#Sebastian Wilder | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-marshals-wife · 1 month ago

Text

Ugly Sweaters and Mistletoe (Sebastian Wilder x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Merry Goosemas! 🎄 After all the comfort and joy he has brought me this year, I had to dedicate my holiday fic to another of his darling characters. I rewatched La La Land and endured the agony of the ending just so I could write this.

{Forgive me the mini chunk of exposition at the beginning, there's a ton of dialogue afterwards, I promise. I must give reader some set-up/backstory or I will perish.}

Description: Sebastian Wilder x waitress Fem!Reader, festive fluff | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol/drinking mentioned | Setting: a year or so after the epilogue | Word count: 2.6k

Imagine Sebastian surprising you with some holiday magic

Christmas had officially come to Seb's, and it was better than you'd ever imagined. As you tie your apron around your waist and make your way onto the floor to begin your shift, you try to take in all of the splendor. Garland was draped across the frames on every wall, each table had a cloth with festive print, and a beautiful tree decorated in blue and silver twinkled in the corner of the stage. Perhaps best of all, the club was absolutely brimming with guests wearing the flashiest, gaudiest holiday sweaters you'd ever seen.

You slip behind the bar, head buzzing with anticipation.

"Merry Christmas," you greet the mixologist.

"It most certainly is," he smiles, pausing to wipe his brow, "These sweaters are good for business. We got a lot of thirsty folks tonight."

"I better stay on my toes," you reply.

Even without the holiday trimmings, working at Seb's was the best job you'd ever had. The staff were some of the most easy-going people you'd ever met, the atmosphere was electric, and the music was sensational. Where else could you buss tables for a decent wage and hear a jazz concert every single night? The tips weren't too shabby either. It wasn't uncommon for you to bring drinks to studio execs and business moguls just as much as the working class jazz enthusiast. It'd taken a few years to get off the ground, but now, there was hardly a person left in LA who dared to call themselves "in the know" that hadn't at least heard of this place. By the time you'd sent in your application, Seb's was quite well-established on the scene. That was nearly a year ago now, and the club had only grown in popularity since. Even the odd movie star would visit from time to time. Some would sneak in and try to blend with the rest of the clientele, while others would leave a brigade of paparazzi out on the sidewalk, crowding around the door until said celebrity had to inevitably depart. Sebastian was quite irritable on those days, though he admitted to liking the publicity.

Oh, Sebastian. Admittedly, your favorite part of the gig was not the music or the money, but the owner himself. That was something you tried to keep to yourself, although perhaps to varying degrees of success. Like many of the nights that had come before, in the ocean of faces, you find yourself looking for one in particular. You see the band warming up on stage, but the charming, somewhat enigmatic pianist is missing.

Your fellow waitress for the evening bounces into the bar behind you, snapping you back to reality. She's decked out in a peppermint-striped sweater dress and fuzzy reindeer antler hairpieces.

"Oh my gosh, I love your outfit," you smile.

"Thank you! I love yours," she beams, "Look at this place! Cal said there was a line forming down the block two hours before opening."

"I know, this is insane," you agree, taking in the view again, "I can't believe so many people came."

"And I seriously can't believe you got Sebastian to do this," she chuckles, stacking drinks on her tray.

You pick up a cloth and start polishing a glass. "What do you mean?"

"He's super strict about the aesthetic of this place. Everything's gotta fit 'the jazz vibe', you know? He wouldn't even let people wear anything special for Halloween."

"Really? I wore a princess tiara and had glitter all in my hair on Halloween. He didn't say a word to me about it."

She stops long enough to shoot you a pointed look. You could instantly feel your cheeks turning red.

"My point exactly," she responds, smirking, "Boy, am I glad, too. I love working here, but around the holidays, it has been like a funeral home. No lights, no tree. Not even a shred of tinsel."

"You're kidding," you say, realization finally starting to sink in.

"Now it's like the mall at Christmas in here," she declares, "Whatever you're doing, honey, keep it up."

She winks. Before you can explain that her guess was as good as yours on what that might be, she's walked away and left you to your stunned thoughts.

Did Sebastian really do all this just because you asked? You try to think back to the moment that you suggested it to him. By all accounts, it had been a night like any other. You were cleaning up your tables, eagerly thinking about the upcoming holiday season, especially since it would be your first working at Seb's. At your last job, they talked about doing an ugly Christmas sweater night for the staff and guests, but you left before getting to participate. You always thought it would be fun. So, when Sebastian walked you to your car that night, like he always did when you worked the closing shift, you brought it up.

