#jan x y/n | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rippersz · 6 months

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

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

Because-

Wait.

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Help! Help!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late.

You were too late.

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

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

Too late.

You were too late.

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

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

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

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

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

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

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

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

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

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

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

The gun still didn’t move.

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

“How long since?”

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

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

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

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

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

“-we can’t just leave them-”

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

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

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

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

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

“Woah-”

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

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

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

But she didn’t move.

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

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

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

“More like a rat.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

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

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

The grass.

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

oh.

Oh.

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

How fucking lucky were you?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

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

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

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

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

Red lips twitched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

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

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

263 notes · View notes

jadewolf22 · 1 month

Text

Lipstick and Roses

Fem!Dom!Reader X Sub!Larissa

Warnings: Biting Kink, fingering, eating out, face riding, biting kink (if you squint), fluff, ect…

Word Count: 1,262

You couldn't help but smile as you made the 10 minute drive from your flower shop in Jericho up to Nevermore. You looked over at the pale pink roses you had brought for your girlfriend, the school's sexy principal, Larissa Weems. The two of you had known each other from Nevermore when you were teens but hadn't started dating until last year. You, like Larissa, were an unusual outcast, a pyrokenetic. Larissa found it funny that someone prone to starting fires chose to spend their days surrounded by plants, but you loved your job just as much as she loved hers.

Parking in front of the school, you grabbed the flowers from the passenger's seat, quickly making your way up to Larissa's office. You opened the door to her office without bothering to knock, surprised to find the room empty. Placing the flowers in a vase on her desk you looked around the majestic room. The large, unique fireplace was always the first thing to catch your eye, the white granite standing out against the red and gold on the walls. All of the wood furnishing and accents were made of mahogany, a long leather couch sat in front of the fireplace, a matching set of chairs in front of Larissa's desk. You looked up at the golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, noticing for the first time that the room's ceiling was one large mirror.

Your attention was drawn to the doors separating Larissa's office from her personal quarters as soft sobs reached your ears. You walked to the door and turned the handle only to find it locked.

"Larissa," you called softly, figuring Larissa was just watching a movie and had the volume up pretty high, "Baby, it's me. Can you open the door, please?"

There was no response. Just more crying.

"Larissa," you called again in a firmer tone, "open the door, please."

Still no response.

"Ris, don't play this game with me, please. Open the door." You commanded, turning the knob frantically and pressing your weight against the door.

"Larissa, open the door!" you demanded, hitting your hand on the door.

Still she ignored you, the sobbing growing louder. You sighed, mumbling to yourself as you pulled a bobby pin from your hair, carefully picking the lock. You opened the door, fully intending to scold Larissa, but stopping when you stepped inside. Larissa sat on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands, her body trembling while she sobbed. Little drops of blood ran down her arms from scratches in her skin. Behind the bed shattered glass from the broken mirror on her dresser littered the floor, a heavy book lying amidst the mess.

You ran forward, taking her hands as you knelt down in front of her. Larissa looked at you through puffy, bloodshot eyes, with an almost guilty look. She clearly hadn't wanted you to see her like this.

"Larissa, what's wrong?" You asked, a shadow of concern darkening you eyes.

"I can't do this anymore!!" Larissa cried, more tears spilling down her cheeks, "I can't– No matter what I do I am never enough–!"

Your heart shattered at her words. Over and over, like a broken record, she repeated them, each one stabbing your heart as much as hers.

"Stop." you commanded in a gentle, yet firm tone as you stood up, "Stand up . . . there's something I want you to see . . ."

Reluctantly, Larissa allowed you to pull her to her feet, leading her out to her office. Gently, you pushed Larissa down onto the couch, walking over to the door and locking it before turning back to her.

"Lay down." you commanded, "Look at the ceiling."

Larissa nodded, laying down on the couch as you came to straddle her waist.

"You are more than enough, Ris." You whispered into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple as your hands slowly began removing her clothing, "Anyone who tells you differently is blind."

Larissa whimpered as you slid her dress off of her, pressing kisses to her shoulders and chest, sliding your hands underneath her and unclipping her bra, tearing it off of her and attaching your mouth to one of her breasts. Larissa gasped, grabbing at your back and shoulders, tearing her nails down your dress, tugging at the hem. You hummed, sitting up and allowing her to remove your dress and bra.

Pressing your bare chests together you bite down on the junction of her neck, snaking one hand under the band of her underwear, inserting a finger into her aching pussy.

Larissa moaned against your ear as you began pumping your finger in and out of her. You smiled, continuing to place bites over her neck and shoulders.

"Keep looking at the ceiling, love," you whispered, inserting a second finger, "Watch me show you how much I think you're worth."

Larissa whimpered and moaned as she watched you fuck her, tears slipping down her cheeks which you kissed away, the salty taste of her tears filling your mouth.

"Y/n– Y/n, can I–?" Larissa struggled to speak as her walls closed around your fingers.

"You don't have to ask tonight, darling," you whispered huskily, "Whenever you're ready . . ."

Larissa came with a loud, broken moan, her body convulsing as she rode out her high on your fingers. The smell of her arousal in the air turned you feral. You gave a low, animalistic growl as you slid down her body, lowering your face to her glistening cunt. Moaning, you slid your tongue through her folds, skillfully eating her out, her hips bucking up into your face.

"Is this what you want, darling?" You growled, digging your fingers into Larissa's hips to keep her still, "You want Mommy to eat her beautiful girl out?"

"Yes!" Larissa breathed, squirming beneath you as your tongue found a new, faster, rhythm, "Yes, Mommy– Oh GOD–!!"

With no warning Larissa came, her cum flooding your mouth and spilling down your chin. You growled, licking her clean and wiping her cum off your chin, licking it off of your hand.

