the dirty look he gives you, knowing that you slept with someone for information. he was very opposed to the idea if it weren’t for his master permitting you to do whatever it takes for the mission.
he remembers the blissful look on your face when joker pleasured you in his tent.
the human bears no privileges to taste you—to touch you, and to make you orgasm by his hands.
sebastian mournfully watches you manipulate joker, whispering commands on how to please you; the human only interrupts you with a deep, sloppy kiss—reassuring you that he knows how to make you feel good.
the poor tree close by the tent, where you two are about to fornicate in, snaps in half with his grip; sebastian feels quite delighted seeing the confused look on joker’s face; however, you were not oblivious.
you know damn well it was him throwing a tantrum.
so you give the butler a show.
the sounds you’re letting out feels too theatrical; sebastian knew that you’d rather die than have someone make you induce a noise so dirty.
the worse part? he knew you were sincerely enjoying it.
your eyes made contact with sebastian’s while joker is busy making out with you and grinding his hips deliciously against yours; the demon’s crimson eyes gleam in fury—your body shivers from the cold pressure of the wind and the demon’s rising aura.
the sounds of wet slaps of skins for hours are scratching deeply into his ear drums, he was this close to burning the tent. sebastian wants to slice joker’s tongue, his heightened hearing picks up the whispers he breathes in your ears—about how good you make him feel.
like a natural, you respond just the way joker wants you to. great heavens, you’re a nasty one.
your eyes rolled back in pleasure, letting out an exaggerated moan as the two of you reach your orgasm, rage almost blurs the clear mind of the butler’s.
because despite your advances, you had easily obtained the information needed.
sebastian is infuriated that you can easily sleep with a human you’ve just met, while you reject his advances every time inside the manor.
it makes him look needy, he thinks it’s pathetic and disgusting.
— stardew valley characters reacting to you asking them to be your partner.
req: The bachelor(ettes) heard that the farmer had just brought a bouquet, and they’re a little jealous, thinking it’s for someone else. At the end of the day, the farmer appears holding the flowers to their face and asks them to be their partner 🤭
Sebastian
He hears it from Sam, half-murmured, half joking: “the farmer bought a bouquet today.” and he pretends not to care; keeps staring at the screen, watching the code scroll by without actually doing anything. he swallows hard and stays silent. Sam asks what he thinks about it, but he just shrugs. his heart is racing and he feels a mix of sadness and anger at himself for not having spoken up sooner about what he felt. the ache lingers all afternoon; stupid thoughts cross his mind while he uselessly tries to get back to work.
that night, you look for him everywhere but can’t find him. when you reach the dock, you see him smoking while staring out at the sea. you approach as quietly as possible, the bouquet hidden behind your back. he hears your footsteps and turns around; he meets your eyes and feels a pang in his chest, but when he notices the flowers behind your back, his face twists in confusion. you extend the bouquet toward him and gently ask if he would like to be your partner. he freezes. then laughs, breathless, stunned.
“god, yes… i thought i had lost you before i even had you.”
Sam
he spirals instantly. a bouquet? for who? someone from town? some mysterious ex? he gets confused and anxious. he plays louder than usual, misses a note, sighs deeply, annoyed at himself. he tries new tricks on his skateboard but can’t focus enough and falls two, three times. by sunset, he’s staring down the path to the farm, thinking about going to you and confessing everything at once. but he knows now it’s too late.
when you finally appear, the flowers shyly held in front of your face, he smiles automatically—until you ask him out. for a second, he just blinks. then: the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.
“wait… me? you mean me?”
“yes! who else, silly?” you say, playful. he hugs you so tightly the bouquet almost gets crushed.
Shane
he hears about it at the Saloon and feels a chill in his stomach. he thinks it’s a lie, but in a small town like this, it can’t really be a lie; people see everything and talk about everything. he takes another gulp of his beer and tells himself he doesn’t care. you deserve someone better anyway. but still, he’s quieter than usual, nursing his drink, staring at nothing.
he’s the last to leave the Saloon because he knows that the moment he’s alone in his room with his thoughts, he’ll fall apart. however, when you find him outside, in the cool, soft night air, he freezes, staring at you. you, embarrassed, step closer and offer him the flowers—and your heart.
his voice falters. “…are you sure?”
when you nod, he hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the tears.
Harvey
he hears it from Vincent when Jodi brings him to the clinic. he thinks it’s just a child’s joke, but when Jodi, in a tone more certain than questioning, asks if he knew about it, he freezes for half a second. “no… i didn’t know,” his voice is low and he forces a gentle smile. a bouquet. bought today. he spends the rest of the day distracted, his heart racing for reasons he refuses to name.
when you show up at the clinic after hours, the flowers trembling slightly in your hands, he assumes he misunderstood—until you ask him. his eyes soften immediately.
“oh,” he whispers, smiling as if the world had just settled back into place. “my dear… i was so afraid i had imagined what we had.”
Elliot
he notices immediately. the empty flower stand at Pierre’s shop. the whispered rumors. he convinces himself this is the natural order of things: beauty chooses beauty. still, the sea feels lonelier that night; his heart races, aching as he stares at the horizon.
when you approach him on the beach, the bouquet raised like an offering, he goes completely still. when you confess nervously, he takes your hand reverently.
“my love,” he says softly, “you’ve written yourself into my life..”
Emily
she hears Gus and Pam talking about it at the Saloon that night. she keeps working, but her smile no longer reaches her face; she feels a strange heaviness, like a thread pulled too tight. there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
when you arrive, the flowers glowing between your fingers, she sighs with joy the moment you ask. she laughs, claps once, and hugs you.
“i knew it!” she says fondly. “but it still feels magical.”
Haley
she hears and pretends she doesn’t care—but she does. much more than she’d like to admit. all day she’s distracted, strangely quiet, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. when you show up at her house, the bouquet partially hiding your nervous smile, she almost scoffs—until you ask, and her expression completely softens.
“oh,” she says, breath caught in her throat. “i thought… never mind.” instead, she cups your face with both hands and smiles brightly before pulling you into a delicate kiss.
Penny
it breaks her heart quietly. she tells herself you deserve to be happy, even if it isn’t with her. she spends the afternoon reading, but can’t focus on a single page. when you approach her by the riverbank, the flowers carefully raised, she looks up, surprised. you take a deep breath before confessing; when you ask her to be your partner, her eyes fill with tears.
“i was so afraid to hope,” she admits, her voice trembling as she stands. she holds the bouquet as if it were something precious and hugs you tightly, happy tears rolling down her cheeks.
Leah
she hears and feels a sense of loss even before it’s confirmed. she tells herself it’s fine, you never really had anything. still, it hurts. when you arrive at her cabin, she opens the door and looks at you in complete shock; you with the bouquet raised like a question, she sighs softly. you look at her with shining eyes and she smiles, slow and genuine.
“i almost let myself believe i’d lost my chance,” she says. then she kisses you, a firm, certain kiss, as if choosing you too.
I love the idea of Ciel just sick of the servants trashing the manor all the time so he hires a fifth one who's actually a servant instead of a hitman/soldier/experiment in disguise. the interview goes rlly well! you get hired on the spot and you get along well with the other servants but then you meet the butler and you...
...just instantly know he's a demon.
its not like sebastian tries to hide it, but mostly everyone is happy to look the other way. but you've heard stories of demons having these eyes that are soulless and empty. and those are the exact horrors you're seeing within sebastian.
you can't just quit. you need the money, you cant just give up the opportunity to work for a nobleman. so you steel yourself. you shut your eyes and focus on the task at hand, but you do carry protection.
every night you pour a line of salt across your door. you carry around holy water. you wear a cross around your neck.
you make it oh so obvious that you know he's a demon....and sebastian is getting a little bored.
every morning you can see him casually sweeping away the salt line ("please do make sure you clean up your mess, next time"). he grabs the holy water and drinks it ("thank you for the refreshment, my throat was getting parched). And that one time when you misplaced your cross, you found it settled in Sebastian's bare ungloved hands as he 'returned' it to you ("such a pretty necklace. where did you obtain such an item?").
every. single. thing that you've been told wards off demons...did nothing.
your paranoia gets so bad that even Ciel starts noticing. he doesn't wanna just fire you because you're the only one who hasn't broken a plate when cleaning it. So, instead he just tells sebastian 'just pretend one of the charms actually wards you off'.
So Sebastian just lets you think that the lavender is actually doing something.
He makes a big show of it. He pinches his nose like he smells something bad every time he steps in a room with you. He stays 20 feet away from you at all times. He gets a kick out of it honestly.
Months go by and an inevitable break-in happens. the thugs were initially after Ciel but for whatever reason they take off with you instead.
But, over the coming months, the demon has developed a soft spot for you. he finds you really funny and was disappointed over the kidnapping. its sort of in the same way when you make friends with a squirrel and you feed it nuts, but one day it stops appearing in your window. <- like that.
Ciel is largely annoyed that he might have to replace a competent servant, so when Sebastian asks if he could take a five-minute break to 'grab a certain something', he shrugs and waves him off.
You're returned to the manor largely unharmed and in Sebastian's arms.
── ❦. It's Just A Love Bite, Darling | Sebastian Michaelis x f!reader
. ˳༚༅༚ explicit content, smut, mdni: pet names, heavy marking (biting, hickeys), blood, condescending praise, oral receiving
♱ word count: 2k
You sit down without thinking.
That is mistake number one.
