and needy-

“Oh look at you,” Jan whispers, eyeing yourself like a bidder at an auction - greedy and intrigued. Utterly fascinated with your body’s responses to her words. “Just a bit of praise is all it takes hm? That’s all you need, little one?” And when you feel your mind melt, when you notice the retorts die on your tongue, your hold over yourself loosens - and your legs quiver as you go down again. A small gasp falls from Jan’s mouth, quickly morphing into a moan as she watches you close your eyes. “That’s a good pet. See?” Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips. “Not so bad, darling…”

Yeah, you think briefly to yourself, not bad. Not bad. So good, actually. Feels- hng- yes- good.

Jan leans closer. Until her mouth is lined up to the shell of your ear and her breath pours over the side of your face. Cascading down your sensitive neck. Teasing and predatory. She’s enjoying her control. She craves more.

“All you want is this, don’t you?” Your back arches, mind molding itself to her words. “All you want is me.” There’s no doubt. “All you want is my pleasure. To please me. Am I wrong?” She asks, faking the genuine interest in her question, knowing that you’ll shake your head and moan a soft ‘mmph-mmph.’ Her smile presses to your ear. “No. Of course not, darling. I’m never wrong. I always know what’s good for you. Don’t I?” But you’re too far gone to respond. Too obsessed with the way the cock presses into you - and it doesn’t even matter if it doesn’t hit that delicious little spot - it still feels nice. Still feels wonderful. Still could get you there if only Jan stays-

“HNGH!” Your eyes fly open, wide and watery and a little fearful of the sharp feeling that shoots from one side of your chest to the rest of your body.

You don’t even have to look down to know that Jan’s arm has wandered, and her hands have moved. From your jaw to her lap, and the other from her lap to your chest - evil in its path as two nail-polished fingertips wrap around your nipple and twist. Pulling slightly, moving until the skin folds and grows taught and you’re letting out a small screech from the back of your throat - staring at her like she’s just done something horrible.

But she hasn’t. Of course. She knows you.

Your cunt still clenches around the toy. Your clit still aches. Your body still thrums. Wet and desperate, you go a bit faster as she takes her hand away and growls:

“Don’t. I.”

You can’t even remember the question.

Doesn’t matter.

You nod anyway, and go ‘mhm! mhm!’ from behind your gag, nodding and agreeing - and then closing your eyes again, swiftly clawed over by the waves of euphoria that hit you whenever your thighs touch the floor and your pussy touches the base of the faux-cock.

Jan smiles.

“I know darling, I know. I’m so cruel, aren’t I?” She coos, tilting her head to the other side to watch your body move as you take her toy over and over and over again. “Does Daddy’s cock feel good, pretty girl? Hmm?” Her words slow down - affected by the entrancing show you’re giving her. “I know how much you like being filled,” Jan sighs, staring off into space as though she’s thinking, “so I just had to choose one of the largest ones. You understand, don’t you?” At this point, she knows you’re past the threshold of responding. Only able to take the words and convert them into sensation, dedicating your desire to her speech as your hands curl behind your back and your neck slowly falls to the side.

Yes. Yes feels good. Yes, thank you. Yes-

“Say ‘thank you’ Daddy.”

Oh GOD.

Your eyes flutter open, brows furrowed with the weight of your ecstasy while you meet her gaze. She smiles, sharp and clever. Still kneeling by your side, not touching you with anything but her accented voice and her gorgeous words and the small buzz of her proximity. So close that if you leaned forward, you could feel her.

“Say it.” Jan whispers. You watch her lips move. “Thank me for your punishment.”

“Hmph hm fhph mphu pnhmnt,” you speak meekly through the gag, blushing instantly at the small mewl that melodies your words. She knows what you’ve said of course, but that doesn’t stop her from putting on a fake pout and humming in disappointment.

“I didn’t understand that, little one. Can you repeat yourself, please?”

Your eyes turn wide and pleading, showing the fact that you’ve already had enough of her teasing and your attention is being taken away from your pleasure and you need to get back to being praised until the point of utter bliss-

But Jan Stevens doesn’t care.