"Y/n . . ." Larissa whimpered through her post-orgasm bliss.

"Yes, love?"

"Let me taste you . . . Please?!"

You couldn't help but smile at how desperate Larissa was to please you, even when she was the one who desperately needed to be fucked.

"Okay . . ." you whispered, "If it'll make you happy."

"Yes, yes! Please, yes!!" Larissa cried, reaching her arms out towards you.

You chuckled at her neediness, slowly crawling up to straddle her face. Larissa moaned in delight, pushing aside the fabric of your underwear and inserting her tongue into you. You gasped, gripping the back and arm of the couch for support.

"That's it– Yes, baby, right there– Ah!" You praised, your hips bucking to match the rhythm of her tongue, "Such a good girl– Such a good girl for Mommy– Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum so hard– Shit!"

With a final swipe of her tongue through your folds you came, riding out your high on her tongue as she quickly lapped up your cum, eating it as if she were starved.

You rolled off of her, pressing Larissa between you and the back of the couch. You toyed with her hair, pressing kisses to every part of her face you could reach.

"Thank you," she whispered, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

"You are a fucking goddess, understand?" you whispered firmly, "Don't ever let yourself think you're anything less."

Larissa nodded, quickly drifting off to sleep in your arms.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #wednesday #jane murdstone #jan stevens #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #lady jane #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n

102 notes · View notes

milfsloverblog · 1 year

Text

Taglist in the making!

I know, I know, it’s about time I make a proper taglist. I figured the emojis system would be the easiest one (and, let’s be honest, emojis are funnier than you just telling me the characters’ name).

So, all you have to do is leave a comment with the emoji(s) corresponding to the character(s) you’d like to be tagged for.

🖤 For all characters

💄 For Larissa Weems

🕷️ For Jane Murdstone

🩷 For Jan Stevens

👮 For Miranda Hilmarson

🗡️ For Brienne of Tarth

⭐️ For Lucifer Morningstar

🔫 For Captain Phasma

💋 For Gwen (In Fabric)

I’m not sure yet if I’ll ever write for Lady Jane and Commander Lyme, but who knows!

Thank you for your time <3

ps: reblogs appreciated :)

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #jane murdstone x reader #miranda hilmarson x reader #Brienne of Tarth x reader #jan stevens x reader #captain phasma x reader #brienne x reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems #jane murdstone #jan stevens #principal weems #captain phasma #brienne of tarth

295 notes · View notes

wifeofwandamaximoff · 4 months

Text

Fine...

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update I just didn't really have the motivation also I usually don't proofread my work so I do apologize. Also I wanted to update as quick as I can while making this so its a bit smaller then I would've preferred but ill try to make a longer part next time! Also thank you Max for the tips!

"Come in." Weems said from the other side of the doors. Oh how her voice was so raspy and soft. It's like whenever she talks her words are coated in love spider webs.

I step into her office, mentally preparing myself to see her. Once i'm in her office I instantly see her red plump lips that look so inviting. I quickly shake my head slightly to get out of my trance.

"Im here for our art lesson." I said with my stoic expression, my voice sounding like a hundred freshly made blades.

"Ah yes Miss Addams, I apologize I lost track of time." She said apologetically. Which I stared at her. The air in the room wasn't awkward but it wasn't comfortable either. She then decided to interrupt the silence.

"Follow me to the art studio then, this is where we will meet up instead of you coming to my office just like today." She smiled while standing up and walking around her desk.

She opened the door for me, I then step out of her office and wait for her to lead the way. When she was walking on her way to walk in front of me our hand's gently grazed each other. Making me feel spiders crawl in my stomach.

"Here we go Miss Addams." She smiled sweetly while opening a door. Inside there were a bunch of blank canvases, art supplies, etc. Basically any art supplies that some artist wished to have is right here in this very room.

I scan the room to see two canvases set up for the both of us and two stools. I look back at her to see her smiling at me with that soft smile that could make even an Addams's heart melt.

"Lets begin Miss Addams." She smiled, gesturing towards the stools. I stay quiet and go sit on one of the stools. She then goes to occupy the other one.

"Now Miss Addams what do you already know about art?" She asks me. I look at her, thinking if I should answer her or not. Eventually I decided to.

"About how to make art or what is art?" I asked in my icy cold tone. I see her a shiver a bit from that tone making my lips twitch in a small smirk. I quickly turn away, hoping she didn't see it.

"Well I suppose I should be more specific, what is art Miss Addams?" She said while clearing her throat. I see her starting to take off her gloves to reveal her soft porcelain skin.

Seeing her pale skin makes me shiver, but of course my skin was paler. "Art is a way of communicating with your thoughts and feelings, but thats the deeper meaning. Art is an object that is expressed with skill and imagination." I said while getting some acrylic paint out.

Weems just looks at me with a soft smile. "You think outside the box Miss Addams." She compliments. "Your first assignment is to paint what you have on your mind right now. Now this may take a couple of sessions to complete but do not rush."

I then think for a moment, I then look around the room. My eyes then look at her. In that moment I then decided what I was gonna paint.

----

The next day I was roaming the halls when Enid came up to me.

"Bell! The Poe Cup is soon and I was wondering if you could join us? Wednesday said she'll go if you go so please say yes!" Enid squealed. Shaking my shoulders making my tempted to cut off her fingers and stack them right in front of her.

"Ill think about it now please don't ever touch me again." I said before pushing her away. Not too hard but not to soft either.

I then walk to the quad, up from above I see Weems with her binoculars looking down at all the students. Our eyes then lock making her put her binoculars down and smile at me. Making a bowl of spiders crawl in my stomach. Which was definitely a feeling I was unaware of. I then turn away, walking to the art room since it was my free period and deciding to work on my painting for a while.