The sharp bite of pain makes your breath hitch before you can catch it, and you have to cover the sound with an exaggerated sip of your drink, eyes darting around the café to check if someone might have seen you flinch.
Nobody has, obviously not. No one ever does. They will never know what kind of mess you are under your coat.
And he? Of course, he planned it that way.
You should be focusing on your planner, or the pastry on your plate, or anything other than the heated flicker of memory dragging its nails down your spine.
But the ghost of his voice hums in your ear, laced with pretentious care and unshakable smugness. "Did I go too deep, darling? You do squirm so prettily when it stings."
You feel your face heat up immediately. Not just because it does sting, but because the barista just asked if you need anything else, and you may have squeaked a tiny "No thank you," like a guilty schoolgirl.
You shift again.
Mistake number two.
You know better... or at least you should. The soreness isn't subtle. It blooms in places no one can see, but you feel it with every tiny adjustment; dull and deep and far too intimate. You try to keep your face neutral, to mask the small gasp that slips out behind your straw as you sip your drink, as if that will help.
It doesn't.
Your thighs are aching, pulsing faintly where his mouth—his teeth—made their home last night. Though it's not just the pain that pesters you; it's the memory, the warmth and the way he looked at you when you begged him not to stop.
It was supposed to be gentle. That's what Sebastian told you at least, murmured against your neck as he helped you out of your clothes. Though, all too greedily did his hands trail over your figure, did his mouth brush your ear as he promised you, "Just a little tenderness tonight, dove. You've earned it."
And it was, at first. Tender, sweet even... at least by Sebastian's standards. He didn't pounce, no, he invited himself in, with fingertips under your chin that tilted your face up to his. His mouth brushed over yours with the kind of softness that felt like a trap, and his tongue teased your lips, coaxed them open until he could taste your desire. You had barely any sense left to hold on to when Sebastian's hand slid to the back of your neck, anchoring you there until you were half-drunk on him.
By the time he laid you back on the bed, your body was pliant, your clothes in disarray, accompanied by a fluttering heart, and need conveyed in the impatient shift of your hips.
A whimper passed your lips into his mouth when he finally leaned down. "Breathe," Sebastian had murmured, while his fingers ran down your stomach. "I'll take care of everything."
First, he looked. With one hand on your waist, the other smoothing down your side, his gaze swept over you in a way that made your knees weak, not from lust but from the sheer weight of his attention, like you were a thing of rare beauty he was planning to ruin.
That's when his lips curled into a smile. "Needy little thing," Sebastian had murmured as his lips ghosted over your cheek, your jaw, down your throat. You whined when he didn't immediately do more, and he laughed. Not cruelly, but knowingly. Like he was enjoying your unravelling more than the act itself.
He kissed lower still, to the soft slope of your chest and moved along your figure with maddening patience, savouring every inch before he dipped lower.
His mouth reached your stomach, his sharp teeth brushing skin Sebastian had already bruised some nights ago. And then he looked up at you from between your legs, those haunting eyes seemed to smoulder faintly in the dark. He was something inhuman, unholy, and entirely too smug.
And that’s when it started. A chuckle rang in his torture before words of satisfation where barely breathed along your skin. "Always so tense, dear," Sebstian's tongue flicked out to taste you, just below the swell of your hip, "like you don't trust me to be gentle."
He kissed the inside of your thigh so soft, so sweet to cause your fingers to curl tight into the sheets as a whimper slipped past your teeth, half-plea, half-warning, because you knew that kind of softness never came without consequence.
And maybe that's why the shift hit so hard. The way his mouth trailed down your body with slow kisses until everything became suddenly hungrier. His voice lowered when he reached your legs and murmured something dark and utterly pleased.
"You always get so fidgety when I take my time." His teeth grazed the inside of your thigh and you twitched in response, causing Sebastian's grip to tighten and pin your hips to the bed. "Now, now. Be good. You'll like this part."
"You said that last time," you managed, your voice embarrassingly thin. "You bit me—"
"Mhm." His mouth curved against your skin. "And didn't you come beautifully after?"
You remember the words that slipped from you next; they were unsure, breathless, a stammered "I-I did, I just—" but they never made it to the end, because his mouth opened wide and then closed around you with no warning, teeth sinking into your thigh with the kind of precision that should have been inhumane but was instead rather exquisite, a pain so sharp and sudden that your back arched off the mattress and a cry clawed its way out of your throat.
"S-Sebastian—!" you choked out, somewhere between a whine and a complaint, your hands scrabbling for anything—sheets, his wrist, the edge of your sanity.
But Sebastian didn't stop, he didn't even flinch.
"Wait—" you gasped, half way sitting up, only for him to push you back down. Sebastian held you there, with lips sealed to your skin, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still since you writhed against him.
The mark throbbed and burned so sweetly, and he knew. He knew how shamefully good he made you feel as his fingers moved along your wet panties.
And then, as you panted and whimpered, your legs trembling beneath his palms, Sebastian pulled back with a sigh like he had just tasted something divine.
"Poor thing," he cood, and licked over the wound with infuriating calmness. "It's just a love bite, darling. Don't pout."
But you were pouting. You were whimpering as he kissed the bruise he had created, soft in a way that made you shudder all the more. Until he moved to the other thigh and all that relaxation was forgotten.
"No, no, no—please, I just—" you started, panic-stricken as your breath caught. You tried to speak, but it came out in fragments; a protest, a moan, a breathless complaint that sounded more like please do it again rather than please stop, and Sebastian must have heard it for what it was, because he kissed you again, lower this time, so close to where you pulsed with need for his attention.
"It's simply music to my ears when you whine like that," he whispered, nuzzling into your panty-clad heat with a tenderness that made you feel absurdly, sickeningly adored, "like you hate it, but you still open your legs for me every time."
"S-Sebastian— you... bastard!"
Sebastian licked the mark once. Then again before smiling a wicked curve that means he was not done yet. "Such desperation. It's rather unbecoming" he speaks softly, and kisses your inner thigh, slow and wet. "But flattering."
So he kissed your inner thigh once more, then a third time, his lips plush and lingering. "Shhh, dove. Just one more. For symmetry."
He held your legs open with one hand, just firm enough to make you feel it. And then his mouth opened wide, and he bit the other thigh just as hard.
Your hands curled into the sheets, your voice cracking as you cried out, pleasure and pain in equal measure bloomed under his mouth.
He didn't rush, he didn't soothe. Instead, Sebastian pressed open-mouthed kisses to each mark like he was blessing them, low murmurs of "so pretty" falling between each kiss.
You cried out half in pain, half something worse, and tried to close your legs, but he tsked gently, mouthing at the angry new bruise like an artist admiring his brushstroke.
You remember his mouth dipping lower, his voice purring things like, "Look at you," while his thumb brushed over your clit before gathering more of your slick. "Falling apart from just a few love bites. How terribly fragile."
You could barely get out his name because you were too busy gasping for air as his tongue finally tasted you, slow and steady until you finally came under his mouth.
You fisted into neatly-styled black strands, your thighs trembled around his head, as your helpless voice gasped and cried in ways that made your demon feel as though he had achieved something virtuous.
You came embarrassingly fast. And then again... and again. And Sebastian never let you close your thighs, not once, not even when you were crying from how good it hurt.
When he finally kissed his way back up to your mouth, you were a wreck. A sight to behold that made Sebastian smile so sweetly, you were sure it was fake.
"My darling," he whispered, smoothing your hair back, "you wear suffering so beautifully."
You could have slapped him, you wanted to. But instead, you clung to him and let him pamper you to bed like the spoiled, aching creature he had made you.
─── ♱
And now? You still feel him between your legs, still feel his breath hot and heavy, his voice low and amused as it curls against your skin. The reminder of Sebastian the reminder is everywhere.
Especially so once you press your thighs together under the café table, hissing quietly as the pressure stokes the soreness into something more dangerous.
The chair is your enemy today, and Sebastian, wherever he is, absolutely knows.
It's not even noon and you're already ruined by memory, by sensation, by the stupid little love note folded neatly in your coat pocket. You haven't opened it yet, instead you try to focus on your planner, on your to-do list, on anything but the heat between your legs and the fresh pulse of soreness you can't escape.
Sebastian tucked the note in sometime before he vanished this morning—right after leaving a bouquet of peonies and devil's trumpet on the windowsill.
You slide out the square of thick ivory paper, sealed in deep black wax with an S stamped through it. The handwriting is graceful.
You unfold it with a sigh, your thighs clenching before your eyes even hit the words.
My beloved,
I trust you are reminded of me today.
Try not to squirm so much.
You will only bruise deeper.
Sit pretty.
Yours (in all the inconvenient ways),
— Sebastian.
Being locked up inside of a stuffy closet wasn't particularly on your list of goals for the night, and yet here you were, barely illuminated by the soft seam of light daring to leak through the cracks of the door. The night air outside was still young and in bloom, voices leaking through the gap under the door with cheers and Holiday joy. You hear the cork to a bottle burst with a pop, a voice shrieking a happy cry as foam inevitably froths over the bottle, spattering to the hardwood floor of the Saloon.
Your own breath feels as if it echoes around you, bouncing off of the built-in shelves lining the closet, hitting you back in the face with a ring paired in your ears. Your back digs into the sharp plastic faux leaves of a holiday wreath, pulled out in the chaos of decorations brought from the very back end of the space, spewing from boxes, unworthy decorations strewn on shelves and wood panel floors - It was a miracle you hadn't shattered a glass bauble under your feet.
