As most of you may know, I already have a taglist. However, since I originally made that taglist (found in a Google form on my pinned post), some of y'all have changed usernames, perhaps some people haven't seen it, etc. Plus the Google form is kind of a bit harder to keep track of than just a tumblr post.
So I'm starting a new taglist on this post 🫶🏼 just go ahead and comment emojis for which characters you would like to be tagged in:
🌈 All Gwen characters
🍷 Larissa Weems
🗡️ Brienne of Tarth
⭐️ Captain Phasma
🚓 Miranda Hilmarson
🤍 Jane Murdstone
💄 Jan Stevens
🔥 Lucifer Morningstar
🐐 Lorne
🖤 Gwen (In Fabric)
I'm going to leave my current taglist as is, so if you are currently being tagged in my posts and are still okay with that, you don't need to comment, you'll still be tagged. If you'd like to be removed for whatever reason, shoot me a message and let me know!
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
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 not writing for them anymore!
🔫 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!
Prompt: Reader is the new resident at the Sonic Catering Institute run by the eccentric Jan Stevens, the woman who sponsors her art and in exchange asks reader to become her lover.
Ship: Jan Stevens x fem!reader.
Warnings: FLUFF in caps, literally so much fluff and besotted reader (lol), pet names, Jan Stevens being the bundle of joy I know she is. Reader is not a minor! Kisses LOTS OF KISSES (bc you cannot tell me Jan is not a softie for giving and receiving smooches). Kisses as love language, mention of alternative food art but not really. Mostly reader and Jan being two fools in love.
A/N: Hello again! Here I come to fulfill my dream of Miss Jan Stevens having an affair with one of her residents (but a real relationship, we're a big no no when it comes to Billy Rubin and his lack of international love smh) So yeah, hope you enjoy! xo.
----
Food it was always more than the simple sustain for life, or a way of living or making profit by creating meals to offer at a place. No, it was more than that when it came to you and food, almost like a deep connection to know more about it, your curious mind wandering trough the cook books and kitchens you had access to, always wanting to know why such bond held a very special place in your soul.
The only explanation you could give it was that the universe granted you this rare talent in order to pursue it, even at a young age.
Enjoying any kind of dinners was an experiencie, and everytime you did it never failed to feed the craviness of reaching new levels when it came to food. Almost like a miracle, you decided this uncertain but luring path was the one you needed to follow.
----
It took some years and a great amount of failed plans, but you were finally happy at the way this whole thing of food music turned out, even when at an early stage of it people thought you went completely mad for creating art made by food that was not eatable at all. If they put it out like that it sounded crazy, but you knew they didn't understand, not even one bit.
Great thing you never cared for hearing others peoples opinions about you ditching college and embracing the alternative yet excentric art of sonic food catering, the one that made your heart fully happy. And so there you were, after small gatherings in cramped spaces, effort and love for this art carried you to the magnificent Sonic Catering Institute; a place where your ideas and wishes could rest easily and get sponsored by the right people. By her, and only her.
Jan Stevens was the woman you would never see at the street or a common place. You were sure she was a woman you would never see her at all, and yet, the only one if she randomly appeared behind an aisle at the supermarket or a the next table in a restaurant. The oddity about her and the looks she always wore were the whole essence why you reached for her, the reason why pleasing her was as important as creating your art.
She had you in a chokehold, your muse.
And of course, Jan Stevens knew the power she held on you as well the the love and praise that seemed to escape without shame from yourself when it came to her. It was adorable, seeing you so enamoured with her and always behaving like a puppy around her expensive dresses. She loved it, so much that it wasn't so long after you both came to an agreement; she would sponsor after the residency if you became her lover, stating that she could do international love and being thousands of miles apart wasn't a problem for her to keep loving you.
You sealed the agreement by kissing her so unexpectedly, making Jan Stevens smile.
----
It had been two and a half months since your acceptance at the Sonic Catering Institute and one month since becoming Jan Stevens newest lover, and those were blissful days. Making art and sharing a compassionate love with a wonderful woman it was truly more than you have dreamed of.