“Now.” Her pout grows into a hard line and you whimper with the effort it takes to say your words again.

“Hmph hm fhph mphu pnhmnt!” You exclaim, hips twitching forward with frustration while you glare at her.

Red lips quirk up at the ends, pulling into a slow smile at your expense. Oh she loves this.

“My, how dirty,” Jan growls, her chest jumping with the smooth chuckle she lets out into the silence. “When did my little one hear those words?” Pale fingers go up to her heart, covering the expensive fabric of her shirt while she sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening comically. “I never taught my darling how to say such depraved things. Where did you learn that, sweet girl?” You stay quiet and start moving your hips quickly again, sinking up and down on the toy while your muscles burn with the constant workout. “Hmm?” She shuffles closer - and then as quick as lightning, moves the hand from her shirt to the back of your head and fists your soft hair in her palm. Clenched between her fingers - before being tugged back. Making your neck snap back for her while she hovers over you and brushes red lips up against your ear. “Who taught you how to act like such a slut?” Jan hisses, teeth grazing your skin. “Who taught you how to pant like a bitch in heat?” There’s a pause while your eyes roll back into your head. “Because I don’t remember doing that, darling. I don’t remember corrupting you.” Then she pulls back, admires the flush of your skin and the sinful sounds that fill the room- of course coming from the wet slick of your cunt swallowing the toy. “Did Daddy do that?” She asks, pouting again. “Did Daddy ruin you with her cock? Hmm? Did Daddy fuck you so many times you became more whore than you did human? Is that it?”

It’s too many words. Too many good words. Too much pleasure and ache and need and lust and the way you can’t stop whining for her, your tongue pressing to the gag without thought, your throat and your body and your lungs and your thighs working over time, trying to get the point across that you need her- you need her so bad-

“Oh look at you,” Jan moans.

“Pathetic.”

And with a speed you can’t even comprehend, as mushy-brained and soft as you are, the chill of the room comes floating back to your body - hitting the front of you with a force that makes you shiver and release a loud, needy noise to try and get your lover’s attention. But she’s the cause of the problem. She’s stood up, taken one last look at you down her nose, and click-clacked her way back to her desk. Leaving you wet, blushing, staring after her with quivering lips and an abdomen that’s exhausted from the constant clenching and unclenching. Utterly speechless and a little confused and worried that she’s just going to keep you like this. But she won’t. She won’t. She’s just going over to grab her jersey and then she’ll collect you and you’ll walk back to the warmth of your bedroom and you’ll both drown in the passion you have for each other-

“Stop looking at me like that. Resume.” And her hand waves out flippantly while she takes a seat back into the rolly-chair behind her desk. And returns to her work.

Blonde hair lit up by the desklamp. Hunched over papers with a pen quickly scooped up into her hand. Silence again in the room.

And then she’s just… sitting there. Keeping her eyes on her documents and continuing her writing like nothing ever fucking happened.

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

Grins so widely. - Rip x

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

[dumbasslesbi]

My Playful Bunny

Jan Stevens x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW!!!! but also fluff <3

A/n: You have no idea how shocked I am that I finished this. I haven’t written a fanfic in a long while and I don't know what happened lol. I watched Gourmet Flux a while ago and next thing I know I’m writing about Jan Stevens. Sorry if there’s any typos or mistakes, I tried my best to proofread but I have dyslexia so sometimes things can still slip by me. Hope y’all enjoy!

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

The microphone to the compressor to the reverb to the chorus to the phaser to the flanger to the delay to the looper to-

“Y/n?”

You look up, shocked and bewildered from your notes to see Jan Stevens with her sickly sweet smile staring right into your eyes. You couldn’t help but relax once you saw her precious face since her smiles always brought you such joy. Secretly you had the biggest crush on her once you were admitted into the culinary collective. You knew of her but you never knew that she was such a goddess and quite kind with everyone she interacted with. While she was quite attractive, you also had the utmost respect for her opinions on your art, she always gave your collective amazing advice and impressed you with her knowledge of signal flow and how to get the best sound possible. While being the designated tracker in your collective you always felt under pressure and would slip sometimes during performances, getting lost with all the pedals or forgetting to plug something in which always ended up with your other two partners yelling at you and getting quite frustrated with you. 