I peeked back a bit to see Weems with a sad expression before going back into her office.

I walked into the art room and looked over at Weems's painting. It seemed like a painting of black rose. My favorite rose...

"Lets play 21 questions hm? I think its only right since we will be giving these paintings to each other." Weems smiled at me. I just nodded.

"You will got first Weems." I said flatly while giving her my usual glare. She just nodded before thinking for a bit.

"Why did you decide to come to Nevermore?" She asked me after a few minutes. I think about my answer for a bit.

"Because I was in a boarding school in France before. I was there for a few years and I decided I wanted a change of scenery and Wednesday has expressed how much she wanted me to come back through our letters to each other." I said while starting to paint the background. Some clouds with hues of pale yellow.

"A boarding school in France? Wednesday told you she missed you?" Weems said, firing questions at me.

"Wednesday and I are very close. We always did everything with each other and for the question about me going to France for school. I needed to get away from mother and father. They were too affectionate and over-protective." I said while creating soft stroked on my canvas. I look over to see Weems with a bit of a sad look.

"Too affectionate?" She said in a bit of a sad tone which she tried to hide but I caught on right away.

"Yes too affectionate, they would smother me in hugs and kisses and always made sure to know where I was going." I said a bit softer then usual.

She just nodded which I thought was a bit strange but I brushed it off. I then started to think of what I should ask her.

"Do you think angels are good?" I asked. She looked at me perplexed since this was a strange question for me to ask her. She then thought for a bit.

"I do believe angels are good Miss Addams. They are supernatural beings that have many tales about their good deeds and what they have done for humans in the past." She said. I then see her finally starting to pain.

"Yes but only of their good deeds, they must have committed something down right sinful at least once." I said while starting to paint some golden gates. The gate ways to heaven hell. As I believed she was sent from heaven hell.

"What's your favorite flower Miss Addams?" She asked with a smile.

"A black rose." I said with ease. One of the easiest questions that could she could ask from me.

"It represents elegance and mystery." I said while glancing over at her. I see her get out black, grey, and white paint. I then quickly assume she will be painting my flower which made the corner of my lips turn up a bit before I shook that odd pleasant feeling down.

I then quickly return back to the present. Though I felt a strange feeling when I realized she was painting my favorite flower.Even though I already knew that it still made spiders crawl in my stomach. Basking myself in joy despair.

I then hear Enid calling my name which me roll my eyes. I then hear her open the door to the art room to see me which made her grin widely.

"Bella! Can you participate in the Poe Cup this year please?" Enid asked with puppy eyes which didn't prove effective on me.

"No." I stated plainly before going back to painting.

"Please Bella? I know I already asked today but please??" She pouted which made me roll my eyes before sighing.

"Fine." I said, finally relenting to join this silly event.

"Really?" Enid said happily, about to go in for a hug before I glared at her. Signaling to not do that.

"Oh Principal Weems will be so happy that you'll join! I told her how I wanted you to join the team today and she hoped that you would join and you did! I have to go thank her!" Enid smiled excitedly.

"Oh and we'll build the boat this week!" Enid smiled before walking out.

I sighed, already regretting my decision to join the Poe Cup. But I then thought about how Weems would be happy to see me play which made it kind of worth it.

I snap out of my daze, looking back at my painting of an angel. As I saw Larissa Weems as an angel. I mentally conflicted with myself if I should use Weems's face but decided against it since it would seem weird. I decided to put a mask on the angel. The identity hidden.

I then feel something crawl on my shoulder to see Thing. I glare at Thing, mentally saying to get off my shoulder.

Thing decided to stay on my shoulder which irritates me.

"What do you need Thing?" I asked while starting to paint the mask of the angel. Thing quickly starts doing signals which makes me look at him.

"You want me to help Enid build the boat?" I said asking him. Which makes him sign a yes. I sigh, looking back at my painting before starting to clean up.

"I suppose." I said setting Thing down on the floor. Thing then starts to lead the way to where our team was building the boat.

In the distance I see the blonde werewolf and my sister. I get closer and seem them both trying to paint a black cat which makes me sigh. I then decide to paint the other side.

"Leave the painting to me you fools." I said starting to paint. Enid looks surprised that I was helping out since Wednesday probably told her I wouldn't. It seems that Wednesday was surprised to. I just glare at them making them both quickly go back to painting the other side.

"Thing tie my hair up." I ordered which makes him do so obediently. He ties my hair making my raven hair into a ponytail. My hair shining a deep purple in the sun.

After about an hour of painting I am halfway done with my side. I look over to see the two gone. I then feel three sets of eyes looking at me. I turn around to see Enid and Wednesday looking at me paint. But there were only two people behind me. I drag my eyes around my vicinity to see no one us but us three. Weird...

I decide to ignore it and go back to painting my cat for our team.

After about another hour I finish my painting, going back a few steps to marvel at my work. I see Enid come closer, inspecting it before turning to me and smiling.

"Oh Bella it looks amazing! Thank you!" She said happily, about to go in for a hug which makes me step back immediately. Like second nature.

I see Wednesday right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I see Enid looking at us excitedly before pulling out her brain sucking device.

"We should take a picture and make memories!" She said excitedly before snapping a picture of me and Wednesday making me a bit mad but I suppose it was okay. Just one photo...

After Enid took our photo I demanded to see it. Conflicting with myself if I could delete it or not. I take the phone and look at the picture. Me and Wednesday standing shoulder to shoulder, Enid in the corner of the picture. A failed part on hers of trying to include herself in the selfie. I then examine the photo.