A wonderful woman whom had her slender hand wrapped around your arm while taking a peaceful stroll with you through her mansion gardens. The day was beautiful and sunny enough to make both of you take a break from brainstorming ideas for the next gathering and soundchecking, so instead of spending the rest of the day in between the sheets, you and your lover went for some calmness at their favorite place.
"Look there my love, those flowers are blossoming today."
"They are indeed sweetling. Thriving and shining like you, Y/N."
A smile appeared in your face as soon you heard the soft voice praising you and comparing your success to the bush of flowers that bloomed so beautifuly that day; Jan Stevens never failed to burst love and adoration beneath your skin, with her words and pretty names she used to call you most of the time; she still had to maintain the façade of professionalism when it came to presentations or those dinner parties she threw occasionaly.
You didn't mind it though, that people weren't aware of your relationship, they had no right to know about it or think that you're only using Jan Stevens for getting her money. So therefore, it was kept secret in order to enjoy it in your way. In a few months, you would be pursuing the next phase of your art, and at that time the residency would be over; so no worry about secrecy.
But right now, strolling by the bushes and old trees with your excentric yet handsome lover, was more than enough to you.
"How can you say such things and not make me blush like a poppy?"
You asked, gazing at her and actually starting to look as red as a strawberry, which made Jan Stevens laugh softly and reach one of your cheeks with her free hand, caressing it. The mere action had you almost like a puddle, if you could actually turn into that, but it wasn't very practical if you thought about it.
"Because sweetling, I love the red flush that crawls through this beautiful face of yours. So beautiful and kissable and which I absolutely adore."
"Jan Stevens, please my peach!"
The blonde laughed again, finding cute the way you would turn bashful at the praise she threw at you. Having enough of standing up, Jan Stevens gently pulled at your arm and grabbed the skirt of her black and white dress, leading you both to a bench near the shadow of a big tree. There, you took a seat next to the older woman, careful of not stepping accidentally on her dress.
As soon you sat down, a couple of hands went straight at your face and turned you to look at your love, who was smiling before closing the gap between you two in a series of short kisses. You didn't waste anytime and found a place for your own hands in the waist of the blonde, tracing so slightly and lovely the curves of her body possesed.
The sound of hums tickled against your lips, making you smile at it and knowing that your beloved peach was really enjoying this demostration of love. It turns out Jan Stevens love language was mostly kisses, and she loved giving them to you or receiving them happily from you; the lipstick she used always got smeared in the corner of her plump lips while you ended with a face full of lipstick stains and a drunk in love face.
The range of her kisses would vary on the mood she was; sometimes, they were no more than a peck to remind you of their love. Other times, she would pin you against the matress and leave you breathless by how her kisses grow hotter and needier, this time reminding you of the power they held.
But the ones you loved were the ones that gave with such patience and grace, holding you as if you were a fragile and delicate thing. Those were the ones that gave you at the garden and you totally fell for it.
"Jan."
"Too tired to say my name, sugarplum?"
She whispered against your mouth, kissing you a couple of times before pulling out of the embrace, but not totally to be apart. Your eyes felt heavy and tired, but an enamoured smile was in that face of yours; the sight of you, fuzzy and high in love was endearing to Jan Stevens, who couldn't stop looking at you.
"Perhaps my lovely bunny would love to go and take a nap. Looks like someone's tired."
"Not tired, just simply love drunk thanks to you peach."
"You're always seem to be love drunk baby."
This time it was your turn to laugh at her response, squeezing gently her hips while a foolish grin appeared on your face. She was right of course, you were always love drunk and all because of her; of her captivating love she had in her soul. You simply rested your head in her shoulder, pulling her body close to yours.
Jan kept a hand on your flushed face, stroking your cheeks or playing with your hair, while the other one found a place in your lap. Silence filled the space rapidly at the absence of words, but it was okay; there were moments with such intimacy like this one that words didn't need to be said. Both of you just knew how much love was in between.