However, no matter how badly you goofed up, Jan Stevens was always there to help and cheer you up. After performances you would be crying in a corner and she would come and try her best to calm you down. She would always tell you such sweet things such as “Darling, it’s quite alright, we all make mistakes during performances”, “Don’t cry over nothingness my sweet girl, the performance was quite spectacular”, “Even if it was a mistake, it still sounded wonderful”. She always was able to help you and cheer up before giving thanks to the audience. She always there for you and always gave you the creative freedom you yearned, no matter how stupid some of your ideas may have been.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” she asked again, looking at you with a bit of concern. You hadn’t realized that you still had said nothing to her and were just staring at her with a blank expression. “Y-Yes Miss Stevens, I’m quite alright. Just working out the signal flow for tonight’s performance” you told her, standing up from the grass in the garden. You always felt better working and thinking outside than being cooped up in the room you shared with your collective. 

“Don’t fret over such miniscule things y/n, you’ll do just fine darling. I have full faith in you if that makes you feel better in anyway whatsoever” she said, sitting down on the grass and grabbing your notebook. You always found it quite funny how sporadic she could be, always reminding you somewhat of a bunny or a rabbit. Sitting back down next to her you tried to act normal and not anxious whatsoever by her now looking through your notebook.

It didn’t just hold your notes, but also your sapphic poems that you wrote about a certain someone. In reality you were sweating bullets, hoping she wouldn’t flip far enough to read them. “Y/n? What’s all this” she asked and you face lost all of it’s color. She found them, dear god she found them. It was over. Your residency would be terminated immediately. There’s no way in hell she would let someone who saw her in such a way stay and complete their course. Your days of being in a collective were over.

“I- uh, I’m not quite such what your talking about Miss Stevens?” You said,hopefully playing it off and letting her think that the poems weren’t about her. “I think you know very well what I’m speaking of y/n, come let’s discuss this more in my office, I would like this to be a more private conversation” she said, swiftly getting up and turning to head towards her office. You quickly followed but couldn’t help but stare at her. The way her hips swayed as she walked, although she was wearing quite a long skirt, you could tell her long toned legs were hiding in there, begging to be shown. Once you reached her office you quickly closed the door, prepared to face your doom of being kick out. However, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. 

As soon as you closed the door, she pinned you against it and basically started attacking your neck. You couldn’t help but ease into her and started holding her hips, you were still shocked none the less but you needed to hold her. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do this” she told you in between the barrage on kisses on your neck. “Miss Stevens-” “Jan, call me Jan” she said, stopping to look you right in your eyes. You couldn’t help but get lost in her blue, almost ice-like eyes. “Jan, I need you to kiss me, I need to know this isn’t fake” you asked her, practically begging.

“Darling, this is anything but a dream” she said as she closed the space to finally kiss you on the lips. Her lipstick was already practically off and was all over your neck. The hunger between the two of you only grew more and more. Her caressed started to feel more of you and at this point, you had practically been groping her butt. Finally when the two of you pulled away for air is when she dragged you out of the office and rushed you to her room. She shoved you onto the bed and before you could even understand where you were or what had happened, she was fully undressed in front of you.

You couldn’t help but stare at her beautiful pale glistening skin, you were also quite right about her tall toned legs and stared at her in utter hunger. She grabbed you chin and guided you up to kiss her once more. This time however when she pulled away, she shoved you back and got on top of you. “You're probably quite peckish by now aren’t you darling? I have you full course meal right here waiting for you.” she said, alligining her pussy to be directly above your face. You stared at her once more, nonverbally asking for consent to dive in, searching for her icy blue eyes within her clouds of black around her eyes. She gave you a swift nod which left you in a full predatorial mode. She had seen you perform more than enough during the after show thanks but she didn’t know you were going to be this relentless. You had her practically screaming with the way you ate her. You made sure to not waste a single drop of her sweet nectar. You weren’t sure if this was gonna be a one done deal or not so you decided to be a full glutton. Eating her out as if she was your last meal. “Oh god y/n, I-” she screamed out as if on cue you could feel her legs shuddering around you.