You shuffle, knees feeling wobbled and numb, breath punching out from the depths of your lungs, layering the small space in a sickly sweet warmth, hot and humid as if you were trapped in a sauna. Your fingers twirl into thick and dark tendrils of hair, wound into curls with a tight squeeze of your fingers, flexing every time the hard metallic lap of a pierced tongue grazes hot over your clothed clit. Despite the freeze beyond the front door of the Community Centre, the air inside of the closet was thicker than creamy hot chocolate, heated by the dancing bodies of the townsfolk celebrating the late-night festivities. That, and the spiked eggnog you had nursed through the night, settling under your diaphragm and rising up, a flush that kissed your cheeks, skin already bitten sensitive by the cool air on your walk there. And of course the man between your legs had a helping hand with it too - Lengthy fingers grabbing around the soft squish of your thighs, thumbs daring to dig just enough to have you squirming. Sebastian’s hands were slender and elegant, decorated with glinting rings and cracked nail polish, said nails digging loving crescents into the supple soft of your skin.
He had you sighing, swallowing down milky-thick saliva, your eyes catching his own, dark brows furrowed in focus as his lips latched with a smush against your mound, a breath heavy and hot on your cunt.
Now how exactly did you end up here anyway?
There was something of a Holiday Party occurring - A new tradition since the Community Centre had been cleaned up, spacious for the entirety of the town to attend, freely mingling and dancing away with a few pocket groups chatting on the sidelines. The more “Adult-Adults” - The Parents of many young people of the Valley - Congregated by the fire, letting the flicking warmth absorb into their skin, soothed from the chilling bite of the outside with their own fire burning up in their guts, born out of the little treat of alcohol they sipped at. Others mingled elsewhere, spread across the varying rooms, even the children ran and played in the crafts room, welcomed now that festivities didn't have to take place in the depths of the Saloon or the frosty outside of the Town Square.
You were with your usual gaggle of friends; Samson, Abigail and Sebastian, tucked away by the storage pantry, sat on crates and barrels filled to the brim with bits and bobs. You giggle airily at Sam and his usual antics, nursing your cup of eggnog while you shift on your makeshift box-seat, careful to avoid lodging a splinter in Yoba knows where. The vibe was cozy, wrapped in a glowy warm as you look between your friends, a buzz in your tummy leaving your head a little light, lips a tad looser than before.
Your eyes land on Sebastian, propped up on his own crate, chin tilted up high enough to reach the crack of an open window, blowing hot nicotine smoke from his lips into the brisk chill outside. He drags his cigarette hard, the end firing to life with a burn of hot orange, ashes flecking off of the edge before it dies away, smoke carried into his lungs to settle before he blows out once again. He was methodical, practiced in the movements as if he’d sneaked a puff of tobacco before, pierced tongue wetting over his lips, spit surely warm enough to battle the cold kiss of night air reddening his mouth with a blush.
You can’t help but watch him, eyes soft with puppy-love, attention easily slipping away from the present conversation. It was a known fact that you harboured a few feelings for the dark and mysterious man - To you and your other friends at least - Having Samson and Abigail on your back about just asking Sebastian on some sort of date, heck, they’d even offered to set the entire thing up! But there was something that nibbled at your subconscious, a whisper chanting doubts into your thoughts like an earworm, suck on repeat as if it were a bad but catchy song. They assured you, swore up and down that he totally felt the same! But you couldn't let yourself believe it, stuck in a loop of pitiful pining, drooling like a dog with its favourite treat just out of reach, dangled above your head like the sweetest forbidden fruit.
You're snapped out of your trance with a soft kick to your shin, Abigail’s boot tip connecting with the bone enough to jump a startle out of you. She was snickering, and so was Sam, eyebrows raised with a soft mocking cat call, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ whistled slyly under their breaths lest the other man notice. You pout at them, hiding the expression behind another sip of spiked eggnog, eyes squinted enough to show off your unamusement and potential embarrassment.
The thick brandy-laced custard slides down your throat with a swallow, adding to the warmth flushing inside your tummy, aided with the bashful sear brought on by Sam’s continued pokes. The alcohol leaves a subtle burn on your tongue, a bubbling in your stomach, turning the sweet and giddy fizz of a crush into something thick and near nauseating. You smack your lips, letting them pout into a small frown, tongue poking past in a childish manner before you let yourself giggle again.
Abigail hops up, sauntering to Sebastian to bum a cigarette off of him, joining by the slight crack of the window on the other side of the room, out of earshot for the next few babbles Sam had for you.
“He looks good tonight, doesn’t he?” Samson ever the lightweight dares to slur your way, cheekily taunting at the crush he knew you harboured for the other man. At first it was all comforts and sweet reassurances, repeating the same lines over and over- Of course you're pretty, of course you're his type, he looks at you too you know? - Until it morphed into not-so-subtle teases and jabs, Sam and Abigail growing tired at the same song and dance of reassurances, opting to wiggle their eyebrows and wink with a coo every time they caught you even glancing at Sebastian. They cared still, obviously, soothed away at the sharp stabs of insecurity that wriggled it’s way past the wall of your inner thoughts and out to them, these days the comforts presented themselves in a sly glance and a knock on your back forcing you to bump into the dark-haired man.
It was true that he did look good tonight; Hoodie swapped for a fitted black button down, coat forgotten at the door with the swallow of warmth inside the building. Piercings all matched with a dark silver sheen with rings to pair on a few of his fingers, bracelets and necklaces tied everything together, sheening behind his unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves.
You always hung out with the man in a group, surrounded by the others as a social buffer. Of course you had settled down in Abigail's room many nights past, eating snacks and playing video games until the ranch rooster crowed and the sun kissed its way up and over the horizon. Heck, you'd even spend afternoons with Sam, walking him home from work and staying until dinner, brainstorming music and chatting general nothingness until his mother had politely asked you to head home.
But Sebastian was another story. How could you invade his sacred space for your own amusement? You could barely open the door to his home for his mother's services without biting your bottom lip and looking at each nail in the floorboards for a distraction, heart tingling at the idea of just seeing him in his natural habitat. A group meant safety, in numbers and outlets, avenues to sprint down in case of an emergency - The emergency being your hopeless and stumbly feelings for him.
Of course you talked to him, chatting away at your interests and his alike, walking drinks from the bar to the pool table with your eyes locked all doe on his face. You had a fair amount in common as well, but that darn bubble in your stomach often kept your feet glued to one spot, a half smile directed towards him in acknowledgement to whatever he would say.
– “You reckon that ring’s new? Looks kinda new…” Sam continues, pondering his astute observation, prying his way past the protective wall you had meticulously crafted surrounding your social body, urging for a comment.
“Maybe..” Your reply is short, safely guarded behind the fear of alcohol loosening your tongue. Sam hums, tilting his head, not at all hiding the fact that he was analysing the man by the window, smoking his way through a conversation, puffs of thick nicotine coming with the replies he had for Abigail before he sticks his head out of the window to blow again. You try not to stare, missing the way Abigail points your way, beaded bracelets on her wrist giving a clacking jingle, her own teasing comments falling off of her tongue with a steady drip of amusement.
“Should ask him.” Sam’s voice chirps again. Subtle teases, as always, trying to push the pair of you together like a girl does with her dolls, announcing the prophet of “Now Kiss!” while smushing their plastic faces together. It had happened once; Sam convinced you to go against him at the pool table, clumsily cracking the triangle of billiard balls with his pool cue, unmanaging to sink either solids or stripes. You admitted you hadn't a clue about how to play, and you were sure you were off the hook until the sunshine boy beams that cheeky, toothy smile at you.
“Sebastian will help!” he had exclaimed, failing to hide his grin when the raven-haired man shrugged and stood from the worn-out Saloon armchair he had been resting in. Though a little initially shy, Sebastian was one to open up with a little push.
That night was something of a struggle. Feeling the warmth of Sebastian's chest laying over your back, lengthy, nimble fingers drowning your own as he guided the pool cue, digits wrapping around the thrumming artery that pulsed in your wrist with a squeeze, just enough to have your head reeling. Click and clack went the sheeny resin balls, sinking into the holes of the pool table with an easy thrust of the cue thanks to Sebastian’s assistance, practically babying you through the process. His cologne stuck to you that night, soft and spicy and barely a hint of sweetness, bled into the threads of your top- Yoba, you’d never properly admit it but you didn’t wash the poor thing for far too long, not until the thick stain had properly lost its essence. The imprint of his body was something unforgettable, towering over your back, chin tucked by your ear, breaths slow and careful, full of focus as he whispered instructions with every turn, guiding your body as if you were his puppet.
Ever since, it seemed to be Samson’s mischievous mission to pin the two of you together.
There were countless attempts only ending in hot embarrassment, the need to recreate a one off moment only becoming a tangled mess with its execution, like a failed flash mob two counts out of time. But you couldn’t be mad at Sam, in the end he was only trying (and mostly failing) to be your wingman. You squint at him, watching the blonde obnoxiously play with the bar lodged in his tongue, leaned back upon a box from his spot on the floor, eyes fuzzed out of focus in deep thought. Well, as deep as Samson could manage with the clear wash of tipsiness leaking from his body language. He huffs a sigh and chuckles, a goofy, lopsided grin leaning your way before it's hidden by his own sip of his drink, his pierced eyebrow raising as if to dismiss the curious thoughts you had swirling around behind your forehead.