It didn't take long for Jan Stevens to kiss you, never having enough of your kisses which you gladly give. Pecks turned into sweet kisses that turned into a full make out session, suddenly initiating a fire in your lower abdomen and made you whine against Jan's lips; your hands gripped her hips while the elegants of your beloved traveled to your torso, teasing you so slightly.
Then, she drew out again and caused you to protest at the lack of her warm, but a finger was placed in your lips to silence you.
"No whining darling, and let's take this into bed."
The mention of laying with her instantly cheered you up, and also caused you to stand up to take her hand and pull her out of her seat. Amused and in love with your reaction, Jan Stevens followed you through the gardens and into her mansion, already looking foward for all of the things she plans to do with you.
Oh how she loved being the headmistress of a place like this. And how she loved you.
A/n: You have no idea how shocked I am that I finished this. I haven’t written a fanfic in a long while and I don't know what happened lol. I watched Gourmet Flux a while ago and next thing I know I’m writing about Jan Stevens. Sorry if there’s any typos or mistakes, I tried my best to proofread but I have dyslexia so sometimes things can still slip by me. Hope y’all enjoy!
The microphone to the compressor to the reverb to the chorus to the phaser to the flanger to the delay to the looper to-
“Y/n?”
You look up, shocked and bewildered from your notes to see Jan Stevens with her sickly sweet smile staring right into your eyes. You couldn’t help but relax once you saw her precious face since her smiles always brought you such joy. Secretly you had the biggest crush on her once you were admitted into the culinary collective. You knew of her but you never knew that she was such a goddess and quite kind with everyone she interacted with. While she was quite attractive, you also had the utmost respect for her opinions on your art, she always gave your collective amazing advice and impressed you with her knowledge of signal flow and how to get the best sound possible. While being the designated tracker in your collective you always felt under pressure and would slip sometimes during performances, getting lost with all the pedals or forgetting to plug something in which always ended up with your other two partners yelling at you and getting quite frustrated with you.
However, no matter how badly you goofed up, Jan Stevens was always there to help and cheer you up. After performances you would be crying in a corner and she would come and try her best to calm you down. She would always tell you such sweet things such as “Darling, it’s quite alright, we all make mistakes during performances”, “Don’t cry over nothingness my sweet girl, the performance was quite spectacular”, “Even if it was a mistake, it still sounded wonderful”. She always was able to help you and cheer up before giving thanks to the audience. She always there for you and always gave you the creative freedom you yearned, no matter how stupid some of your ideas may have been.
“Y/n? Are you alright?” she asked again, looking at you with a bit of concern. You hadn’t realized that you still had said nothing to her and were just staring at her with a blank expression. “Y-Yes Miss Stevens, I’m quite alright. Just working out the signal flow for tonight’s performance” you told her, standing up from the grass in the garden. You always felt better working and thinking outside than being cooped up in the room you shared with your collective.
“Don’t fret over such miniscule things y/n, you’ll do just fine darling. I have full faith in you if that makes you feel better in anyway whatsoever” she said, sitting down on the grass and grabbing your notebook. You always found it quite funny how sporadic she could be, always reminding you somewhat of a bunny or a rabbit. Sitting back down next to her you tried to act normal and not anxious whatsoever by her now looking through your notebook.
It didn’t just hold your notes, but also your sapphic poems that you wrote about a certain someone. In reality you were sweating bullets, hoping she wouldn’t flip far enough to read them. “Y/n? What’s all this” she asked and you face lost all of it’s color. She found them, dear god she found them. It was over. Your residency would be terminated immediately. There’s no way in hell she would let someone who saw her in such a way stay and complete their course. Your days of being in a collective were over.
