#flux gourmet jan stevens

[rippersz]

𝑷𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

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(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)

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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.

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Grins so widely. - Rip x

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[meowmeowhissss]

She is perfection and I am going crazy right now

[cordeliasdarling]

She lives in my mind rent free.

[gwensuniverse]

Gwendoline Christie as Jan Stevens out of context

Strickland, P. (Director). (2022). Flux Gourmet [Film]. IFC Films.

[bitch-we-have-a-hulk]

[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

[crow-raven-crow]

𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐫𝐭

~ Red Edition ~

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓 |

a little treat while i get through writers block and finals season &lt;3

i was mia for a hot second because college is really picking up right now, but i swear i'm all good ! i've had a few check in on me and it made my day it was so cute. hopefully i'll get a request out by the end of tmr

also i do have photos of our lovely Jan Stevens in red, so expect those at some point

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[gwensstar]

SLOPPY DINNER

[ Jan Stevens x reader, nsfw, sub reader, bondage . . ]

squirming on her lap I couldn’t help but avoid her gaze, all those touches and soft words made me melt and I couldn’t manage to make a coherent sentence.

“if you need me, you will have to say so pretty thing.” Jan coed and I almost whined before I realised that it wouldn’t be the wisest. Jan Stevens didn’t go far for punishment. “please, I promise to be good.” she pecked my forehead and ran her fingers through my hair. “there’s my good girl.” I could feel all the heat running to my cheeks and down to my core. being sat down on the couch now, she disappeared into the bedroom. oh she had something in mind.

blindfold was soon tied around my head, soft silk, nothing to harm my soft skin. Jan was very careful about this, making sure I were safe and comfortable all along. “to heighten your senses, sugar.” pecking the nape of my neck, she had me already whimpering, tilting my head to side to give her more room. to enjoy the welcoming warmth of her lips, to feel her tongue licking over the shell of my ear and for her teeth to nibble on it. before she says her usual . . . “you’re shivering, are you cold, little bunny?” the blonde’s fingers now moved over my body, slowly undressing me. she took me in with her lustful eyes, inch by inch.

it all belonged to her and I was there to provide in our little games. when my naked body, sprawled over the couch was taken in it’s full beauty, Jan leaned down, pressing kisses among my belly, up to my rounded breasts, playful she was. she performed art on me.

teeth grazed my nipples, biting here and there to awake my vocal cords; to hear my lovely moans. a heroine. that’s how I looked right now, pure, vulnerable and welcoming for her touch. “you look divine, a five course meal.”

she dove right in, lips wrapping around my clit, sucking in sharply, making my body joint forward with pleasure. “heavens-“

a finger circled my entrance as she continued to worship my altar, sloppy sounds escaping in combination with my unholy sounds. hands were holding me down, squeezing my hips and thighs, pushing down at my chest before her fingers found their spot on my swollen nipples.

“please!” whimpering, Jan looked up; teasing. “please what?” she answered, all witty in such situation. “please have me!” couldn’t this be enough? my hands slowly began to reach down to do it myself. ���ah-ah, who is it that is touching you? who is it that makes you feel this good?” my eyes rolled back, Jan was so talented with her words. her voice just a bonus to make one’s mind hazy. “m-mommy!!”

finally, her finger curled on the right spot almost immediately, she knew my body well.

my stomach began to tighten, the knot was breaking and I was already fucked dumb. “please I-“ “do it bunny, look at me as you cum, I want to see your adorable face.” Jan smiled up, chin already drooling with my essence.

I came seconds after, legs closing around her head as I tried to calm down, back arching, squirming and moaningfor her.

[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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[rippersz]

Pillow Promises

—————

—————

(A Reader x Jan Stevens Oneshot) (Fluffy, tiniest bit Angsty, tiniest bit toxic, good ending)

—————

The room is bathed in a soft pink and orange glow; keeping the pleasurable haze alive and real.

Your heart still pounds from earlier activities, only slowing when Jan nuzzles closer and puts her satin-covered head on your shoulder. The dull point of one bunny ear brushes against your neck, wedged between you and the bed’s headboard, and you force down a shiver at the ticklish feeling.

She’s so close and warm it’s a wonder how you haven’t fallen asleep yet. The book in your hands isn’t even that interesting - not when she’s next to you. Looking as sweet as she is, cheeks still flushed with blush and mouth still stained with lipstick. You got up after to grab a washcloth and clean the two of you off, but she took it for herself and insisted she do it on her own. She didn’t do a very good job, but that was fine. Jan Stevens, for as put together as she is, doesn’t really mind mess. Not when it can be tidied. And washed.