Sam hops up, a sway in his movement, humming under his breath as he explores a nearby storage closet, spewing out Christmas decor used to add Holiday Charm around the rooms. Ever so nonchalant. He rifles loudly, snickering to himself when he finds a dusty Santa hat, putting the wretched thing over his mane of hair before he continues on. The other pair make their way back over, the window now fully shut, locking in the warmth of the Community Centre, any remnants of the bristly chill snuffed out with a warm wash. Sam’s antics were loud, hands roughly exploring the space, pulling things out that surely shouldn’t be touched - At least not by him of all people. Sebastian and Abigail sit either side of you, the male opting to share a corner of the wooden pallet crate you had situated yourself on, very nearly pressing his bicep into your own as he watches Sam.
“Duuuude..” The blonde calls with a hiccuped laugh, practically jumping into a box to nab at something. Sebastian tilts his head, an amused quirk of a smile plastered on his pierced lips, the point of a double vertical labret (Not snakebites as Sam always annoyingly calls them) lifting with the action.
“That can’t be good.” Sebastian’s voice cracks soft, tone low enough for only you to hear, like a hidden inside joke. Of course, you giggle, top teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle the noise, your brain letting you laugh so effortlessly, as if you were a crushing school girl - Yoba it felt silly, and yet your body strives to work against you.
“I’m scared..” You mock a wobbly tone, a fake frown on your face which easily turns upwards as Sam yelps, coming up with his lucky-dip mystery prize he’d yanked up from the box.
“Ooho..” The blonde calls, lifting up the very thing he had practically dived for; A stringy and sad looking worn-out piece of plastic mistletoe, decorated with a gnarly bright red ribbon in the beginnings of the end of its life, fraying right at the edges in wispy fabric feathers. His grin turns shit-eating, eyes darkening in your direction, dangling the sad plastic plant as if it were poison ivy, ready to rash anything it touched. “Ohh, Sebby-Webs~” He teases, making a wet, spit-filled kissy face at the other man.
Sebastian rolls his eyes with a huff, pulling out his lighter and flicking the flame to life with a hearty click, a silent threat against the very existence of the sad excuse of mistletoe. Sam makes a show of pouting, sniffling faux snot up his nose in defeat before his attentions turn to you.
“He’s so mean, right?” He keeps up his pout, fake tears in his eyes. “You’ll smooch me, right?” He looked like a kicked puppy, bottom lip wobbling as he neared you, holding the plastic piece above your head. He looks to Sebastian, a glint in his eyes and a near smirk daring to twitch on his lip, stirring the pot, so to say. You fake a gag, looking to Sebastian to spout a joke but the man looked.. Well, tense. Brow furrowed just enough, body stiff in his spot beside you compared to the lucid and wobbled movements of Sam. “Just oneeee~” The blonde begs, teasing at you, making another puckered kissy face as he dramatically leans in.
Another one of his forced proximity plans perhaps-
A lean hand smushes into Sam’s lips, ring clad fingers squishing his cheeks, firmly but gently shaking his head. Oh, it was on now. A roughhousing play fight between the two men, giggles and fake insults, Sam and his mistletoe with pucker kissing noises now directed back to Sebastian. “Kiss meeee, kiss me- You know you want to~” Sam would sing, only to be refuted by Sebastian calling him some sort of choice word. You and Abigail can only look to one another, a stifled smile as the boys go at each other- Until an unhealthy crashing tumble occurs.
Sebastian yelps a swear, falling back on a box within the closet space, saved by the crinkle of tinsel rather than any sharp and nasty decorations. You don’t think, jumping to your feet, eggnog forgotten as you spring to help him.
“Seb-! Are you alright?” You reach him, lending your arm for him to use you as leverage, doing your best to pull him free. You get him up and standing, faced with his collarbones with his height compared to your own, closer than you initially had thought you'd be, the space tighter than it seemed with all the storage boxes-
A chuckle comes from the door, Sam with a teeth-filled and lopsided grin, one hand on the frame and the other tossing the sad little plastic mistletoe right at you before the door comes to a hearty, thunking close. Boisterous laughter is muffled, taunts of “Behaving” going nearly unheard as crates scrape against the hardwood floors, only logically being pressed against the door, successfully locking yourself and Sebastian inside of the tiny storage closet.
This felt juvenile, as if you were thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, the door un-opening as you try your best to push - No luck.
A hand rests snugly on your waist as Sebastian leans over, trying his luck at pushing the door to get it moving along its hinges, palm and fingers spread flat over the wood. It's a futile attempt. He chokes around a pant as he tries again, breath straining with a soft whine right at the back of his throat with his pushing, forming into a weak and disheartened groan of a sigh when he fails again. He swallows, breathing huffed, squared to catch himself before he braces to try again.
“Seb-” Your voice calls with a crack, your hand daring to reach for his bicep, giving him a soft squeeze, heavy with your touch thanks to the soft swirl of alcohol in your stomach. “Hey..” You try again before he relents, face snapping to yours in the dimmed-down closet, barely illuminated by the crack under the door. His breaths huff against your lips, hot and laced with tobacco and a wash of mint in a feeble attempt to mask the smell. He had managed to work up a small sweat with his attempts, smoker lungs surely fiery behind his ribs, puffs coming to an easy slow, air still coming from past his lips, brushing into yours like a faux kiss.
His hand on your waist doesn't move, plastered stuck right in place before the other joins, holding you right there - Closer than arm's length. You hear him swallow, see the bare brush of his tongue swiping over his lips, wetting them with saliva, piercings glinting with the bare shine of light. “Fuck..” Comes his voice, barely above a whisper, more rounded with the shape of his mouth and that harsh digraph sound nestled at the back of his throat.
It's quiet - So, so quiet. Save for the shake of your breaths, coming into a rhythm, forced into tandem as you try to make out Sebastian’s face in the dim. Your pulse thrums in your ears, thumping like a ball in your throat, gushing red-hot anxious blood to your head, already washy and tipsy drunk off of that damned eggnog- The air between you seared, hot tension rising as you come to terms with exactly what just happened, a heavy weight of mortification washing down your shoulders and to your toes, curdling the contents of your stomach into something bubbly-sick. It was as if a kettlebell fell down on your head right as you’d jumped down from high up, a spiking shock running up your legs and down your shoulders, meeting up in the middle. Your hand moves to come off of his bicep, the squeeze of your fingers off from his flesh-
One slender hand moves up, cupping at your ribs as if to stop you, accompanied by a short and startled disapproving hum, rumbled from Sebastian’s throat. You stare at him, he stares back, eyes searching left, right, left, right, flicking and unknowing of where exactly to look- Until he sighs, air punched from his gut before his head drops, carefully landing on your shoulder, face turned into your neck. His piercings barely press a graze to your sensitive skin, poking dully on your pulse, scraping as he speaks right under your ear.
“Sorry.. C-Can..” Your body sparks a shiver. “Can I..?” He asks, such an open-ended question had your brain searching all the ‘what ifs’. You mouth his name with a whisper, a questioning tone pitched up before he hums a long sound from his chest. “I can’t take it anymore- Really.. Fuck- Can I just..” He huffs another breath, a thick swallow following down his throat. His lips graze a trail up, pressed right by your ear as he asks; “Please-” exacerbation and frustration, it oozes off of him, “Tell me I can kiss you- Yoba I can’t...”
Was this an eggnog induced hallucination? Was your sick pining something mutual? No more clawing through the six feet of thick insecurity to grasp at measly straws or long over the reassurances Sam and Abigail had gifted you? It was your turn to beg a short please of your own before your lips were captured in a desperate lock - All teeth and tongue, clumsy in movement, heads turning to find the perfect fit. Sebastian's hands wander, caressing up and down your sides, to the small of your back, letting them dive further to cup the fat of your ass as his tongue moves to take over your mouth. It swirls lovingly over your own, the ball of his tongue bar rolling and lapping, tastebuds dragging rough against each other, sloppy with spit and tipsiness, each and every breath of his tainted with a moan that cracked its way up his throat. His piercings poke against your lips, kissing them raw with every move of his mouth on your own until he lets your bottom lip thread through his teeth with a needy bite.
He pecks you hard, capturing your lips in a short frenzy before he's back on you again, deep and needy, pulling your body towards his own, soft in comparison to his lean build. You throw your arms around his neck, fingers twirling girlishly into the back of his hair, giving him a sweet tug with every few kisses you give back. His tongue is on you again, lips parting with a groan as he licks into your mouth, the mixed taste of whiskey tainted custard-cream and spiced smoked tobacco swaps with your spit. The air around you thickens, noses huffing against each others cheeks as you try to catch your breath, unwilling to part from the sloppy lock of your lips - Curse the need to breathe, Sebastian pops off with a wet puckered sound, a line of spit still connecting you together. His arms tighten, fingers turning into a claw to grab at you, anything he could get his hands on, his lungs huffed up choked breaths, head shaking in some form of disbelief.
“Fuck.. Yoba-” His lowered voice calls. Your response is barely a squeak before he's on you again, capturing your lips between his in a hot and heavy manner, pulling you into his body, pressing himself against you, the finality of having you in his arms coursing a magma-hot sear through his blood. His knee rests between your legs, an arm caged around your upper back, caressing and rubbing in a feverish frenzy, bundling the fabric of your clothes into desperate fists while the other rubs circles into your hip, tugging right at the waist of your pants. You feel it, the hot pulse of something down below, the strain of his cock pressing up against the seam of his jeans and by proxy, poking against your own body. “I.. Fucken’... Need you.” It’s said between kisses, slurred against your lips, “F’So… Long.. Too fucken’.. Shit-.. Too, mmph.. pussy to say-” That's when you cut him off, a sweet tug to his hair with one hand and a cup to his chin with the other, tippy-toeing your way to press against him, kissing up, chasing his mouth.