“I- uh, I’m not quite such what your talking about Miss Stevens?” You said,hopefully playing it off and letting her think that the poems weren’t about her. “I think you know very well what I’m speaking of y/n, come let’s discuss this more in my office, I would like this to be a more private conversation” she said, swiftly getting up and turning to head towards her office. You quickly followed but couldn’t help but stare at her. The way her hips swayed as she walked, although she was wearing quite a long skirt, you could tell her long toned legs were hiding in there, begging to be shown. Once you reached her office you quickly closed the door, prepared to face your doom of being kick out. However, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.
As soon as you closed the door, she pinned you against it and basically started attacking your neck. You couldn’t help but ease into her and started holding her hips, you were still shocked none the less but you needed to hold her. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do this” she told you in between the barrage on kisses on your neck. “Miss Stevens-” “Jan, call me Jan” she said, stopping to look you right in your eyes. You couldn’t help but get lost in her blue, almost ice-like eyes. “Jan, I need you to kiss me, I need to know this isn’t fake” you asked her, practically begging.
“Darling, this is anything but a dream” she said as she closed the space to finally kiss you on the lips. Her lipstick was already practically off and was all over your neck. The hunger between the two of you only grew more and more. Her caressed started to feel more of you and at this point, you had practically been groping her butt. Finally when the two of you pulled away for air is when she dragged you out of the office and rushed you to her room. She shoved you onto the bed and before you could even understand where you were or what had happened, she was fully undressed in front of you.
You couldn’t help but stare at her beautiful pale glistening skin, you were also quite right about her tall toned legs and stared at her in utter hunger. She grabbed you chin and guided you up to kiss her once more. This time however when she pulled away, she shoved you back and got on top of you. “You're probably quite peckish by now aren’t you darling? I have you full course meal right here waiting for you.” she said, alligining her pussy to be directly above your face. You stared at her once more, nonverbally asking for consent to dive in, searching for her icy blue eyes within her clouds of black around her eyes. She gave you a swift nod which left you in a full predatorial mode. She had seen you perform more than enough during the after show thanks but she didn’t know you were going to be this relentless. You had her practically screaming with the way you ate her. You made sure to not waste a single drop of her sweet nectar. You weren’t sure if this was gonna be a one done deal or not so you decided to be a full glutton. Eating her out as if she was your last meal. “Oh god y/n, I-” she screamed out as if on cue you could feel her legs shuddering around you.
You didn’t care however, you continued your ravinish attack on her poor pussy only to bring her to another orgasm, which lead to another one until she was practically begging for you to stop in a noncorrhent gumble of words. “Y/n- I, oh my, please” she said, tapping at your arms to let her go. As if waking from a hypnosis you let her go and layed next to you, practically gasping for air.
“Jan! I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me I just-” you stopped mid apology only to have Jan’s lips on yours once more, moaning as she tasted herself on your lips. “Once again always apologizing, you did nothing wrong darling, you did exactly what I asked for” she said, giving you another quick peck to your lips. You couldn’t help but embrace her and snuggle into her after all that happened and put your head on her chest to hear her beating heart calming down.
Eventually you both talking about everything and nothing until you finally had the courage to ask about your relationship. “Jan, I need to know. I-is this a one time deal or is this something that is planned to last” you asked, looking up only to see pure concern in her eyes. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breathe which prepares you for the bad news that this was just a one time sex deal. “Y/n, I won’t lay here and lie to say you aren’t the first resident I’ve had in my bed. I’ve only done this once before and truly regretted it, I don’t want this to be seen as a power move or some twisted domination kink. When I read your poems it struck something that I never felt before, it was also me going after and lusting after other people. Never in all my years has it been the other way around, I’ve never felt so needed from another person. So no y/n, I would not like this to be a one time deal. As you said yourself, I would love to be your playful little bunny” she said with a giggle at the end, holding your cheeks with both of her hands.
You never felt so happy and free with another person, so loved. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit too and feel tears threatening to come out of your eyes. However these weren’t painful tears like all the others. Finally you had tears of happiness before you closed the distance and kissed her with a sweet kiss that made you both swoon.
Breaking away Jan couldn’t help but stare at you and then whispered into your ear.
“I believe it’s my turn to have my way with you darling”