But in the background I see a shadow...A shadow of a large figure. The tree right next to the shadow has three claw marks...

I then look back to see the shadow gone but the marks still there...

Taglist:

@poorwritingandstalecoffee @maxfanartfan @a-goblin-named-cherry

81 notes · View notes

theflashesoflove · 1 year

Text

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

#jan stevens #jan stevens x reader #jan stevens x y/n #flux gourmet #gwendoline christie

393 notes · View notes

babyjakes · 2 years

Text

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | jan '23 blurb night

summary | you love when your daddy gives you your special exam.

pairing | soft!doctor!daddy!steve rogers x little!reader

warnings | ddlg (soft sweet gentle loving daddy!steve <333), very long idk why, medfet elements: exam table, gloves, speculum, rectal thermometer, fingering, clit play, anal play, multiple orgasms, encouragement and praise, slight mocking/humiliation? in a very loving way

word count | 1,426

requested by @bucky-boo-bear | ok. so for the blurb night, how about consensual medfet. Like daddy!(character of your choice) preparing everything earlier, talking you through the steps even though you have done this before. Checking in with you every once in a while and taking care after.

an | friend!!!! thankyou so much for sending this one in. i was hoping we'd get to have a soft daddy moment tonight hehe <3 dr. rogers is where it all began for me, and i love this take on him. hope you enjoy!!

okay so. steve definitely runs his practice out of his home. similar to a rare condition, he has a little clinic attached to his house with a separate entrance and everything. it's a clinic for daddies/mommies and littles to come and do medical play, which he often helps out with. but your favorite times are when daddy closes the whole clinic just for you, for your designated daddy and baby exam days <3

being your daddy, he wants to make sure he's keeping a close eye on your physical health, especially down in your special areas. plus both of you love the experience of doing the exam together. there's something so special (and undeniably sexy) about the whole process for you: the table, the medical instruments, the orgasms your daddy always spaces out through the entire ordeal. plus, the sight of your daddy all dressed up for his work as a physician is just the cherry on top; you adore the way his muscles bulge in the tight white button-down shirts he wears. and the white nitrile exam gloves he buys are just the right size, fitting so snuggly around his massive hands; the tightness almost never fails to make you drool. and daddy loves the medical play just as much as you do, of course. out of all the little patients he gets to see, you're his favorite by far- none of the rest even come close to comparing.

so maybe today's the day, it's been a few months and daddy says you're due for another exam. he's prepared an exam room for you already, your favorite one with the pretty butterfly stickers on the wall. he takes you over to the clinic and into your room, helping you out of your clothes before draping the scratchy paper gown over you. "you gonna be a good girl for me today, sweetheart?" he smiles so lovingly when you give him a big nod. "of course you are, you're always so good for daddy, aren't you baby?"

next you're lifted up onto the exam table, the roll of paper crunching softly beneath you as you're set down with your legs dangling off the edge. "okay doll. go ahead and lay back for me," steve prompts. once you're lying flat, he helps you scoot closer to the edge of the table, adjusting the stirrups a little wider for you before guiding your legs up into them. you squirm a little as your gown's lifted, earning soft encouragement from your daddy. "it's okay, sweet girl. that feel a little chilly?"

he rubs his hands together for a few moments before grabbing a pair of gloves from their box on the wall and snapping them on. then, he settles down on his little rolling stool and positions himself at the end of the table, rolling his tool tray over by his side. he reaches up and adjusts the lamp above you to better illuminate your perfect petals, sitting so prettily as they wait for your daddy's tender touch. lifting up your bottom, he eases a large gauze pad underneath you to catch anything that might... eheh... drip... "okay honey. let's have a look here..."

he spreads you apart with both hands gently, cooing at the sight of your arousal already beginning to pool up in your tiny little hole. "everything looks good, sweetheart. this feel okay?" he asks as he manipulates your lips a bit more, pulling you open this way and that, "no pain anywhere?"

"no pain, daddy," you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady.

"good. just gonna insert a finger, bub. deep breath in for me..." you mewl as his first digit enters you, earning a smile from the doctor. "good, took that so well, pretty girl. everything feelin' okay?"

stumbling a bit over your breaths, you nodded. "f-feels okay, daddy. feels good."

"good," he croons, gently working his finger in and out of you. "just feeling around, baby. gonna insert a second finger. you ready?"

"y-yes daddy, yes please," you try to keep yourself from begging.

he chuckles a little at your insistence, easing in a second finger to fill you up more, building the pace of his thrusts gradually. "good, now daddy's gonna work your g-spot, okay honey? you remember what happens when daddy does that?"

swallowing hard, you nod. "y-yes daddy, i... i cum daddy, can i cum, please?" at your words, the blonde man finds your special spot with the tips of his fingers, stroking with relentless force and consistency.

"of course you can, sweet girl. go ahead, you can cum," he allows, praising you enthusiastically as you clench down on his fingers. "there it is, good girl. so good for me baby..."

he lets you recover and replaces his gloves before returning to the big drippy mess you've made, cleaning you up a little with some paper napkins before adjusting the light a little further down, turning up the brightness a few notches. "alright, little one. time to take a look at that pretty little clit of yours next." with just the tips of his gloved fingers, he begins to pull back the skin surrounding your sensitive button, smiling as it peaks out from underneath its hood. "just gonna test your sensitivity, sweetheart," he tells you before dragging a thumb up through your sticky wetness, smearing the slick all over your tiny bundle of nerves.

you whimper and squirm a bit at the feeling, and steve coos knowingly in response. "i know baby, it's so sensitive, isn't it? that feel good? you like it when daddy spreads you out and rubs right there, right on your poor little clit?"

you try to form words, but your brains all mushy as he uses one hand to spread you out, the other working its thumb in precise circles over the little knot of flesh. "please daddy, p-please," you whine.