“Shh..” You soothe, your own desperation showing as your palms come down to massage his shoulders, caressing up and down his chest over the sheeny smooth fabric of his button down. Your fingers trace against his collar, dipping past the edge of his shirt, already slightly unbuttoned from the top to show off the silver chain of his necklace. Another swear comes from his pierced lips, hands leaving your body for barely a moment for him to tug at the strip of fabric housing the plastic buttons, pulling the poor placket open with a needy tug, losing at least one rounded badge with a snap, the poor little thing landing on the floor with a bounce before it was forgotten completely. His chest was exposed, milky skin bright enough to see in the dim light, sparsely dotted moles dancing over his otherwise clear skin. It's warm against your touch, tacky with the rise of sweet arousal, in the beginning stages of working up a heated sweat.
His hands are back on your body, reaching for the hem of the ‘ugly sweater’ you’d picked out for the night, decorated with kitschy Holiday motifs sewn into the knit. It was one of your last layers you wore to the party that night, a warm and cuddly jumper and scarf left to sit in a neat pile. Off it came with a tug over your head before his bare hands were on your skin, forcing sweet shivers in every spot he touched, sparking like needle pricks with every squeeze and brush. His lips brush into your neck with open mouthed kisses, bites and bruises peppered into your skin- Your nails dig into his shoulder, dragging down his front before your palms flatten, taking in the feeling of his body against your fingertips. “Sebastian~.. Mmnn..” Your head tilts back with a sweet chirpy moan, giving the man all the access he could ever want to your body, thoughts swirling behind your closed eyes, dizzy with the slur of alcohol inebriating your finer thinking ability. Yoba, you didn’t care- Couldn't care less towards the fact.
Sebastian bites against the strap of your bra, the elastic snapping against your shoulder before he mouths at your collar bone, sinking down to the valley of your breasts, bent over to press tender kisses and love bites into the once untouched and hidden skin. You reach back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, picking at the stubborn latch to free your tits, feeling the wet spit of his kisses linger coolly with the huff of his breath.
“Hahh.. Shit..” His voice pipes up again. Kisses come back up, arms wrapping snug around your body to squeeze you into him, tits squishing into his nude chest all soft and pretty, the rougher poke of his necklace making an imprint into your skin. His hands are grabby, arms flexing to hug and pull at you, teeth sinking into your neck, over your collarbones, wet kisses smothered up your jaw to your awaiting lips.
“S-Seb-!” He only groans in response, head nodding as if to say ‘I Know,’ pierced lips dragging into your skin with the movement. Your hands grab his face, cupping his jaw on either side, thumbs caressing in rough swipes, feeling the subtle grain of his shaved face under the pads of them. You grab back at him, palm sliding down his neck, massaging into the bob of his Adam’s apple, against the slope of his shoulder into that tender trap muscle, skin soft with peach fuzz until you move to his chest, feeling the slightest wiry rough of chest hair, barely enough to frame his torso. You rub the expanse of his chest, hands between your pressed bodies, kissing hot and sloppy, tongues swirling, lips fully parting to moan into his mouth as your thumb brushes over his bare nipple, feeling the hard metal of a piercing. It sends a thick course of arousal to your core, throbbing behind the press of your pants.
You squirm, rubbing your thighs together for a sweet release, anything to feel the sticky heat of friction against your budding arousal- Yoba you don’t have to chase it though.
It's like he reads your mind, his hand allowing itself to press between your legs, long and dexterous ring-clad fingers pushing against your mound in a caress, palm pressing richly hot pressure against your clit. Your lips part in another moan, eyes rolling softly, allowing your lashes to flutter into a dreamy close, body melting as if you were moulded out of thick molasses. Things were getting hotter - Heavier - Pleasures beginning to spark under fingers and they soothe and caress, as Sebastian’s palm grounds rough at the seam of your pants, fingertips pressing their pads against your clothed fluttering hole. Your lips part from his with a breathy gasp, his name hot on your tongue, barely whispered, those syllables rounded as you suck air into your starving lungs. Yoba, it's all you can say - A mantra of his name over and over with every few seconds, spewing from your lips as if you knew nothing else.
He breathes your own name back to you, rasped off of his pierced tongue before his kisses are on your throat, nose nuzzling in slow shakes of his head. His hand comes up, swiping the button to your pants with his thumb and forefinger, zipping down the fly enough for him to connect closer - His fingers dip behind your panties, the taught elastic band surely digging into the back of his hand as he glides his digits over your drooly folds. He outwardly groans, another ‘Fuck’ grit through his teeth. You whimper, head leaning into him for comfort, thighs squishing around his teasing hand. Ohhh that was it- The sweet dip of his long middle finger sinking into your wetness, past the weepy ring of your cunt, coated in sweet drool as he dares to curl. You bite into your bottom lip, a long and keened hum following his actions.
“God- Yoba..” He stains, his finger working its magic, curling sweet caresses, a beckoning of ‘come here, come here!’ over and over again. “You’re so.. Fuck- so wet..” He says in bewilderment, tongue running over his kiss-bitten lips, past the metal pierced through them. You nod, an ‘All f’you’ about to drip off of your tongue if it weren't for the grind of his palm sparking a delicious pressure against your clit- Instead you moan, a pathetic affirmation of a noise whining out. One became two, the slip of his ring finger clad with a ring, in fact, easily being stained with the sweet and creamy nectar of your cunt.
Oh, how he works them into you. Cupping your pussy with his lean hand, lengthy fingers rolling sweet curls against the gummy little spot inside of you, giving you his palm to grind back on, lips kissing at the top of your head, huffing an enamoured chuckle each time you clench your squishy thighs against the bone of his wrist and the dig of his bracelets. Yoba, it forces him to be rougher with you, a game to push past the tight trap of your thighs, free himself from the confines all so he could fuck into you. You look up at him, eyes glassy from the abuse of his fingers, pressing right where you needed him. You flutter a blink, bubbles of tears threatening to fall past your bottom lash, doe and unfocused with a pouty bite to your lip.
“Hohhh.. Fuck, that's it.” He holds you into him as your legs go jelly-soft, a hot wash of ditzy dizziness creeping up your knees as his fingers fuck and curl. He stares right at you, brows furrowed in an upward pinch, a tug of a frown born out of hot arousal and focus appearing right at the corner of his lip. Your breaths hitch, rapid, in pace with a sinful hiccup tainting any feeble attempt at speaking-
“Seb.. ast-tian~” It's almost like a warning, sharp with arousal and stuttered in pleasure, breathed inward as you gasp, hands fisting into the fabric of his open button-down like a lifeline.
“Hmmn?” He hums with a nod - Right there. Sebastian was right where you needed him, his fingers mashing into that supple little spot inside of you, that sweet and spongy swell that had your brain all foggy. “What is it, Princess..?” The name alone had you melting further than you thought was possible, your entire body rippling with a sensation that felt as though you were on fire. Your fingers tighten on the fabric of his shirt, chin tilting up in a desperate plea, lip bitten raw and in need of more kisses.
Of course, he obliges, hearing your begs despite the lack of a peep chirped from your throat - Slow and deep - That's how he kisses you. Capturing your lips with a sweet bite of teeth, tongue caressing your own with a loving lick, out of time with the hot and feverish way his fingers fuck your cunt. The juxtaposition only adds to the wobble in your body, coming closer and closer to the very edge, moans drunk up by his lips, swallowed with a happy humming in his throat. One hand comes off of his shirt collar, fingers curling around Sebastian's arm, your soft palm feeling the bump of his wrist bone press into it, greedily pushing him into you while your hips hump back on his digits.
“I..- I’m.!” You can barely formulate your sentences, whipped thicker than cream under his spell, the sinful caress of his fingers beckoning in your cunt.
“Fuckk, Babe.. S’okay- I gotcha’..” Sebastian promises. You cling to him for dear life, your body leaning its weight against him, pushing him further into the wedge of shelves supporting the both of you. You feel it, that spark right at the bottom of your tummy, twisting and turning, firing into ignition as your thighs clench and squirm. So close- So, so close!
Any attempt at a legible sentence is easily cut with a gaspy whimper, crying out as you cream over his knuckles, properly messing up the fabric of your panties with gushy slick, bleeding pat and surely leaving a messy wet spot on your pants. Even with the taut press of your waistband limiting the man’s movements, he doesn't let up, curing those lengthy fingers through the rush of your orgasm, feeling the clenchy release lovingly pulse on his knuckles. He works you through it, eyes wide and enamoured with the way he had you, closer than arm's length, the sole reason for the sweet bliss that rushed through your body - “Shit- That's it.. Thaaat’s it- Fuck.. Look at me.. Look at me-” You obey, fucked out eyes flicking up to his, seeing the wash of arousal pool and swirl behind his dark lashes, his lip bitten bruised as he focuses on you, enamoured. “Feels good? Hmmn?” He nearly begs for reassurance, huffing a relieved laugh when you nod, your body twitching with each sweet pulse.
His lips attack yours, hungry and hot, throat groaning up a delicious noise you couldn’t help but eat up, body on fire with the way his palm rides you through the remnants of your hot burst of arousal.