"Sounds...colorful," he'd remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

And that was it, until a week ago when you saw the pile of fliers on the bar for Seb's first ever ugly Christmas sweater party. You'd been too excited to realize how out of the ordinary it was. Thanks to your amused coworker, you now wonder how you could have missed it.

More anxious than ever to see him, you make yourself busy, going out to your tables and collecting orders. Yet by the time you deliver your third full tray of drinks, there was still no sign of Sebastian. From the back of the room, you can see the rest of the band up on stage shrugging and talking amongst themselves. Just as you're about to sneak into the back to look for him yourself, you hear a familiar voice.

Sebastian hurriedly walks up alongside you, surveying the full club.

"Oh good, they didn't start without me," he says, out of breath.

"I was starting to think you got lost, Wilder," you say, turning to face him.

"Just had to swing by the North Pole and grab a change of costume. I definitely didn't forget it in my car," he replies, slicking back his tousled hair, "So, what do you think?"

He peers down and holds out the bottom of his bright red sweater, a huge golden saxophone emblazoned on the front surrounded by tiny silver music notes.

Your hands fly up over your mouth, the sight filling you with instant joy.

"I freaking love it," you grin, "It's glorious."

"Think it's snazzy enough? Or, should I say, jazzy enough?"

"It's so jazzy," you answer, giggling in delight.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You look pretty festive yourself."

You glance down at your green yuletide apparition, the two googly eyes of a fluffy white cat in an elf hat staring up at you.

"Thanks. It was between this and one that had Santa with a Hawaiian shirt and a margarita. This one spoke to me though."

"I think it's speaking to me too," he says, raising an eyebrow, "The eyes really follow you, don't they?

Just like always, Sebastian had you laughing and nearly forgetting the rest of the world.

"Speaking of eyes following you," you begin, gesturing, "Don't you have a show to start?"

"Indeed I do. Time to jingle some bells," he says, clapping his hands together, "See you after?"

Your heart skips at the suggestion. "I'll be here."

He starts to walk off, but then you're struck with sudden remembrance.

"Wait, Seb!" you call after him, reaching into your apron, "I almost forgot."

He spins on his heel and returns, his bright blue eyes wide with expectation.

"To complete your look," you say, holding out a Santa hat, "You're the boss, after all."

"Of course. How can I refuse?" he smiles, taking it from your grip and placing it on his head, "You don't have a long white beard for me too, do you?"

"No, no, you're good. I left that in my other apron," you snort, playfully shoving his arm, "You better get up there, Jazzy Claus."

"That's good. I'm gonna use that," he replies before dashing away.

Now remembering that you're on the clock, you quickly maneuver back to home base where more orders are surely waiting on you. Across the club, Sebastian finally makes his way onto the stage and up to the microphone.

"Happy Holidays," he greets after the boisterous applause, "I see a lot of folks who have donned their gay apparel. I know I have. And I've got just one question for you. Who here is feeling the Christmas spirit?"

The audience laughs and whoops in confirmation as you arrange a round of refills on your tray, stealing glances as you go.

"I think we've got at least a few," he smiles, scanning the crowd, "But if you're not feeling it yet, I believe you will before the night is over. I'd like to thank you all for attending our first ever 'Ugly Sweater Celebration.' We've got a great line up for you tonight that will hopefully put a spring in your step, and maybe even bring some cheer to your hearts."

"But before we start rocking around the Christmas tree, I want to take a moment to thank a very special someone."

You nearly drop the glass in your hand. Before you can move, the soft glow of one of the stage lights is pointing directly at you. Your pulse begins to race, and through your stupor, you hear Sebastian continue.

"The lovely Miss Y/N, without whom tonight's party, and much of the magic here at Seb's, would not have been possible."

As the audience claps in your honor, you look up to see Seb's gaze fixed on you. In that moment, the glitter and garland faded away. All that remained was you and he.

Only once he sat down at the piano and began to play did time start again.

⋆

The party was a complete success. People even cheered for an encore of ''Zat You, Santa Claus?', which Seb was all too happy to give. Meanwhile, you somehow managed to focus on your tables and get through the rest of your shift without busting from excitement, Seb's speech about you replaying in your mind. As much as you enjoyed the festivities, you couldn't keep your thoughts from wandering to what might await after the final carol was played.

Now that the last guest had left, and the rest of the staff had gone home, you and Sebastian were the only two left in the building. The suspense quickens your pace as you switch off the remaining lights and gather your things. Like clockwork, Sebastian stands by the door waiting for you.