You didn’t care however, you continued your ravinish attack on her poor pussy only to bring her to another orgasm, which lead to another one until she was practically begging for you to stop in a noncorrhent gumble of words. “Y/n- I, oh my, please” she said, tapping at your arms to let her go. As if waking from a hypnosis you let her go and layed next to you, practically gasping for air. 

“Jan! I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me I just-” you stopped mid apology only to have Jan’s lips on yours once more, moaning as she tasted herself on your lips. “Once again always apologizing, you did nothing wrong darling, you did exactly what I asked for” she said, giving you another quick peck to your lips. You couldn’t help but embrace her and snuggle into her after all that happened and put your head on her chest to hear her beating heart calming down. 

Eventually you both talking about everything and nothing until you finally had the courage to ask about your relationship. “Jan, I need to know. I-is this a one time deal or is this something that is planned to last” you asked, looking up only to see pure concern in her eyes. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breathe which prepares you for the bad news that this was just a one time sex deal. “Y/n, I won’t lay here and lie to say you aren’t the first resident I’ve had in my bed. I’ve only done this once before and truly regretted it, I don’t want this to be seen as a power move or some twisted domination kink. When I read your poems it struck something that I never felt before, it was also me going after and lusting after other people. Never in all my years has it been the other way around, I’ve never felt so needed from another person. So no y/n, I would not like this to be a one time deal. As you said yourself, I would love to be your playful little bunny” she said with a giggle at the end, holding your cheeks with both of her hands. 

You never felt so happy and free with another person, so loved. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit too and feel tears threatening to come out of your eyes. However these weren’t painful tears like all the others. Finally you had tears of happiness before you closed the distance and kissed her with a sweet kiss that made you both swoon. 

Breaking away Jan couldn’t help but stare at you and then whispered into your ear.

“I believe it’s my turn to have my way with you darling”

“Anything for you my playful bunny” 

[milfsloverblog]

•☽MASTERLIST☾•

!Requests are closed!

!MINORS STAY AWAY!

My AO3 (if you prefer to read there)

My taglist (if you’d like to be added)

Who do I write for?

any of Gwendoline Christie’s characters!

What I won’t write?

CNC, smut involving minors, pregnancy, age regression, grooming, and probably more.

I’d say I’m best at writing heart wrenching angst and filthy smut, but I also love fluff and all the other good stuff.

Also, I might take weeks (or months?) to answer your request but I promise it’ll come!

————————————————————————

~ Larissa Weems ~

- Stood up (NSFW)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

- On Your Knees (NSFW)

- Life Eternal

Can you hear me say your name forever?

Can you see me longing for you forever?

Would you let me touch your soul forever?

Can you feel me longing for you forever and ever?

- War Is Over

- Secret Benefits (NSFW)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

- Peace and Quiet

- Third Time’s a Charm

——————————————————

~ Jane Murdstone ~

- Unlace Me (NSFW)

- How Eve Felt (NSFW)

- Green-Eyed Monster (NSFW)

——————————————————

~ Jan Stevens ~

- I Need You (NSFW)

- Too Tired To Say My Name? (NSFW)

————————————————————————

~ Brienne of Tarth ~

- Tokens of Devotion

————————————————————————

~ Miranda Hilmarson ~

- Feud and Fondness

- Friday Nights (NSFW)

————————————————————————

~ Lucifer ~

- Respite in Heaven (NSFW)

[theflashesoflove]

break it to me

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

summary: Jan Stevens and one of her female residents kept dancing around each other for too long. At one particular afternoon the resident couldn’t take it anymore and recorded a voice message to put Jan Stevens in her place.