"look at that, getting so swollen already. can feel your muscles tightening up, baby. are you gonna cum again for me?"

he's just finishing his sentence as you tumble over the edge once more, this time squirting out a little onto the gauze below. steve chuckles as your poor pussy clenches and contracts around nothing. "good, so good for me," he praises again.

next is the speculum, normally steve would lubricate it but he never has to when he's examining you. your eyes water a little at the sight of the dreaded instrument, prompting your daddy to rub your inner thigh soothingly, "you're okay, doll. daddy'll be real gentle, i promise." maybe this time you're a little extra weary of the tool, so steve rubs your clit as he inserts it to ease the discomfort. "good," he sings as you take the plastic inside your little cunt. "just gonna rotate it and open you up now, honey. deep breath- that's it..."

you whimper at the stretch, but soon you're able to focus once more on his steady strokes against your clit. "good," he breathes, adjusting the light as needed to look inside. "everything looks healthy and normal in here, little one. doing so good for me. you ready for your temperature?"

this is the last part of the routine exam, and admittedly the part you struggle with the most. steve sees the dread in your eyes, offering you a sympathetic smile as he prepares the thermometer with a hard plastic covering, opening up a packet of lubricant and squeezing it out onto the tip. "we're almost done, sweetie. just gotta put it in, then you can cum again. you gonna be brave for me?"

tears built up in the corners of your eyes, you nod down at your daddy. "good girl. alright honey," he uses his thumb to drag some of your wetness down, smearing it over your tighter little hole. you let out a squeak in fear, earning soothing shushes from steve. "shh, darlin'. just gonna feel a little pressure here..." you whine softly as the tip is inserted, but as soon as its in place, steve's thumb returns to your clit and you're able to relax again. "good girl, did so good for me," he praises. "think someone deserves to cum again, hmm?" you reach the edge quickly, the sight of you spread out before him, little clit so puffy and swollen, cunt forced open by the wings of the speculum, tiny ass stuffed with the wand of the thermometer, the most glorious thing steve's ever seen.

"come on, sweetheart. cum for daddy, you've been such a good little patient today."

#eun's writing #eun's blurb nights #jan ‘23 blurb night #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #daddy!steve rogers #steve rogers x little!reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers drabble #captain america #captain america smut #marvel #mcu #the avengers #chris evans #chris evans smut

987 notes · View notes

anbadann · 11 months

Text

Head canons on each Gwendoline Christie Characters

(NSFW AND SFW)

———————————————————————————————————

Captain Phasma

- She’s a lover(sometimes.) Since the girls a captain, she’ll have barely time to ever do anything romantic with you.

- If she gets the chance, she’ll eat you out. As in ‘eat you out’ like there’s no tomorrow. So be prepared to get overstimulated, cuz your girl is going to get pussy drunk.

-Phasma’s a hard dom, convince me otherwise.

-Phasma would love you, totally. But when she does, it’s not like ‘pda’ kind of love. She’ll much rather write letters in her holopad on how she appreciates your existence.

-You can’t tell me that Phasma doesn’t have master/daddy kink. I MEAN LOOK AT HER.

——————————————————————

Lady Jane Murdstone

OUR GIRL DOESNT GET ENOUGH CREDIT, SHE DID AMAZING IN THE TEN MINUTES SHE GOT ON SCREEN.

-Missma’am would devour your cunt. She’ll get power drunk, pussy drunk, probably drunk herself.

-Mistress kink, obviously.

-Woman likes to tease you occasionally, depends on her mood of the day. If she does tease you, Jane would subtly touch your waist and squeeze it, surprising you.

-I’m guessing that she has knife play or likes it rough, cuz for the love of god, Jane can’t go by a day without hitting, destructing, or destroying something.

-Her hands are highly skilled. At anything, from sewing to fucking your cunt, she is a master(or mistress) at the skill. And at times, she’ll even brag about it.

-Janes LOADED. Jewels, designer dresses, the works. She’ll spend at least a few hundred dollars on you(maybe a thousand even) on one shopping trip.

——————————————————————

Jan Stevens

-This is going to be ironic(and debatable ig) but Jan doesn’t like food a lot, especially in her bed. The most she could do/want/tolerate is wine and like a charcuterie board in bed.

-Role playing, girl wants to be someone else for a bit. Being Jan Stevens is hard yk.

-Hugs, cuddles, kisses, the works. She loves it when you do that, especially the thing where you kiss her neck cuz she’s too tall for you to kiss on the lips.

-Honestly, she’s a switch. She’s giving mommy/mistress energy, but at the same time our girl needs a break from being the leader so bratty/needy bottom Jan it is.

-The needy move. OML, I can’t tell you enough on how she’ll act needy(borderline bratty) just for you to end up in bed.

-Jan is a freak in bed. If she’s a freak at her job, she’ll bring that energy to the bed. (In a good way, obv)

—————————————-

Larissa Weems

-Woman is afraid of germs. Or in other words a germaphobe. I mean, the gloves, the way she’s always kept to herself. It explains somewhat a part of her personality.

-Larissa is rich. Like rich, rich. I’m guessing that she was an only child and her parents died, leaving her with the big-ass fortune.

-Speaking of rich, Larissa is very stingy about her money, only spending it on her lover. So when you eye a necklace or bracelet, she’ll by ten.

- Mirror sex kink. I mean a mirror as her ceiling? It’s gotta count for something. Also adds a bit of spice to her sex life.

-Girls a cuddler. She loves a hug or two just to simply know that someone’s cares for her. Every once in a while she’ll ask or you’ll just simply give it to her.