"I'm about to sweat to death in this thing," he says as you approach, keys jingling in his hand, "You ready for some fresh air?"

"Don't have to ask me twice," you reply, pulling your purse over your shoulder.

He holds the door open for you, locking up once you're through. You wait for him at the top of the stairs like usual as he switches off the neon, going through the motions of the nightly routine in uncharacteristic silence. You figured he was exhausted from spreading holiday cheer, yet you couldn't help but wonder if anticipation was weighing on him as well. The damp night air brings little relief as you step onto the sidewalk, but it would take an arctic breeze to chill your nerves.

He locks the outer door and lets out a dramatic sigh.

"Much better," he exhales, "At least three degrees cooler. Maybe five."

You start off down the block side by side.

"I'd say about four and a half," you nod, "Why don't you take the sweater off?"

"And undo all that Christmas spirit? I think not," he scoffs.

"What was I thinking?" You roll your eyes, bouncing your palm off of your forehead.

"You didn't have one of those eggnog cocktails, did you? Which was not my idea, by the way," he adds, shuddering.

"Absolutely not, that was disgusting. Just the smell of it-," you gag, wishing you could dispel the memory entirely, "If I never have to serve another of those again, it'll be too soon."

Silence falls between you for a moment as you turn the corner and start down the alley towards the parking lot.

"I think my halls are officially decked," he says, a bit quieter than before.

"Same. I smiled so much, my cheeks hurt."

"You're not going to report that as a workplace injury, are you?" he teases, "Cause if you are, I'm gonna need to lawyer up."

Your expression turns sly. "Well, we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement."

"Uh oh, like what?" he asks, faking nervousness.

"Like...you agreeing to have a Christmas party every year from now on," you respond with confidence.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be. I give ya an inch, and you take a candy cane mile!" he throws up his hands in feigned exasperation.

You step ahead of him and begin to walk backwards, staring him down.

"We could always take it to court, Wilder. But I'm warning you, my lawyer has never lost a facial injury case. I think you should just accept the deal and walk while you still can," you say sternly, trying not to crack up.

He stops in his tracks and crosses his arms, frowning, "I didn't take you for a cutthroat."

"That was your mistake, Jazzy Claus," you smirk, "Never judge a woman by her ugly sweater."

Sebastian can keep up the charade no longer, breaking down into laughter. You swiftly follow suit.

"Alright, alright. Twist my arm, why don't ya," he concedes, rolling his eyes and starting to walk again.

"I knew you'd see it my way," you chuckle, pleased with your victory.

Your car comes into view, and with the playful moment passed, you determine to tell him what you'd actually intended to.

"I really enjoyed tonight. Everyone did. Thank you for doing all of this."

"It was a great idea. I'm glad you thought of it."

Your journey ends as you reach the front of your car, and you stand face to face.

"That's all I did. You're the one who brought it to life and pulled off a Christmas miracle," you remind.

"Because of you," he states, "I get stuck in my ways sometimes. But when you're around...not so much."

"Well, I'm glad I can help," you offer, glancing down at your shoes.

"I meant what I said up on stage, Y/N. This place is better with you," he pauses, inching closer to you, "So am I."

You're momentarily lost for words, captivated by his softened gaze.

"I also meant to hang this somewhere out here." He reaches into his pocket and produces a sprig of mistletoe tied with a thin red ribbon, "But there's really nothing to walk under. And then I thought, 'maybe that's a weird thing to do', even though it's a time-honored tradition. So you know, I just spiraled from there."

You grin and take the sprig from his open palm.

"Don't overthink it, Wilder," you say, holding it over your head.

He takes only seconds to accept your invitation. The space between you disappears as he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss. Time stops once more as you kiss him back beneath the winter stars. This too was better than you'd ever dreamed.

"Do you have any plans for New Years Eve?" you ask, awestruck.

He slips his hand into yours and smiles.

"I do now."

#sebastian wilder x reader #sebastian wilder x you #sebastian wilder x y/n #sebastian wilder #la la land #la la land 2016 #ryan gosling #sebastian wilder imagine #la la land fanfic #la la land imagine #my writing #i'm very sick with covid but i got my holiday fic up yay 👍🏻

32 notes · View notes

heresthestorymorningglory · 1 year ago

Text

Put Your Finger On It

Summary: Fingering is a pianist term...right?

A/N: I finally watched La La Land and well, Seb is loud...very loud.

As per usual, it's NSFW 18+ @ken-dom I blame you with the utmost love for this one, however you're not 100% to blame, late night chats with @webbo0 in the Goosecord also sparked the idea for this one. Figured our favourite man's birthday is as good a day as any to drop a double feature.