a/n: watching this film was (not) a mistake. i can’t stop thinking about her. so here’s a quick and rather simple (?) one-shot since i’m pretty spent after writing the previous piece and needed to relax my brain (yes i’m weak and fragile like that when it comes to writing even if i enjoy it). but i had to release this off my head, ahhh!!!

warnings/tags: mentions of smoking, sub!jan and dom!reader dynamics, dirty talk, (dicta)phone sex

word count: 2.5k

One of the things that accompanied your residence at the Sonic Catering Institute was interviews with Stones, Jan Stevens’ documenter. It all consisted of rather simple questions about your background, about the relationship within the band and about your stay at the institution. 

You never really felt that someone would want to listen about your life, so usually you kept silent, not being shy, just keeping your thoughts to yourself. And there were quite a lot of them. So these interviews were a breath of fresh air, having the ability to prattle on about stuff because someone asked about it. A good conversation always made you so talkative it was almost impossible for you to stop. In a nice company, you felt comfortable to talk more, and Stones seemed like a decent man, though a bit manipulative with his questions on rather sensitive topics regarding your band. 

He asked you about the quarrel among your bandmates that you didn’t participate in, about what you would like to do after the program was over, about your relationship with your family and about your personal interests, apart from sonic catering. You answered the questions with a certain lightness in your chest, happy to be listened to for once. 

“And for my last question,” Stones started, his attention entirely on the notebook in his hands. “How do you feel- uh,” it seemed as though he was searching for words in his notes, “about the hostess of the institute? Do you like her?”

Oh, that. You and Jan Stevens had a certain dynamic since the first day you arrived. She seemed drawn to you, and you never really protested. She was friendly and helpful, generous and all that stuff. But sometimes she was also playful and tactile, and certainly chattier with you more than with the other members of the band. And did you like her? That would be an understatement. She ignited a fire within you that could never be put out. It was obvious that she felt pretty much the same. 

“Who’s asking?” you smirked and took a drag on your cigarette. 

“W- well, I am asking. So, do you like her?” Stones replied, suddenly very nervous. 

Why would that information be necessary anyway? It was obvious that you liked her. But maybe not to Jan Stevens herself? Even after you kissed? 

Yeah, that happened, too. What a strange encounter it was. Jan Stevens caught you in the backrooms and initiated a conversation that didn’t last very long. At some point, she gave you one last praise about your performance and, as if pulled by an invisible force, leaned down and kissed you. You were startled with such straightforwardness, but you liked it. It was a quick, softest kiss, you didn’t even have the time to wrap your arms around her. She pulled away, a somewhat terrified look on her face. For some reason she felt the urge to apologise and after muttering a soft 'I’m so sorry', she disappeared. 

Ever since that day she tried distancing herself from you, it was very obvious that she fought a battle in her head every time she looked at you during late night dinners and midday meetings with your band. Nothing could hide her yearning hungry gaze and how she squirmed in her seat every time you entered the room. You never asked her about that kiss, you never told her how much you wanted her. And sometimes it felt even enraging, how she decided for both of you to end something that didn’t even begin. She could come and get it, after all. If only she had the guts to do it.

“Jan Stevens reads your notes, doesn’t she?” Of course, she did. That was the whole point of the interviews. Stones nodded. “I don’t think my bandmates received that question, huh?”

Stones’ expression gave out that no, none of them did. Your lips curled into a grin, and you looked at the dictaphone on the coffee table. 

“Are you recording all of this? On this thing?” you asked. Stones nodded once again and you grounded the cigarette out in the ashtray. “I am very grateful for the hostess’ support. And yes, I like her. I like her very, very much. Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Yes, why?”

“Can you leave me to it? There are some things I want to say to Jan Stevens in private.” At first Stones wanted to protest but in the end he didn’t really care. 

“Alright, I need to go to the bathroom anyway.” And he left. 

You looked at the clock on the wall: 3:20 p.m. Oh, this is going to be a long message. Jan Stevens had no idea what she got herself into. 