-Larissa likes PDA, but to a certain level. She’s not like a full on make out session anywhere, but more like a few kisses here or there throughout the day.

————————————————

Brienne of Tarth

-Gentle giant. Brienne will act all mean and tough, but the moment she goes home and you greet her. The facade basically melts away.

-Okay, this will be debatable, but she’s a switch. At times Brienne will be a hard dom if she comes home from a rough day, or a soft dom when she wants a bit of sensual warmth. On the other hand, she’s a bottom, literally what she wants is to be loved and cared for.

-Briennes protective. It’s sort of her nature, but to her lover, it’s on a whole new level

-She loves all cuddles, every physical touch/interaction that you have with her, Brienne cherishes it. Bed cuddles, bath cuddles, morning cuddles, you name it. Also I think Brienne will sometimes switch to small spoon when she has a rough day, but otherwise she’s a big spoon.

- Woman will teach you on how to defend yourself, but never actually let you touch or use the weapons. Brienne wants to do the protecting since she thinks that only a knight could do that.(ofc she would only say that to her lover)

-Brienne doesn’t like quickies, she prefers to take her time with you. But if you seem to really want it, then she’ll do it.

#larissa x you #larissa weems #gwen is mommy #gwendoline christie #gwendoline is mommy #gwendolineuniverse #headcanon #jane #jane murdstone #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #captain phasma x reader #captain phasma #jan stevens #Jan #head canons #head canon #mommy k!nk

121 notes · View notes

ink-and-blood-goddess · 13 days

Text

Drifting Away (Jan Valek x Female Reader)

Summary: After enduring a terrifying nightmare, you have trouble falling asleep. Then your vampire lover comes to comfort you.

A/N-Yay my first Valek fanfic :D. Valek has been giving me absolute brain rot after I watched the film seven times now (five when it was on Netflix this past year). I really went into writing this and love how it came out when I just finished it. I can’t wait to write more fanfics of this deadly and beautiful vampire.

Please enjoy ;)

Warnings: Mentions of death, nightmares, smidge of angst, and tons of tooth-rotting fluff in the end

Citrus Scale:🍎

W.C+: 1.9K

Taglist-@larabiatasstuff @fangirlstorycreator @virgo-mess @terrence-silver

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

You had trouble sleeping again. It was the same thing night after night. They came back each time as always. The nightmares. Tossing and turning in the bed, as the sheets twisted around your body.

The nightmares kept you from waking up. Preventing you from breaking the spell they put you under. You couldn’t move at all. Every part of your body was frozen. You moaned at each toss and turn. Your white nightgown sticking to you.

It was the same nightmare. You didn’t know how and why they started. They were always the same one. Coming after you in your dreams each night.

Dark shadows of figures surrounding you in a circle. They wore all black robes, covering everything except their faces. Pale white faces that were paler than the moon. Their ruby red eyes burning as they looked down upon you.

Each one of them towered over your body. You couldn’t move at all. It felt like you were chained down against your will. Their faces showed no expression. They all had the same face. Looking at their red eyes one by one, they didn’t seem right. They were filled with anger or a rage of some sort.

But it wasn’t rage at all. It was hunger. Hunger burned in their eyes. Burning a hot red glow down upon you. Fear filled your entire body.

All of a sudden, their mouths began to open. Long, sharp fangs extending from the tops of their mouths. White and clean soon to be stained with blood. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

Paralyzed with nothing but fear and no word to be spoken, you were trapped. Your heart raced uncontrollably. Flooding your ears with a painful noise.

Then one by one, the figures snarled and leaped at you. Their paled claw like hands grabbing you. Engulfing you in darkness and draining the life out of you. Everything was black now. Soon after came the screams. Loud and echoing through the darkness.

The screams were yours. The nightmare was taking hold of you. Swallowing you deeper and deeper into its cruel world. No way to escape from it. Until everything stopped.

“NO!” You screamed as you finally awoke. Breaking the spell the nightmare had you under. Your chest heaving with heavy, deep breaths. Gasping for air. Refilling your burning lungs. Every part of your body was cold and shaking.

Heart racing rapidly. Beating against your breasts. An awful thought ran across your mind. Quickly, your hand went up to your neck. Relief washed over you soon after. There was nothing left there. No bite marks. It wasn’t real. None of it.

Everything was the same in your room. Your Antoinette dressing table sitting across the room from your canopy bed. The lavender silk robe, hanging on the edge of the chair. Several bookcases that resided on the right side, filled to the brim with vintage and ancient books that seemed lost to time. The vintage chaise lounge sofa sat in the other corner of the room. The book you were reading was still sitting upon the cushions. And then the balcony. Both doors were opened wide., letting in the late night air in. The sheer pearl curtains dancing and twirling in the soft breeze. Moonlight pouring in, making the room glow a bit.

Nothing has changed. Not one bit of the room has changed. Your heartbeat softly slowed down. Beating at a normal pace again. You sat up and peeled the bed sheets off your lower body. You then swung your legs over and hung them off the edge of the bed frame.

Sweat beaded down your forehead. Covering your face with both hands, you slowly breathed in and out with deep breaths. It felt like the whole room was spinning around, making you feel sick from all the dizziness. Everything was making you feel sick.

Taking one last deep breath, you moved your hands from your face and into your hair. Combing your fingers through the (H/L) (H/C) strands. It felt hot and stuffy for you. You needed to get some fresh air and clear your mind.

Slowly you placed your feet onto the weaved rug and stood up. Raising both arms above, you stretch out your tired limbs and began to walk towards the balcony. Your feet padded against the cold, smooth stone of the tower. Leaving little echoes behind.