Though if you could keep the evidence of your eroticism on your body forever, you would. The lipstick, the sweat, the stains and the sex, all of it - you’d keep it all.

But you can’t.

So you relax into the pillow behind you with a soft sigh and listen to her breathing while the tiny words on the page take you somewhere else. Jan is probably reading too you think, so you linger on each page before turning - allowing her to catch up even if she’s not really paying attention.

When she speaks a few minutes later, you realize there’s definitely been something else on her mind.

“Why don’t you move into my room permanently? For the rest of the session?” Her voice is smooth honey in your ear, only slightly hoarse from her earlier moaning, but it’s tinged with hesitation. Worry. A soft placating tone like she’s coaxing you into it but isn’t sure if you’ll agree or not.

But that’s silly. Of course you’ll agree. It’s nearly a bloody honor if not exactly that.

“Uh ye-yes. Yeah. Sure. If you... want me to?” The nervousness is normal around your lover - you’ve learned to deal with it - but still, you ask. Even though she proposed the idea. Moving into her room was a big thing. And the session was nearly over anyway. The group would go on tour and you’d be released back into the wild, your pockets heavier with cash, and a new fresh view on life. On cooking. On sound in general.

So there’s no harm, is there?

No.

No, you’ll stay for the remainder of everything and then you’ll… leave. Somehow. Someway. You’ll leave.

You’ll do as the rest will do and pack your few belongings and say goodbye to the doctor and the tech assistant and the gardeners and the rich people and the caterers themselves and then finally, to Jan Stevens. You’ll say goodbye and you’ll leave her. Her and her beautiful room and her strange bunny pajamas and her fascinating way of speaking and her interesting understanding and misunderstanding of art. You’ll leave behind her dark eye makeup and her fashion sense and the click of her heels and the swinging pendulum of her emotions and you’ll leave behind all of the million fires she lights in you.

You’ll do that.

And you’ll be fine.

How? You don’t know. You don’t know at all. But you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. You just have to enjoy what you have as you have it - and what you have right now is a wonderful one-of-a-kind woman, a Jan Stevens, sitting up and looking at you with a wide awed smile and sparkling eyes. Excitement is spelled across her handsome face. Sometimes you forget you can kiss her in moments like these.

“Yes,” she says, her hands reaching up to glide the book out of your fingers and push it onto the floor on her side of the bed, not bothering to save your place (and not really caring either) as she grasps your palms. “Yes! Yes, I want you to. Why else would I ask, silly thing?” And she likes to call you that. Silly thing, pretty thing, dumb little thing, darling thing. Always her thing. Always her little pet.

It’s a tiny bit concerning- how much sway she has over you- but when she’s clenching your hands in her own and intertwining your fingers and getting so close that the tips of your noses nearly touch, you can’t really help but find yourself falling even more. All for her, naturally. A Jan Stevens devotee. It’s kind of cute. And she seems to love it, and it doesn’t hurt you, so why should you mind? You’re not one of the caterers; your relationship doesn’t affect their art. They can play with their sounds and their food and you can play with your employer and everybody wins. Especially when you get to return to the warm comfort of her bed every night, safe from the cold brisk air of autumn and in lovely company while she explains the different aspects of her art degree with you.

It’s a very real form of Nirvana. And you’re so lucky to have it.

Her big smile makes you shy - and you find yourself looking away, past her shoulder, before bringing her closer by your connected hands and pressing your forehead into the crook of her neck.

“I dunno,” you reply, muffled and content, while she squeezes your palms in a comforting rhythm. “How long have you been thinking about asking me?” You don’t talk about feelings all that often, but you know Jan well enough to understand that she allows uncertantities to ruminate within her thoughts. For far too long. So asking is only a polite way of reminding her that she can be open with you - as that’s the best way to keep things healthy.

But whether or not she cares for healthy is something you have yet to figure out.

“Since that first night,” Jan breathes, successfully distracting you when she lets your hands slide away and replaces her empty palms with the soft strands of your hair. “I kept wishing you’d come earlier - but I know we agreed you had to wait until they fell asleep.”