“Fuck..” His hand softens its press, fingers giving a last curl before he carefully pulls them from the confines of your pants. They're drenched and sticky, dribbles of arousal sticking to his fingers like a lattice, spider webbing with a sinful drip that had you clenching your thighs once again. It drips over his rings, cream and slick mixing with the precious metal, soaked knuckles curling as his lips part, tongue lapping a lick before they’re suckled into his mouth.
The groan he lets out is near animalistic, needy and punched from the depths of his lungs, his own arousal going painfully unnoticed only pressing harder and stricter against the seam of his jeans. The man murmurs, words raspy-hot on his tongue; “Need more of’ya-”
It felt almost comical to describe the next moments as a blur, but the post-orgasm airiness lingering in your boozed tipsy brain had your perception flicking with a whack of whiplash. Turned from your position, the skin of your naked back now pressing into a collection of forgotten Holiday decorations, a slight itch thanks to the plastic of a faux wreath. Your pants are tugged down, eager fingers hooking into your waistband and stripping you of your bottoms, it's a short fumble, hot and clumsy, the air within the closet turned stuffy with breath and sweet arousal-induced sweat.
Hands are on you, flat palms squishing into the flesh of your bare thighs, fingers still slick, pressing their pads into the sensitive, rarely caressed skin - Thumbs daring to dig just enough to have you squirming. His lips are next, sharp with the bud of his piercings and the nips of his teeth, daring to suckle a bruising kiss against your inner thigh, piping up a squeak from your throat, another call of his name. You search for Sebastian in the dim, eyes focusing on the milk of his skin reflecting off of the crack of light, his being nestled comfortably between your legs. His dark hair parts with an affectionate caress of your fingers, looping themselves through his locks to pat him. He hums against your flesh, warm on your skin, breath moist with humidity born out of the hot and tacky stick of arousal leaching into the air from your bodies.
He smacks his lips on the skin of your thighs, itching up and up, further into the centre of your heat, nails digging loving crescent marks into your skin with every eager grope. He kisses against your bikini line, right by the taut elastic hugging at your upper leg, hiding away the sweetness of your cunt behind a wall of silky pantie fabric. He nuzzles his nose into the crevice connecting your thigh to torso, the point of it dragging over your clothed cunt with an affectionate press accompanied by a shameless inhale. Sebastian sighs something dreamy, lips peppering kisses that had your breath hitching, right over the mound of your heat - So pretty and accentuated with the tight and taught pull of your panties, outlining the swell of your pussy. Yoba, he swallows thick, gulping down saliva that dared to pool under his pierced tongue.
Your arousal sticks to his lips, pooling a clear wet spot in your panties, a target for him to kiss at, to tentatively lick at, feeling the slick remnants of your previous orgasm wet on his tongue. He groans- More of that taste on his tongue, eyes heavy as they look up at you, washed over with need. Your fingers twitch, straining against his scalp, tugging his dark strands enough to have him diving right in.
His lips latch to your clothed cunt, impatient to get more of you on his tongue. The soft prick of his lip piercings press a spiky pressure on your sensitive mound, a reminder harsher than the eager lap of his tongue- Yoba.. Fuck- His tongue, strong and flat, licking between your pantie clad folds, adding his own drooly spit to the mess staining the poor fabric. His lips purse against your pussy as he indulges, eyes fluttered shut, thick, dark brows creased into an affectionate scrunch, full of focus.
“O-Ohhh.. Seb… I’m.. I need..” You breathe past the burn of your lungs, panting with jolty huffs each time his lips and tongue brush over the fabric covering the sensitive bud of your clit.
“Hmm.. Mhmmn-” He hums, smacking a harsh kiss before he pulls off, “Need to- Fuck, need my tongue on you. Gotta-” He shakes his head, kissing at his teeth with a ‘tut’ before his thumb dares to leave your thigh, hooking at the fabric of your panties in a motion to pull them aside. He looks to you, a thick gulp down his throat as he watches your head bob- Nod, nod, nod goes your head, almost in desperation to just feel him again, fingers curling in his hair, clenched with arousal and the budding frustration to just make him take you already. Yoba, he was sweet, though, the sentiment of him asking such things, checking in with a silent ask for consent, making your back teeth grit in hot enamourment.
Sebastian takes it, your gifting nod, and eagerly yanks your underwear to the side. His thumb pulls your panties taut, shifted aside to show off the wet glisten of your folds, gushy with your last orgasm, puffy and swollen thanks to the prior abuse of his fingers, good enough to kiss-
Obviously, he does. Planting a wet and obnoxious open-mouthed kiss to your budding clit, lips smacking together before he properly dives into you, selfishly savouring all the sweetly creamed arousal you had for him. You gasp, fingers tightening in the twirls of his hair, surely enough to leave a harsh sting but Yoba- It doesn't seem like he cares. If anything it spurs the man on, a hot groan erupting from his chest, lips parting, the prick of his piercings digging a delicious pressure into your cunt. He’s messy with you, hungry slurps uncaring of the vulgar noise - The sharp and uncomfortable itch of the Holiday wreath biting at your skin was incomparable to the searing hot pleasure ripped from your pussy, stinging with overstimulation, forcing an endless string of whines from your lips.
Your throat hiccups, panting hot swears and the syllables of his name, rounded easily from your lips as he takes to you. It's easy for another orgasm to threaten your body, the feeling eager to roll from your cunt, twisting sweet and stabby like a suckled on candy cane, licked into a pin-thin spike poking at your gut- Especially with the works of Sebastian's tongue, swirly with his movements, tongue fat and flat as the metal ball of his piercing kisses at the bud of your clit in his rhythmic laps. He’s vocal with you, only spurring you on; Sweet hums tainting each breath he sucked in, feeble attempts to get oxygen in his lungs. You’re not sure he cares, not with the hearty mash of his lips against your mound, pursed with a stingy-sweet suckle directed right against your clit, teeth grazing at the supple soft swell of your pussy.
You can’t help the hot babble, the filthy cry you speak next, steadily rushing to the very edge- Wanting to just take him- Damn any refractory period, you needed to feel the pulsy stab of his length drilling you over the edge.
“Fuck me- Please- please, please Sebby just- Ahhnn..~” You whine, fingers giving his hair some grace, opting to feverishly pet him, clumsy affection in your fingers as you work them in a soothe. “Want you- Want you so, so bad- Y’know? F’so long-” You don't have to convince him.
He pops off of your cunt- Not without leaving several plants of hot kisses, pecking hotly on your clit before he tugs your panties down. His cock comes free with the jangle of a belt buckle, the leather sliding from his belt loops with a zip, metal buckle daring to clank on the floor before he’s working at the button and zip of his fly. His lips kiss at yours, the taste of your cunt on his tongue, sweetly salty and drenched in arousal, twinged with the last remnants of spicy nicotine and cream-sweet eggnog, swapped with the swirly spitty lap of your tongues mingling together in a hot collide.
It feels like a hot blur, motions moving quickly, Sebastian's arm jutting as he fists his free cock- Weepy dribbly tip all swollen and pink, finally free from the tight seam of his jeans. You squirm, lips clumsy on his own, arousal knocking you into an instinct-driven motion, oh so needy, “Seb..- Please.. Fuck… Fuck me~” You beg, muted between hot kisses, words slurred with the lick of his tongue, cutting you off with his mouth.
You move in tandem, arms throwing themselves around his neck as he grips the squish of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his lean hip, hooking you into him as he lines himself up. He pops off of your lips enough to breathe, murmuring filthy things against them, coated in hot spit and your sweet arousal; “M’gonna fuck you- Promise, God- Yoba I promise, Princess-” He throws more sweet pet names your way, “Wanted me? Hmm? Wanted- Fuck.. Wanted you f’so long..” He promises. You feel the pudge of his cock press to your cunt, sparking a drooly clench of your drippy hole. He grinds on you, hips rolling, tip weeping as if it were crying, dribbling its milky pre over your puffy clit, pathetically kissing against your folds as his hips rut.
“Fuuuuckkk..” The ring of your cunt hugs his tip, suckling him in as he finally makes an effort to press in, he groans out a moan, matching the supple whine of your throat as you take him. Slow and sweet was something that could surely come later- The pressing itch of desperation easily taking over between you. Heavy rolls turn into needy fucks, hips jutting, pudgy cock tip making love to your cervix, kissing hot and lovingly hard pecks against the sweet mush in the depths of your pussy.
It's easy for his hips to roll into you, the base of his cock pounding against your mound, grinding the wiry curls that decorated him into the sensitive bud of your clit. Plap, plap, plap goes his hips on yours, skin to skin, sticky and sweat sheened, tacky to the touch as your bodies collide. You brace one arm on a shelf behind you, swiping off any stray decorations with a clamouring clutter, mystery items bouncing off into the depths of the closet, rolling on the floor. Your other arm hangs loosely on his neck, doe eyes fucked out and glossed as they look up at him, lips parted sweetly, kiss bitten and spit-shined, captured in a heated tongue and teeth-filled kiss before Sebastian groans.
“Everythin’ I fucken’ dreamed of-” It's said between gritted teeth, his gaze snapping from your wet eyes to your drooling cunt, huffing an arousal filled chuckled laced up in disbelief, seeing that drooly ring of cream coat over his length, making a mess between yourselves. “So fucking perfect- Fuhhhck m’not gonna last long- Hahh.” You nod in agreement, eyes closing, that bubble of tears falling down your cheeks with a streak. Closer and closer came the tight twist of your next orgasm, your poor and abused pussy clenching loving squeezes on his cock, spurred on with the hot sting of overstimulation- Your thigh cramped, spread over his hip for him, tits bouncing with every thrust, lungs stuck in a sweet burn.