“So instead of talking to me directly you send Stones off to me to talk about us? I have to admit, I am a bit angry. You really got under my skin, huh,” you started, grabbing the dictaphone from the table. 

“I… I meant it. I like you. And I know that you like me. Why did you run away that night? I see how you look at me. I see it all. And I could give you everything, if only you had asked. You could have just invited me to your house and I would rush to slip out of my bed and come see you. And you could personally ask me if I like you.

“I have something in mind, though. Please, if you don’t want to listen to all of this, you can turn it off. But maybe you need this. Maybe I need this. I just- I want you to know that I not just like you, I want you. And I never told you otherwise, so I don’t understand- okay. We can talk about it later.  I hope we will. Now, If you allow me by listening further, I could indulge you in something.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and thought about it for a second. You had to just start. It would come to you naturally. 

Then, you started your monologue. Slowly, in airy voice, building up necessary tension and separating your words with languid pauses.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Please, make yourself comfortable. I am not used to performing with my voice, but I think I know a thing or two. And are you in your office right now? I hope not. If you are, I want you to press pause and go to your bed. If you are already in bed, just lay down and rest the dictaphone on your pillow. Good.

“Now, be a good girl and undress yourself, don’t worry, I’ll wait for you, but don’t make me wait for too long. I want you completely bare for this… Did you start undressing yourself? You better hurry up. I’m growing impatient, dear. And I don’t want to sit here for too long and make Stones nervous, after all. Yes, slide these knickers down your legs. I wonder what colour they are. Oh, how I wish to be there right now and take them off myself. You have absolutely no idea. Keep undressing if you didn’t finish already. I’ll give you a few more seconds…

“Very well. Lie back down on your pillows. Hmm… Close your eyes. Bring your fingers to your mouth, two is enough. Good, good. Make them nice and wet, push them as deep as they can go. I want you to push in and out, in… and out. Yes. A few more times just for me? Aren’t you a sweet thing, Jan Stevens? I wonder what you taste like. I wonder how it would feel to have your lips wrapped around my fingers. Now, you can take them out. Make sure they are really wet, don’t cheat. Alright, slide them down your body, slowly! Yes, yes, right between your breasts. When you reach your belly button, stop.

“I want you to touch your breasts. Don’t rush, just nice and gentle, just like that. Just like I would do. Play with your nipples, hmm, yes, you can rub them, you can wet your fingers once again and circle. You can pinch yourself, if you’d like. Yes, yes, I knew you would like that. 

“I can just imagine you laying there, are your legs spread? Yes, make sure you make yourself open for me, and no, don’t stop touching your breasts. Be patient. Oh, what a mistake you had made. You thought you could fool me with this stupid interview, but now I am the one in charge. And you will do as I say. Right, where was I? You can slide your hands down your sides, but don’t you dare touch that pussy. Just across your stomach, yes, yes, and you can stroke your thighs as well. It’s a Thursday afternoon, by the way. Half past three, I think? But you already know when that was recorded. I hope you’ll listen to it tonight. Don’t make me wait. You are the one who should be waiting like a good girl, spread on your bed just for me. And I will be sitting here and guiding you through it. You are so hot, dear. Feel how warm and soft your skin is under your fingers. Don’t stop until I tell you so. Oh, Jan. Can I call you Jan? I think formalities are long forgotten anyway. Jan, Jan, Jan. I like how that sounds. I would like to call you my mistress, but I feel like a good girl title suits you better. For now, at least. Now, say my name. Mhm.. you know I can’t hear it, but I can vividly imagine how it sounds on your lips right now. Louder… I. said. Louder.