You nod into her shoulder, taking a moment to breathe deeply and swim happily in the tender scent of her fresh laundry and floral cologne as you soak in her words. Since that first night. How long ago was that? Only a few weeks. Every evening since, you’ve been sneaking across the lawn and entering through the back door; greeting her in the hall with a sinful smile mirrored on both of your faces. It’s an exhilarating feeling, sneaking about like that, but being invited to her room, to stay there, would make things easier. You wouldn’t have to worry about waking anyone, or rushing out in the morning. You could even stay for breakfast with her….. you could even eat at the table in the kitchen and talk about whatever dreams you had the night before.

A wistful smile draws across your lips.

“…it’ll be nice,” Jan continues, soft and gentle. “We can spend more time here without worries. For as long as we want.”

You give her another nod, and try to ignore the tiniest trip of your heart. As long as we want.

Oh if only that were the case.

If only you could stay forever.

But if Jan didn’t wish it, it wouldn’t happen. No matter how much you longed for it. No matter how many nights you spent awake next to her, listening to her soft breaths, feeling the way she kicks in her sleep, your dreaming wouldn’t pay off. Jan Stevens calls the shots. And you’re just the pet who listens. The pet who yearns.

Though really…. Really you can’t help yourself. Really you can’t control what you feel. Really you can’t stop your own body from betraying you as your lips fall open and your tone speaks into the soft fabric of her pajamas and says

“As long as we want?”

It’s so soft, so barely there, that you figure she may not have heard it.

But despite her ears being covered, she knows. She hears. And so the gentle stroking hand in your hair slows, and you try not to resist the urge to pull back and stumble out of the bed and run far far away.

“I-” she starts, then stops, and you’re too busy trying to control your own heart and hide in the space of her neck that you can’t notice the surprised expression on her face. You sound hopeful. Why do you sound hopeful? Do you mean… do you… no. Well. Maybe? Jan blinks, then resumes the playing of your hair. “…The session ends in two weeks. What are your plans?”

To stay, I hope.

“I don’t know.” You don’t mean to sound so desperate and lost, but it’s the truth. You can probably get some good money off of the book that you’re writing about the Institute, and that’s just on the side of the journalism that got you into the gig in the first place. So you do have options - but none of them include the plush comfort of Jan Stevens’s body. And that’s a shame. What a shitty future. You can’t imagine finding any true happiness there; sparing the moments in which you think about Jan of course. Most thoughts about her bring you happiness.

The dull warning of being domesticated rings out like a siren in the back of your mind, but you leave it be. Domestication and devotion are sometimes good. They certainly feel that way.

Jan starts to push pieces of hair back behind your ears - and you take a moment to distract yourself and return the gentle affection by reaching up to one of the floppy ears by her head and playing with the loose fabric. An amused smile pulls at her stained lips, but her eyes are trained on the side of your face. Oddly vulnerable and oddly open and suddenly you think that maybe somehow your dream will come true.

And the gods must hear you.

“Well you don’t have to tour with them,” she murmurs.

You nod.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Mm. And the Institute’s been looking for an official documenter for some time now…”

That’s true. It has been. Even since before her, the owners through the years have tried time and time again to find someone to stay for records sake - in a similar fashion to the doctor. Someone who can handle the… oddities. And the changing personalities and the recruitment process and the pressure and the rules and now, above all else, the intensity that was Jan Stevens. Someone who can listen and obey and be utterly loyal, which is not like the doctor, but is instead one of Jan’s personal preferences. You’ve tried for so long not to allow yourself to even dream of getting that position; surely sleeping with the boss wasn’t a good idea for such a long term commitment. But no. Jan almost seems to… disagree?

You nod again, slow and unsure of where she’s going with this.

“That is… also true.”

“Mhm,” she hums, “and I can also do with some… daily excitement.” On that note, the hand in your hair tightens- and your head is suddenly being wrenched back. You meet smoldering blue eyes and stained lips and bunny ears and beauty beauty beauty oh so handsome beauty. Her breath warms your face you’re so close. “Can’t you?” Jan coos.

“Y-yes. I can do with- yes,” you agree, a little lost because your brain’s fizzled out in the face of her brazen mood. But she doesn’t seem to mind - and instead, she grins.

“So is that a yes?”

You blink.

“A yes?”

“You’ll stay?”

Oh.

Oh!

Jan is looking at you as though you’ve just told her she’ll never have to be lonely again. Which, honestly, in much fewer words, you have.

She’s told you in the past, on lust-drunk nights in the dark, that she doesn’t like loneliness. That the orgies are unentertaining and that at least one other lover in the past ruined her hopes and dreams of having anyone at all. Being as she is doesn’t really help either. She understands she’s eclectic. Not everyone’s cup of scalding hot tea. But at the same time, she meets caterers who could understand her. Who could love her. If only she wasn’t the boss. If only they wanted to love her more than their careers.