Once you stepped outside, the nighttime air greeted you with a gentle breeze. Cooling your face down, making you feel calm and collected now. Your nightgown skirt billowing and swirling around against your bare legs. It smelled sweet and fresh. Fully surrounded by forest and mountains. Nothing but peace and beauty at night.

The moon hung above in the inky bluish black sky, looking down at you. Brightly glowing with a gentle white light beaming everywhere. The stars twinkled and sparkling like little silver diamonds against the night sky. Feeling so surreal looking at this. You were very much used to it.

Resting your arms on the stone railing, you looked down from the tower’s balcony. The sound of the leaves and branches from the trees blowing in the breeze sounded like music to you. Gently creating soft sounds as it passed through each one.

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. Its howl echoing in the mountain’s valley. Calling out towards the moon above. The creature’s howl singing alongside the wind. A chorus of beautiful midnight music.

As you took in the nighttime spectacle of song, a wave of emotions suddenly came over you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and spilled down. Streaming down your face like a never ending waterfall. A soft sob escaped your lips.

The nightmares you’ve been having were taking hold of you whenever you were awake. Not letting go of your fragile mind. The dark figures haunting you, even with your eyes opened. Their claws ripping into you, with their sharp fangs tearing into your warm flesh.

Reliving your own death over and over night after night. It’s like you couldn’t escape from them at all. They’ll just continue with no end. Nothing will ever stop them.

“My love, are you alright?” Came a familiar from behind you. Quickly, you turned around to see it was your vampire lover Jan Valek. Standing in the door frame of the balcony, with a worried look on his face.

“Oh it’s you Valek,” you said in a soft sharp tone. “I couldn’t sleep. So I came out to get some fresh air,” you lied. You quickly turned back away from him. Using your thumb, you wiped away the tears before he sees them.

Continuing to look at the nighttime landscape, you felt him loom over you like a great shadow. “No. Something is troubling you my love.” He said in a hurt tone. “It’s nothing really Valek. Don’t worry about me,” you said, with your voice almost breaking.

Then you felt something icy and light, softly grip your chin. Realizing Valek placed his fingers under your chin, you slowly lifted your head up and looked at him with (E/C) eyes stained with tears.

“Oh my poor little robin. What has made you upset?” His voice sounded sorrowful the moment he saw your face. You let out a heavy sigh. “They did.” You said softly. “They who my dear?” he asked in return. “The nightmares.” Valek arched an eyebrow.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping for a while. I thought it was nothing at first, but I was wrong. They were always the same one night after night.” You said in a soft tone.

“What were they about?” He whispered softly. Your heart skipped a beat from that question. “There were these pale faced figures, all cloaked in black. All of them circled around me. Trapping me with no way out. They were all staring at me with hungry red eyes. I couldn’t move or say anything. Fear had paralyzed my whole body. Their mouths opened, revealing sharp, cruel fangs. Then one by one, they attacked me. Lunging forward at my fear stricken body, covering me in total darkness. Biting and tearing into my flesh. Then it just stops and I wake up screaming.” You felt a heavy presence hovering above you now. Feeling the air change and shift.

“Oh (Y/N). Why didn’t you tell me,” he sounded hurt and wounded.

“I didn’t want you to worry Valek,” you softly sobbed, turning away from him. Wanting to spare him of your tear stained face. “I didn’t want to burden you with my own demons. I didn’t hurt you in any way.” Breaking into a full sob. Everything felt like it was crashing down upon you. You never wanted your lover to see you all vulnerable and troubled by anything you were dealing with.

All of a sudden, you felt Valek wrap his arms around you. Nearly engulfing you with his towering form. “I forgive you my love,” he whispered softly in your ear. “Oh Valek!” You sobbed out, burying your face into his chest.

Valek ran his hand through your hair. Soothing and calming you in a way. His long, slender fingers tangled in the (H/L) (H/C) strands. “I do not blame you for anything (Y/N). You wanted to spare my feelings from what you’re dealing with. I will never let anything or anyone hurt my little robin.” He said, bending down and placed a kiss upon your head.

You slowly lifted your head up again to look at your lover. His diamond colored eyes sparkling inside the moon’s light. A warm and beautiful smile spread across his face. Reassuring you you’re safe with him.

“Come my little robin,” he said with a gleeful tone, “let’s return you to bed.” He then bent down and slowly picked you up bridal style. You felt being lifted into thin air the moment your feet left the ground.

Valek glided with you cradled in his arms back into the bedroom. With a swift movement, he placed you onto the mattress and pulled the sheets over your now tired body. Tucking you like a mother would do with her child.

“Now my little robin,” Valek cooed softly, while he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “close your eyes and dream of something sweet and beautiful.” Cupping your face with his hand.

“But Valek. What if the nightmares come back again,” you said with a worried voice. He softly shushed you with a finger to his lips. “I will stay with you while you slumber away. You have my word.” Placing his hand over his chest.

With a soft and swift motion, Valek climbed onto the bed and laid next to you. You turned over to look at him one more time before falling asleep.

“What do I dream of my love? I have nothing to dream about,” you said with a pain in your voice. “Anything. Anything you could think of. Any moment that was special to you in any way.” His voice started to fade away.

Slowly your eyes began to close as Valek continued to talk to you softly. Reassuring you he’ll keep you safe, while you sleep peacefully. “Dream peacefully my love. I’ll be here for you,” he said as he placed a kiss upon your forehead.

As you finally fallen asleep, you began to dream about the first time you met Valek.