Your skin sweats, lips drool, eyes blink all glossy and dumb, brain firing off every time you have the pleasure of looking at him- Closer, closer - Your clit throbs, hips pathetically humping back into his fucks, chasing the hot high that threatened to gush!
There's sudden laughter, slurred and obnoxious, rasped from an all-too-happy voice. It leaks from beneath the crack in the door, the outside world leaching into your little space, a phantom chill washing over your body as if the door has swung open to the fresh fall of snow that blanketed the street. A crash occurs, a feminine voice scolding someone, furniture scraping against the wood floor of the outside. You hadn't noticed your attention had wandered, not until Sebastian grips your chin, turning you back to lock into another searing kiss-
“Oiii-” A fist bashes against the door, rattling the thing on its hinges. Sebastian’s hand moves, coming between your legs to rub at your poor bud- The fiery thrill of a threat- A burning fear of being caught by a drunken Sam had your body twitching. Sebastian seemed to feel the same, making something of a challenge to get you off before the blonde had the audacity to finally clear the doorway. “Ha- ‘ave you kissed yet?” Yoba knows you’ve done so much more.
Sebastian presses you harder into the shelves, hips snapping rough, filthy words spat into your ears as his hand worked overtime on your poor clit- His hips roll sloppily, breathes coming into a hard and slow pant, huffing in your ear- “Fuck.. M’ Gonna fucken’ cum- Yeah? G-Gonna take it? Hmmn? Look so pretty like this-” he babbles, tone heavy in his throat. “Gonna make it up t’you- Yeah? Promise.. Hnng fuck- P-Promise..” His fucks turn snappy, jut, jut, jutting- Punching at your poor cervix, cunt mashing against the base of his cock.
“Seb- As.. Tian~” You choke, head lulling back with an eye roll, teeth biting into your lips as you finally gush again, wetting his cock with a weepy clench of your pussy, filthily kissing at his length, adding to the wonderful mess between your legs. So sweet and squeezy, your velvety walls massage the length of his cock as you cum, pussy suckling him in, inviting the hot pulse of his own orgasm with a loving hug.
His hips snap in sharp staccatos, throat stuck in a perpetual growl with each lingering fuck as he spurts. He creams into you, hot and ropey filling up the depths of your sweetness, milked off by your squeezing. His sweaty forehead comes to rest in the crook of your neck, fingers holding your thigh up squeezing a grab, a stingy dig of his nails leaving desperate crescent marks behind. He rasps a drawn-out groan, nosing into the tacky, sweaty skin of your neck, mouthy kisses back on your shoulder, just adding to the bitey kiss marks he’d left on you already.
You jolt when another knock rasps against the door, sloppy and full, thunks formed by a fist connecting to the wood. “Alright, you guys, you've definitely been in there long-e-fucking-nough." Sam’s voice calls with a snort, a failed attempt at stifling his laughter. “Don’ make me open this door~” He sings.
The fumble for clothes and the accidental collide of foreheads seemed worth it all - Especially when you roll over and see the man now in your bed, chest rising and falling as he sleeps, more bruises kissed into both of your skin, all sticky and spent, a shower surely in order by the time morning came. For now, you bask in the luxury of resting your head on Sebastian’s chest, lulled to sleep by the dull ache in your legs and the tipsy swirl of spiked eggnog settling in your stomach.
can I request the reader surviving the firewall and becoming sick/exhausted from the blood loss and falling asleep in Sebastian’s shop?
Warmth (that you have)
Wordcount; 3.3k (I meant for this to be like. 1k but went way overboard. Oops.)
AN: FIRST REQUEST YAAAAAAAY, space heater reader is one of my favorite tropes LMAO firewall my belovehated. I hope this doesn’t suck
Type: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort (?) mild angst but it’s because I write the reader as kind of an idiot when it comes to parkour
Warnings: Mild Depictions of injuries, nothing too graphic though. Reader & Sebastian are on kind-of-friendly terms, half beta-read
Oh great almighty were you bad at the firewall. No, maybe the firewall was hard, and you DIDN’T suck; slamming into a wall at mach whatever-the-fuck hurt regardless of the armored jetsuit you were wearing. You were surprised you had managed to make it to the end (slamming onto the cloth-carpeted platform, directly onto your face and skidding several feet) without succumbing to your injuries. Or the blood loss. The blood loss is what really got to you. And the giant wall of fire. That sucked too.
“Blood is fuel,” you had suspected from the get-go, and your thoughts were quickly confirmed as one of the first things you had done was miss one of the monkey bars, expecting to plummet to your death to only be “saved” by the suit stabbing you in the back of the arms and taking, uh— you’re not actually sure how much blood was siphoned from you, but the vertigo from the theft of your blood told you that it was probably more than you could afford to lose more than once— in order to blast you towards the nearest platform in which you had plowed into.
The platform that you had ineptly landed on provided little cushion. You were immediately forced to scramble back onto your feet as the roar of the firewall nearby was a stark reminder that you that you weren’t done yet and to MOVE. NOW.
The adrenaline from getting pursued by a giant wall of fire had luckily provided you instant, temporary, pain relief from your bruised ribs and ego. You’d managed to make it to the final sprint without being charred to death, much to P.AI.nter’s chagrin, before reaching the “rest” area and immediately crumpling to the gross floor. “Your body will be capable of doing things you will never be able to do again,” NaVi’s voice rings in your head; it sure feels like you’re paying the price for the ego you gained from that statement.
Moving to stand, your breath is short from your bruised ribs and torso. You go to gingerly touch your ribs before oh—right, you still have the jetsuit on. Cringing as you start to slide the chestplate up and over your head, doing the same for your leg armor and then finally both of your arms. You let out an “auuAHK-“ as you go to take off the left armpiece; white hot stinging pain radiates from the back of your arm, right above the elbow. The armor piece feels odd as you delicately remove it, kind of like a liquid was trapped under the segment. It’s easier— well, as far as “taking the thing off” goes, it’s still the most painful part— than the rest of the pieces to slide off, because whatever it was had lubricated your arm.
You thought it was probably sweat at first. It was not sweat. A caustic liquid had coated most of your arm around a tear in your uniform above your elbow; you very quickly discerned that what you’d just been thinking was sweat was NOT sweat. It was blood. And a lot of it. The white-hot pain radiating from, now both of, your arms made much more sense now.
You can feel nausea pulling at your sternum as the adrenaline from the jetsuit course had finally waned. Honestly, with your situation, you kind of almost wished that you had plummeted to your death. Just a little bit. You wave the thought as you finish tacking up the mannequin in the locker.
You feel a lot lighter without the jetsuit. Though that might be the blood loss talking; your fingers are tingling and you can feel a deep-set feeling of doom crawl up your spine. Impromptu blood donations probably aren’t good for your health. The backs of your arms should hopefully start to scab soon, you really hope they are because the sticky feeling of blood makes you shiver(and the metallic smell makes you want to gag.) Walking forward makes the world tilt. You groan. How fun.
You cough and immediately regret it as pain rips through your chest. Okay. This is going to be a looong walk.
As you trudge up the steps, your eyes land on a green flare placed next to a crate. The lid of the crate opens with a whine that makes your ears ring, and you pick up the only item in it: a medkit. Fortunately there’s a relatively large amount of gauze in the box, but unfortunately that’s as far as it goes for pain relief. You don’t think trying to drink the bottle iodine as a last-ditch effort would do anything but make you throw up and… probably poison you. You have no idea why the thought crossed your mind; better to use it as an antiseptic, anyway.
You cautiously dab at the wounds on the back of your arms, using the stairs in the… elevator shaft? as a makeshift seat. There aren’t many cotton swabs in the kit, so you’re left messily attempting to wipe up the rest of the wet blood with the gauze. You kind of just end up smearing it all over your arms, so you give up and wrap them.
You heave yourself back onto your feet, and you immediately feel the blood drop from your head. You try to wave off the dizziness but the stairwell looks like you just experienced a very poorly-done dolly-zoom, like the floor was getting further but the wall was sliding closer.
You run your hand over your face, finally shaking off the vertigo. The stairs mock you. You hate stairs. Fuck these stairs. It feels like your brain is buzzing.
It was a very, VERY inconvenient traipse through the next several doors. An angler had barreled past, much to your own chagrin, intensifying the ringing in your ears. It hadn’t helped in any way as your eyes had begun to hurt; you were starting to get tired— and not in the “I just ran three times faster than any human should physically be able to without shattering all of their bones or blowing up their organs” way, like the “I need to lay down RIGHT NOW and take a nap” way. Alas, you couldn’t. The bullet casing that kissed your neck every time you moved too quickly was a grim reminder to the fact that death had her hand on your shoulder; keep moving or die.
Opening a door, marked “fifty-one,” you’re met with a bright light facing a vent in the wall and a hole-to-the-abyss with water spewing out of one of the many broken pipes strewn across this decrepit facility into it. Lovely. This is… familiar.
The vent flies off, smashing into the light and sending both the vent cover and light careening into the lovingly-watered-abyss-into-nothing. You don’t hear it hit the ground, or water. So much for a light. And that vent cover. Okay.
“Got something for ya, c’mere.” A flippant voice echoes through the vent. By now your face is hot and flushed, you’re starting to feel sick, and exhaustion pangs at the nerves in your eyes. You crouch onto the floor, onto your knees, and shuffle through the vent. The gauze you had put above your elbows makes your (as you’ve named them) stab wounds hurt, so you awkwardly use your palms to pull yourself through the tunnel.