Do you love her more than your career?

Your eyes trace the lines of her face, right up to each curved edge of the satin bunny costume. Over the hills of her cheeks and tiny flaws in her lips and deep black of her eyeshadow and proud bridge of her nose and you find… you find… you find………

…you find her smile to be beautiful.

And worth seeing.

Each day.

Everyday.

For as long as she’ll have you.

Whether that’s for the rest of your lives or less.

“Yes,” you say, “yes, of course I’ll stay with you Jan Stevens.”

—————

Digging my claws into fluff so no one thinks I’m a heartless deranged animal who can only write smut and angst (even though that is the very truth) - Rip x

��————

[meowmeowhissss]

*caged animal sounds*

[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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[bitch-we-have-a-hulk]

[milfsloverblog]

Too Tired to Say My Name? (NSFW)

Jan Stevens x fem!reader

A/N: Nothing to see here, just a self indulgent fluffy/smutty Jan Stevens fic.

A phaser is an electronic sound processor (like a flanger but sounds different, and I just like the word phaser more). As always: fuck you Billy

tw: smut (fingering, scissoring)

“The phaser,” Jane sighed as she got in bed to lie down next to you.

How adorable she looked in that pink silk night dress with its matching bunny ears bonnet, perfectly contrasting with the black eyeshadow that was always packed around her eyes.

“What about the phaser, mh?” You asked, stretching your arm out so she could snuggle up and rest her head on your chest.

“It’s simply too loud. The whole integrity of the performance is shaken by it.” She sighed again. One loud, overdramatic sigh that could only mean one thing.

“I know, my darling. You’ve told Gemma about it already but you’ve seen how she reacts any time someone suggests a change in her art.” You looked down in time to catch Jan Stevens pouting and had to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep yourself from chuckling.

“She’s a bit self-absorbed, isn’t she? Shall I remind her that I’m the one funding all of her little experiments? I would appreciate it if she would at least listen to what I have to suggest.” The crease between your lover’s eyebrows deepened as she recalled her last conversation with the woman leading your collective.

“I know, doll, I know. I’ve tried suggesting it to her again, saying perhaps we could lower it down just a tad and see what it would sound like. She accused me of being a traitor and threw a bunch of vegetables at me.”

“Maybe you should consider slapping her.” Jan Stevens offered. “A quick slap always does the trick. It might shock her out of her entrenched arrogance.” She added with a small shrug as if she hadn’t just suggested you should hit your boss.

“You don’t know how angry she gets. I’d rather not start a fight…” Now it was your turn to sigh, you didn’t like saying no to Jan Stevens.

“Well, if you really can’t get her to get rid of the phaser, could you at least try lowering it during the next performance?” The blonde looked up, batting her eyelashes at you.

She could be exhausting sometimes, nagging and pestering until you gave up. And you always did.

“Will you do that for me, poppet?” Jan Stevens asked again, her big blue eyes filled with expectancy.

Would you do that for her? Betray your boss’ trust only to make Jan Stevens happy?

Jan saw your hesitation and she didn’t like it, not one bit. Her hand snaked under the bedsheets and you could only guess what she was doing when she slightly wiggled her hips and let out the faintest of moans.

“Don’t you da-“ Your threat was interrupted by her index and middle finger being pushed between your lips as they had been pushed inside her a few seconds before.

You closed your eyes and sucked on her digits, moaning when her intoxicating taste settled on your tongue.

You would do it, you thought, anything for Jan Stevens.

Your lover knew she’d won this one, flashing you a wide grin when she pulled her fingers out of your mouth with an audible pop.

“Good girl.” She purred and nuzzled her face in your neck, peppering your skin with kisses that you knew would leave smears of crimson lipstick which would be nearly impossible to wash off in the morning.

“This isn’t just about the phaser, right?” You asked, pulling away from the tall woman. “You’re not just using me to get rid of it?”

“You know it’s not just about that, it isn’t even about that at all.” Jan reassured you.

“So you would still allow me in your bed if we kept the phaser?” That wasn’t what you really wanted to ask. You wanted to know if this was only a fling, if she would kick you out once she would have had her fun with you.

“Of course. Even two phasers.” Jan's lips spread in a soft smile and her hand reached to gently squeeze yours. “Even when the residency is over, you will still be allowed in my bed. If that is something you would want.”