#jan valek #jan valek x reader #jan valek x you #jan valek x y/n #jan valek x female reader #thomas ian griffith #john carpenter's vampires #character x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic #x reader #jan valek fanfiction #jan valek fanfic

24 notes · View notes

sapphic-moon-child · 11 months

Text

Masterlist

Reader (Platonic) - Reader (Romantic) - Smut 18+ DNI - All the FLUFF - ANGST B*TCHES ♥(Sick!fic)

Larissa Weems

Oh, Baby (LarissaxWifeReader)

Y/N makes a big decision, but it doesn't come without challenges. When a young girl needs home and love will they be able to provide it?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Hidden Treasures (LarissaxReader) NSFW

You are a new and quiet art teacher at Nevermore and been teaching for almost two years. You decide that it's time to take a step forward in your relationship with Larissa and plan to make a move.

Part 1 - Part 2

Her Fated Love (LarissaxDark!FairyReader)

Will Larissa ever realize how much you love her...before you die?

Fevers and Scares (LarissaxWifeReader)♥ *COMING SOON*

You come down with a menace of a cold and Larissa takes care of you. That is until she can't.

The Bumps along the way (LarissaxReader)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Part 6

Trouble with test tubes (LarissaxReader) *COMING SOON*

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Chronic illness / Disability Masterlist

MY TAG LIST

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems x reader #larissa x y/n #principal weems #larissa x wife!reader #wednesday #jan stevens #masterlist

99 notes · View notes

goddessfloresz · 20 days

Text

Masterlist

[ 💌 ] 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨: Definitely not an expert writer since English is not my first language, but I try my best! ..Mostly does Gwendoline Christie's characters, not ready to write others yet since I try to make sure the character portrayal is on point. ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇ℯ ℴ𝓅ℯ𝓂 and you may send some 𝓂ℴ𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 (support) as well, although I cannot assure you fast progress since life's been pretty busy. Writing stuff is my guilty pleasure, and maybe a hobby too?

As you may notice, Reader is always named Florere Dulcie in my stories since I dislike using 'Y/N' when writing. 😓

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:

|| Unfortunately, I only wrote oneshots.

🔥 - you know.. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

🍒 - Tension (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

🎀 - Fluff/Comfort (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

⚡ - hurt (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

Larissa Weems

Her Recovery p1. 🍒🎀

Her Recovery p2. 🍒🎀

13 notes · View notes

wttgwnc · 13 days

Text

Larissa x Fem reader (Part 2)

A/N: After such a long wait, here is part two. I'm sorry, I was absolutely uninspired for this, but I finally managed to find the inspiration. I'm sorry again if it's poorly written and if there are mistakes, but English is not my native language. This is quite short, and I apologize for that.

Warning: Nothing

You wake up the next day alone in your Principal's bed, rubbing your eyes as all the memories gradually come back to you. When you get up, you see your clothes on the floor but no sign of that blonde woman. A sigh of frustration escapes your lips, but you decide to get up to go in search of your beautiful blonde.

Before that, you put on your clothes and leave the room, quickly going down the stairs to find the director in the kitchen, drinking coffee with the newspaper in hand. With a determined step, you walk towards her and wrap your arms around her shoulders, but the blonde clears her throat, which quickly pushes you away.

Larissa: hello Y/N.

Y/N: Hello Larissa.

Larissa gets up and cleans the table where she had her breakfast; she seems quite silent compared to the day before, but that doesn't seem strange to you. You take a seat on a chair and watch this woman with blue eyes filling the dishwasher.

Y/N: Larissa... can we talk about what happened between us yesterday? I need answers to my questions.

The woman stops and turns to you, she gently nods her head before resuming the task she was doing. It is at that moment that you notice something is wrong; where is the dominant and talkative woman you usually know? She has completely vanished.

Y/N: What did that mean to you?

Larissa: Listen, Y/N, I think we shouldn't have done that. It's something wrong... you are my student and I am your Principal. If this gets out, we would both have legal troubles. I wanted it and I found it good, but I prefer to put an end to it before it starts.

You didn't expect something like this because you thought you were special in her eyes; you believed that this was something special for her just as it was special for you. You simply nod your head before lowering it to hide the tears that are starting to form.

Y/N: Okay.. I thought it was special for you..

Larissa: Unfortunately, Y/N, that was just… a mistake…

Larissa seems hesitant about the last word as if she didn't want to say it, but she said it anyway... this time you can't hold back your tears, everything you've been holding in flows from your eyes, her hand reaches towards your face but you pull away almost immediately.

Y/N: I should leave before someone notices my absence.

The Director nods as you stand up and gather your things; you don't even throw her a last glance before leaving to return to Nevermore. You feel empty, as if the world has collapsed around you.

On the way back to school, you decide to take out your phone to block his account. You feel bad for having given and shown him so much, but fate is made that way, and unfortunately, you can't change anything.

@thesamesweetie @barbarasstar @aemilia19 @simonknowsnothing @ladydimitrescu016 @cakexblankett

#gwendoline christie #jan stevens #jane murdstone #larissa weems #miranda hilmarson #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x y/n

67 notes · View notes

rippersz · 11 months

Text

𝑷𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

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

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

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

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

“Did I say you could stop?”

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

“DmPh M MpH yMPh GHmPhg tMpH?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which you have.

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

And it’s pissing you off.

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

She doesn’t respond.

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

You need Jan Stevens.

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

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

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

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

“Faster.”

Just like that.

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

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

It’s a comforting thought.

It’s why you’re willing to endure.

“Faster.”

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

But you like seeing her proud.

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

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

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

“Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. I.”

You can’t even remember the question.

Doesn’t matter.

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

Jan smiles.

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

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

“Say ‘thank you’ Daddy.”

Oh GOD.

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

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

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

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

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

But Jan Stevens doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh look at you,” Jan moans.

“Pathetic.”

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

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

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

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

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

Grins so widely. - Rip x

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