“Ah! It’s you,” you try to suavely stand up after you reach the opening, only for your knees to give out; you dump yourself onto the floor with a groan. “…welcome back.” You hear him snicker.
There’s a few seconds of silence while he waits for an answer. You’re still lying on the dusty floor. Seeing as you’re only answering with silence, he does so for you:
“Woooow, you look awful. Pick a fight with a wall?” He jeers. “Looks like you lost. And miserably. How sad.”
You unstick your face from the floor, flinching as you instinctually use your right forearm to balance yourself, remembering that, oh yeah, new wound on your arms. And bruised ribs. You look up, expecting a sly grin to be painted across his face and to no shock, there he is in all his glory, slyly smiling at you.
“Yeah and maybe—ow— you should tell your friend,” you heave a groan as you balance to your feet, coughing as you take too sharp a breath “to not try and char me to death next time.”
“I’ll think on it.” He hums. He’s lying. Of course he is. “You gonna buy something or are you going to continue to be useless on my floor?”
You’re once again reminded of the gnawing exhaustion and nausea from your unwilling blood donation to that… wonderful suit. You wave him off as you shamble up to his tail, perusing the goods. What you’re hoping to see is not there— there’s a medkit, but you’ve already used a medkit. The kits here really only have the bare minimum, and nothing to help bruised ribs or to recover from the blood loss. You could really use something to eat or drink right now. Or some ibuprofen. Even Tylenol would suffice.
You’d been standing there for several seconds, slowly swaying back and forth. God, you were tired. You don’t think he’d let you sit for longer than a minute, and you can feel the vertigo starting to return. You look up with just your eyes at Sebastian, his main hands are clasped together while his third rests by his… hip. He’s tilted slightly and it’s making it look like he’s looming over you. He is intimidating, you can give him that, you’ve spent enough time around him to be a little less scared than you should be.
“What? You gonna fall over again? Don’t bleed on my floor, gross.” He bends further forward, squinting at your face and poking you in the forehead with one of his claws. You wobble a little. “What’s wrong with—“
“Can I sit here for a second?” You cut him off.
He pauses for a moment, narrowing his eyes more. At this distance you can see his pupils, barely discernible against his glowing irises. You’ve not noticed the stripes that line his face until now, either. He’s kind of pretty. You blink. So does he.
“What? My shop isn’t open to bums. Buy something, or get out.” He snarks, pulling back and giving you a flat stare.
“…please? Just for a few minutes, I— ow-“ you hiss, ribs aching. Your fingers had started to tingle again, and sitting down was enticing; feeling the satchel around your waist, it’s concerningly light. Right, the firewall had taken up most of your trek here, you don’t have much research. You shakily sigh. It’s filled with a couple floppy disks (does Urbanshade really still use floppy disks?), several small notepads and a handful of flash drives. You present it to him and an unreadable expression crosses his face.
“If I give you these, can I just sit? For like… five minutes? Please?” You beg, and he reaches down, gingerly taking the satchel out of your hands before….. dumping the contents onto the ground. Real nice, Sebastian. His eyes scan over it, before he drops your satchel; it skids a few inches and hits your feet.
“Fine.” He says, sounding particularly unhappy about his decision. What? Really? Did he feel pity for you? You probably DO look awful. You sure feel awful. Your head is incredibly hot and you can feel sweat starting to form in beads on your forehead. You’re still swaying, and the ache in your chest has done nothing but be a nuisance since you took the NOST jetsuit off.
You let out a breathless “thank you,” and then stand for a few seconds, awkwardly scanning the room for a place to sit down. There’s not many places that aren’t directly next to Sebastian and his… tail, so you ultimately decide to sit and rest against the crate on the opposite side of the room. Your diving gear makes it uncomfortable, so you’re stuck leaning against it with your shoulder.
Normally you wouldn’t be one to sit on the floor like this. It’s dusty and gross, but the coolness of the crate you’re sitting against and the ground offers you solace that you had been craving since your run-in with the blood donation and the platform you had oh-so-gracefully plowed into. Your fingers are still tingling, and all of your limbs had started to feel heavy. Your eyes slide over to Sebastian, if he was staring at you or had anything to say about your predicament, he was biting his tongue. He was currently preoccupied with the data he’d dumped out of your satchel, in which he must’ve picked it up when you had awkwardly shuffled over to the crate.
The “garbage noise” that the radio was generating next to you was good white noise. Or just noise in general. Your eyelids droop, and you’re finding it difficult to stay awake now. You jump up as your head drops, before you go right back to the cycle-of-almost-falling-asleep-then-startling-yourself-awake. Sebastian says nothing, and the last thing you hear was a sound of metal against metal, like the vent to the shop had been closed. You rest your arms and head on your knees, trying to pry away the headache, before finally succumbing to what your body had been trying to get you to do for the better part of an hour. Sleep. The darkness doesn’t call your name, yet you heed its call with open arms and closed eyes.
. . .
You have no idea how long you’d been asleep before you startle yourself, again, awake. Your eyes snap open to see—nothing, actually. It’s pitch black. You blink several times, trying to adjust your bleary eyes to the darkness. You’re no longer sitting against the crate — the sound of the radio is distant and muffled, kind of like you’re above it and behind a wall.
But that’s not as jarring as you shift slightly, attempting to get a feel of where you are and what position you were currently laying in. You can tell you were moved, but you’re still in Sebastian’s shop because you can still hear the radio. You’re laying in an awkward way, twisted onto your side, head resting on something while your legs lay over something else. You’re still really fucking hot, and dizzy, but whatever you’ve been put against is providing, once more, a pleasant cooling sensation which dulls your headache and the pulse in your eyes.
You also make note of the, not unpleasantly so, heavy object resting over your midsection. The fuzziness in your head immediately clears as you’re reminded that you are *still in Sebastian’s shop.* You tense, go to move and— whatever is weighing down on your stomach and chest prevents you from moving. You jostle the object, and whatever your head is resting on shifts and you feel it *ripple.* You freeze and wait for it to stop.
A realization smacks you in the face: you’re laying on Sebastian and he is laying on *you.* Wow. Okay. Okay so. Uh. Your eyes have focused more: Sebastian’s head is the weight on your torso. Your eyes sweep across his face. It’s.. particularly serene. His expression doesn’t hold the sly grin or sharp frown, nor does he spit or snark phrases at you. His eyes are closed. He’s sleeping.
You recall the sound of the vent closing, and your suspicions are confirmed when you crane your neck to look at where you think the vent is. You’re up on the balcony behind where Sebastian typically sits when you enter his shop. It’s hard to see considering the darkness of the room; the single light suspended in the duct positioned over the center of the humble shop provides little assistance.
You don’t remember being or feeling being moved. Something distant rumbles outside of the shop. Sebastian’s entire body tenses, and his head shoots up— you’re jostled as he does so. His ear fins twitch, pinning against his hair before flitting to and fro. His eyes are wide and you can see his pupils, bright against his now non-glowing irises, trained on the cover of the vent.
The rumbling increases, and much to your alarm, the ever-so familiar sound of chains rips through the air. Fortunately you’re more than far enough from it to where your fear of dying subsides, but the horrific smell of sulfur and smoke permeates the room. Chainsmoker.
You can tell that Sebastian wasn’t particularly overjoyed about it either. His eyes remain stuck to the vent, waiting, watching, as the rumbling increases. It crescendos, shaking the room and penetrating your nose with the horrific smell it produces. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you shift uncomfortably, trying to rid the smell that is pricking at your nose. Sebastian’s eyes dart towards you, scanning over your form for a moment; you make no move(whilst barely keeping your eyes open) and it appears that he’s decided that you’re still asleep. He turns his head to peer at the vent again.
You can feel his tail ripple under your head as his muscles relax. Chainsmoker had passed you by; the putrid smell was fading rapidly as the air ducts above you cycle the air. You hear Sebastian sigh as he drops his head, moving his torso to lay over you again.
Your legs and head are still propped up on different parts of his tail, he remains curled around you. Okay. Cool. Yeah, sure. This is okay. You have a giant fish man curled around you on all sides, and he’s about to lay his head on your stomach again.
You bite back a grunt as his head hits your stomach. The ache in your ribs intensifies and subsides again as he moves back into his previous position. He rolls his shoulders, nestling further into you. His tail is still cold against your head and— oh. You’re still *really* hot. And he’s cold. He’s using you as a human space heater. He is siphoning heat from you. Bastard.
You’d call him a bastard to his face if you weren’t *also* so very tired and enjoying the temperature difference. The panic had cleared, and the lull of sleep pulls at your eyelids. You glance at Sebastian. His eyes are still cracked. He takes a sharp inhale, before exhaling deeply and shutting them. The weight on your stomach isn’t uncomfortable by any means, but *what* the weight is makes you apprehensive; the call of sleep and the aching of your ribs and wounds on the back of your arms reminds you that you’d much prefer a giant fish man resting on you rather than attempting another trek through the blacksite. His ear fins flick once. A rumble deep from his chest vibrates through your midsection. Is he… purring? Rumbling? It’s very quiet, but easy to feel.
His head and torso are akin to a very heavy weighted blanket. Numbness pulls at your limbs. Sleep beckons you, and you listen. The Hadal Division can stand to lose one of the personnel they deem expendable for an hour or two, anyway. It’s nice, a small escape from the hell you signed up for.