“Yes! God, yes, I would absolutely want that.” The words came out without you even thinking about them, your cheeks turning bright pink at the prospect that you had been too eager.

It warmed Jan Stevens’ heart to know that you were so keen to share her bed, and perhaps even more. She had felt awfully guilty at first, she didn’t want to be one of those people using their position to seduce someone. Little did she know you had been head over heels for her since the very first day.

“You are my solace, keeping me from the chaos of the world.” Jan Stevens whispered. It wasn’t quite an I love you, but it was close enough.

You had long seen the real Jan Stevens, the one she hid so well behind her eccentric facade. Jan was soft, incredibly so. She was scared about those incessant threatening phone calls, knowing one day or another these people would put their words into action. And she feared she wasn’t good enough, for anyone, that she would have to spend the rest of her life feeling lonely in her bedroom. Until you came into her life.

Your breath hitched in your chest when the woman’s hand wandered under the duvet and down your body, caressing each and every of your curves until it reached your inner thigh. Your legs spread almost instantly, eliciting a soft chuckle from your lover.

“Always so eager.” She purred, her lips against your ear.

And it was true. You were eager for her. For her fingers, her tongue, and lips. For her naked breasts pressed against yours.

Jan Stevens hooked her thumb in the band of your underwear and pushed it down your thighs, letting you maneuver it off your legs completely while she reached under your tank top to fondle your breasts.

You closed the distance between the two of you with an open-mouthed kiss, which Jan eagerly returned by pressing her tongue against yours.

Always so eager could apply to you too, my sweet Jan Stevens.

Her feathery-light touch was electrifying as she traced down your stomach only to stop right on your pubis. She nipped at your bottom lip, her fingers teasing the curls at the apex of your legs before they eventually moved lower, spreading your lips and drawing a lazy circle on your clit.

You pulled away to break the kiss, gasping at the touch before burying your face in your lover’s neck. “Darling, please…”

“Please, what?” Jan’s tone was heavy with desire, dripping with lust.

“I want you, I need you inside of me…” You looked up at her, your face flushed and lips slightly parted.

Jan Stevens let out a soft hum, her mouth watering when she dipped her fingers lower only to find you soaked already. Her middle and ring fingers slid into you like a hot knife through butter.

A wanton moan escaped you as you took in the feeling. It always amazed you, how long her fingers were and how deep she was able to reach inside you.

You hastily grabbed her face to pull her into another kiss, your movements turning sloppy as Jan’s fingers pumped in and out of you at a steady pace.

“A night with you is worth every single orgy I have ever partaken in.” Jan Stevens whispered when she broke the kiss, feeling your cunt clenching around her fingers at her admission.

“Keep going, please!” You whined, your mind filling with fog when she curled her fingers inside you and resumed moving harder and faster, making sure to hit your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Be a good girl and come for me.” Jan purred and sucked on your earlobe. And as if your body had been waiting for her permission, you were immediately thrown over the edge, clinging onto your lover as waves of pleasure surged through you.

Once you had loosened your hold on her, Jan Stevens carefully pulled her digits out of you and pushed them into your mouth so you would lick them clean.

She waited until you had come down from your high to pull you in another sloppy kiss.

“You taste heavenly tonight, sweetling.” She whispered, quickly moving to straddle you.

Your eyes widened when she gently pushed your thighs apart and positioned herself between them. You opened your mouth to speak but Jan’s naked core began firmly grinding against yours, pulling moans from both your and your lover’s throat. You arched your back as much as you could, your hips giving small thrusts to meet each of Jan’s movements.

The older woman quickened the pace, placing one hand on the headboard to support herself while the other one tightly held onto your thigh.

“Harder, please-“ You sounded desperate, both of your hands grabbing hold of your lover’s hips in an attempt to bring her closer.

Jan’s movements sped up again, this time more frantic and messier. Her moans mingled with yours as yet another orgasm crept up on you.

“Jan!” You gasped, nails digging into the woman’s hips as you reached your peak once more.

Jan Stevens followed right after, tossing her head back as she whimpered in pleasure.

She collapsed forward onto your chest and you lay together to catch your breath. How you loved feeling her weight on top of you.

“Well, darling,” Jan’s voice came out as gruff, “were you too tired to say my name?”

“You are insufferable, Jan Stevens.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is that why you keep coming back for more, poppet?” She asked looking up at you, her fingertips drawing patterns on your arm.

“Absolutely.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your lover’s forehead.

That, and because I love you.