jan stevens/f!reader
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
tags: lesbian sex, body image issues, rosacea, relationship study, oviposition
written for @alexusonfire
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
beautiful
Jan knows how to love you.
She peppers sweet kisses all over your flushed face, your rosacea rendered more prominent by the blush born out of desire as she rubs gentle circles over your underwear, the fabric growing damper by the second. She laughs when you thank her.
“What exactly are you thanking me for, darling?” she chuckles into the soft, flushed skin of your cheek as she pulls the soaked underwear aside and gently, slowly slides a single finger inside of you.
Besides the hot, aching want, there is confusion. Does she not see you?
“I know I’m not, ah,” you breathe out, “the prettiest girl, and yet you make me feel…”
You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to find the right words, because Jan curls her finger and presses into that rough, sweet spot that makes your mind go blank. “Ah, Jan!” you cry.
“How?” she murmurs in-between soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, chin. “How do I make you feel? Tell me.”
She pumps her finger faster, applying just the right amount of pressure — she knows your body well by now, never fails to pay attention to what makes your thighs tremble and your breathing grow laboured, what makes you moan louder.
“Wanted,” you whine as pressure deep in your belly starts to build. “Ah! You make me feel… wanted.”
“My beautiful girl,” she coos at you when you come undone around her finger. She's always warm and gentle, but still somehow overwhelming. The only thing you are aware of is Jan. Her lips on your burning cheek, her warm breath on your flushed skin, her body that radiates heat, looming over you, trapping you against the bed, her finger still inside of you. Jan, Jan, Jan, everywhere.
“Beautiful,” she continues to whisper into your skin. She kisses your cheeks that are speckled red and that you hate so much, but she seems to love.
She sounds so genuine that you don’t dare argue with her.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Jan knows how to love you.
She never closes her eyes when she kisses you. It’s somewhat unnerving — or it would be if it were anyone else but Jan.
“Why do you never close your eyes when we kiss?” you ask one day as you sit in the garden under the apple tree that barely started blooming, admiring blackbirds chirping.
She cups your face and pulls you close. Her bright blue eyes lined with perpetually smudged black eyeliner and that signature messy eyeshadow shine with adoration.
“Because you are art,” she says. “And it is a crime not to admire art when it stands right in front of you.”
You laugh in disbelief, and she shuts you up by crushing her mouth into yours, making your head spin with her wet, hot kisses.
She doesn’t close her eyes.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Jan knows how to love you.
You kiss in the drawing room, sprawled on the sofa. “Jan,” you say, pulling away, “shouldn’t we go upstairs?”
“I’m afraid I can’t wait to touch you,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “I want to have you right on this sofa.”
“But it’s — ah! — only five minutes to get upstairs!” you breathe as she bites your neck.
“Too long,” Jan chuckles into your skin and pins you down onto the sofa, straddling you. You have no further argument to offer.
She kisses the flushing skin of your cheeks as you grind against each other. The small sofa creaks under your weight, mirrors the rhythm of your hips. Laboured breathing and quiet moans echo throughout the empty, dark drawing room. Jan watches you with love and reverence in her eyes as she reaches her peak and coats your thigh in her wetness. The mere sight makes you come undone as well.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Jan knows how to love you.
She has a lot of love to give — too much, everyone always says — she’s too much. Too tall, too imposing, too prone to meddling into everyone’s affairs, too preoccupied with her job. She is too eager, wears too much makeup, has too extravagant tastes, likes young, pretty artists that come to the Institute just a little bit too much.
They don’t see her the way you do. Love swirls inside of her, begging to be released, to be given. If anything, she is too loving, too generous, too kind. They say she’s too much, but perhaps everyone else isn’t enough.
“I’m fat,” you say one evening as you’re getting ready for the afternoon mixer — an informal press conference of sorts, to announce your new album. You look at yourself in the mirror, pinching your thighs, your belly, tugging at your underwear that digs into your soft skin.
Jan, now out of her bunny pyjamas she lounged in all day and already half-dressed, puts her hands over yours and presses her front into your back. She towers over you, and you lean your head onto her breasts. You watch her reflection in the mirror, relieved to tear your gaze away from your own image. Her eye makeup is somehow even darker than usual (if that sort of thing is even possible), her hair styled in intricate finger curls. She looks enchanting and just a bit unsettling — like an oversized doll.
She squeezes the soft flesh of your belly. “You are perfect,” she says.
“I’m fat,” you repeat.
She comes in front of you and kneels. “I never said you weren’t. I said you are beautiful.”
You sometimes wonder if Jan simply doesn't see what you see, you worry that you somehow tricked her into thinking you're beautiful — but it seems that she sees exactly what you see, and yet something completely different at the same time.
You rest your hands on her hair as she kisses your belly, your hips, your thighs, leaving plum lipstick marks all over your skin. Her hair is hard and clumped from hairspray. You caress it fondly.
“My beautiful girl,” she whispers, planting a kiss right onto the band of your underwear. Her fake eyelashes flutter like butterflies as she blinks up at you, watching you like you truly are a piece of art — something exquisite, something special, something to be admired. "You're simply gorgeous."
For the first time ever, you don’t argue with her. “Thank you,” you say.
She kisses your belly button and gets up. When you dress, she compliments you again, and she seems to be unable to refrain from touching you.
She doesn’t stop showering you with compliments all throughout the evening.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Jan knows how to love you.
You gasp when she inserts the gelatine eggs inside of you. They stretch and fill you deliciously. She discards the neon dildo once all three eggs are inside of you.
“If only you knew how pretty you look like this,” she murmurs into your thigh as she kisses it, all while eyeing your filled pussy with lust in her eyes. Pink gelatine drips out of pink folds as the eggs slowly melt inside of you. She licks it.
She never breaks eye contact with you as she eats you out. Your muscles convulse with pleasure, and one egg slips out of you. She catches it with her mouth, spits it out in her hand, and then shoves it back inside of you, making you groan as you’re stretched once again.
“No one else would let me do this. No one ever let me love them like this,” she says, wiping gelatine from her lips — a futile gesture, for moments later her mouth is back on your aching pussy. She watches you as she sucks at the pink flesh and licks the pink gelatine.
“No one else would ever love me like this,” you say, unable to peel your eyes away from the odd, beautiful, fantastic, absolutely mad woman between your legs.
She stops pleasuring you for a moment, huffing in disbelief. You feel the gust of cool air on your wet, hot cunt. “You say it as if it were a chore,” she says before continuing to devour you with gusto.
“I love you,” you breathe out after a mere couple of minutes, when an intense orgasm washes over you and eggs slide our of your pussy and onto the silken sheets.
“I love you, Jan,” you cry as she continues to suck on your clit that aches with overstimulation, making your thighs close around her head. You close your eyes. Hot tears stream down your red, splotchy cheeks. After a couple of moments you feel her wet and slick lips on your cheeks, kissing the tears away.
“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” she says.
You believe her.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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