“Imagine me sitting right between your legs and ask me nicely. Say ‘please’. I like how polite you are. Yes, yes, what is it? What do you need? Are you still following me? Oh, I can’t do anything with you if you don’t tell me what it is that you want. Do you want me to kiss you? Do you want me to fuck you? I am afraid you have to deal with it on your own. No, I didn’t tell you to touch yourself yet. Are you getting wet? I hope so, or I must be terrible at this, huh. Now, roll to your side. Left or right, I don’t care. But since you are right handed I would suggest rolling to your left. Are you settled? Good. Good girl, so good at following my orders. Grab your ass with your hand. Just like that. Mhm, I can imagine how soft that is. Squeeze it for me, Jan. I want your nails to leave prints…

“Now, I need you to slap it. Yes, you heard me. Just a light slap, oh, yes, feel how it wiggles? That’s what I like. That’s what I would want to see if I was there. Such a pity. Slap again. You deserve it. Harder. Yes, harder. Even harder. I do hope you behave and follow my orders. Yes, bury that pretty face in your pillow. One more time. One more. And one last time for me. Hmm… good. Stroke your skin, I’m sure it hurts. Softly and slowly, yeah. You can turn on your back. 

“Don’t forget to spread your legs again. Are you panting already? I barely did anything. Well, I did nothing, it was all your doing. Open your pussy with two fingers for me. Careful, don’t touch your clit yet. You can move your fingers up and down your lips, yes, nice and slow-“

Tum, tum, tum. 

“What is it?” you turned your attention to the door. 

“Are you finishing there?” Stones asked. 

“No, she’s nowhere near finishing. Now leave me alone,” you snapped and continued speaking into the dictaphone. “Oh dear, sorry. We wouldn’t be interrupted if you just invited me to your house. Now, what are you doing there? I hope you keep following my orders. Move your fingers lower. Mhm, feel how slick you are. Perfect. Make your fingers wet and touch your clit. Don’t rush. Never rush until I tell you to go faster. Circle it for me, right, just touch yourself like you always do. Like you do when you lay in your bed and imagine my head between your thighs. Do you do this every night? Every night since we’ve met? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. Are you squirming already? Go slowly, my love, and don’t apply much pressure. Lightly, yes, such a good girl. My mouth is tired of speaking already, you know, I usually don’t talk much. But when it comes to you, the only way to shut me up… yeah, you guessed it. Fuck, I’m so wet for you right now. The picture of you in my head drives me insane…

“Stop touching yourself. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself. Don’t be upset, dear. Just push your fingers inside, it’s all I want. Very well. I’m sure it slipped in easily. Patience, patience, and push gently. Deeper. That’s what I would do to you. Do you like it? Is there something else that you need, Jan Stevens? So insatiable. I adore you for it. Keep fucking yourself and listen to me…

“Imagine me fucking you with a strap, thrusting painfully slowly. Deep. Making you grow impatient with every second of it. I would pound into you, gaining speed just to pull out and push inside of you again, and you would moan and beg for me to go harder. Don’t worry, I think of it every night myself. It puts me to sleep, thinking of all the things I could do to you. Or do you want me to fuck you with my tongue? To bring you to orgasm after an orgasm with my mouth. Or is it only my fingers that you need? I would stroke them up and down your needy cunt and taste you on my fingers before pushing them inside, but still. I would go so slow, I would make your legs tremble under me. And you would look so beautiful, just like you always do. I can imagine that pretty mouth of yours open. I bet you sound divine. Are you still listening? If you are, pay special attention right now,” and with that, your tone changed, growing even lower and hotter. 

“Pull your fingers out of yourself. I need you to call me right now and tell me to come see you. Yes, you heard me. If you have listened up to this point, you know what I will do to you. Call me. I am waiting. And I am impatient.”

You ended the recording and breathed out. If Stones wouldn’t deliver this to Jan Stevens, you would kill him with your bare hands. 

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

The night of the same day, Jan Stevens was lying on her sheets, absolutely ruined, desperate. A voice recorder on her pillow. Her chest rose up and fell back down in heavy breaths. She cleaned off her fingers and stood up from her bed, whimpering when her tights pressed together. She reached the stationary phone and pressed it to her hot cheek, panting, waiting for you to answer.

[s1nful-sa1nt]

am i really about to write a fic where Jan Stevens has Spicy Fun Times with someone who gets aroused by cooking??? the answer is yes

i have had this bouncing around in my head for like a week now and i just have to do something with it