Enjoy my loves <3

You leaned over the small table, gently blowing out the last of the candles in the centre. Seb sat at the piano on the stage lost in his own world bathed in a blue light. You set your tray and bar rag on the bartop watching him intently.

He lost himself so easily in music it almost made you jealous; you had never been so passionate about anything.

You had sent the last of the waitresses home for the night; it was just the two of you left in the club.

You watched his elegant fingers slide effortlessly over the keys, tie loosely hanging on his neck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. You ran your tongue between your lips, teeth gently sinking into your bottom lip as you stood leaning against the bar, transfixed God he was something else.

This caught his attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the keys with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

You climbed the tiny steps to the stage; Seb’s back to you, completely oblivious to your presence.

Your heels clicked across the hard floor as you stepped up on the bench, perching yourself on the corner of the piano top, legs crossed at the ankles, feet resting on the piano bench.

“I was listening to you play” you sighed, stretching back over the glossy top “Oh wait, would you like this better?”

You scooted back on the smooth top, swinging your legs around behind you as you laid flat on your stomach, feet kicked in the air as you leaned forward with your elbows up, your chin in your hands. He just rolled his eyes. “Is there no one left for you to annoy?”

You hummed pretending to consider his question before scrunching your nose with a shake of your head “No”

You grunted sitting back up, swinging your legs back over in front of the keys directly in front of where Seb sat. “I don’t know how Lucy does that, it isn’t comfortable”

“Lucy also laid on the floor” Seb sighed obviously irritated with your antics “Not on top of the piano”

You laughed lightly with a small squeak “You did not watch Charlie Brown”

“Everyone watched Charlie Brown” he muttered not paying you any attention “Now, get off my piano”

Again, you pretended to consider his request before you shook your head “Nah” Instead crossing your ankles, resting your still heel clad feet in his lap.

He picked up both your legs, his hands warm on your bare skin, moving them to the side out of his immediate way.

You sighed, lifting one leg, bracing it on his knee as you lifted the other to unbuckle your shoe before dropping it to the stage floor with a loud clatter. Intentionally sliding your now bare foot up his thigh as he sat on the small bench, you did the same with the other shoe, dropping it next to the first.

“Heels hurt” you said simply, watching him press his lips together in irritation as your now bare feet rested on his thighs, your position still impeding his ability to actually play. “It’s getting late”

He didn’t answer, but you watched as his eyes traveled up your bare legs, the hem of your blue cocktail dress coming to rest just above your knees.

You slid your foot slowly along his thigh, gently biting your lip watching him, his head dropped, a chunk of his blonde hair falling across his forehead. You jumped a little when his large hand closed over your foot, stopping it from moving.

Finally, he looked up, making eye contact, but still not speaking, his long slender fingers wrapped loosely around your ankle.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as you bit your lip gently, his fingers flexing against your achilles tendon before his hand started to slide slowly up your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, beating a little harder under his blue eyed scrutiny, but you kept your composure; even after his other hand slid over your knee mirroring its partner on the other side, his fingers dangerously close to creeping up under the hem of your dress. You sat silent, in a battle of wills. Your bare feet resting on his thighs, his impossibly warm hands resting on your bare knees. The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.

You purposely dug your heel a little harder into the top of his thigh, pushing you foot closer to his mid section, in turn forcing his hand to push further up your thigh and off your knee, fingertips disappearing under the fabric of your dress. This was torture.

As if he’d read your mind or the thought was written clear as day on your face, Seb slid his hand up your thigh; dress bunching at your hip as his fingers teased the sensitive skin finally causing you to break eye contact, closing your eyes as you tipped your head back taking in a deep breath, fingers curling around the edge of the piano top.

Seb’s other hand sliding tantalizingly slowly up your other thigh, your dress now sat evenly bunched across your middle.

You looked back at him, both hands sliding up either side of your hips, fingers curling around the elastic of the waist of your panties before he stopped.

Your core throbbed with anticipation. His movements were so fluid, every touch seemed intentional, like he had planned for this all along even though it had been you who had invaded his personal space first.

You shifted your feet from his thighs to the more stable bench, not missing the hard on now concealed under his suit pants, giving yourself a little more stability to lift your hips in a silent invitation for him to continue.

He tugged the lacy fabric off your hips before you settled back on the piano top, lifting your feet as he slid them over your ankles before stuffing them into his pants pocket.

His hands take a firm grip of your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the piano before pushing your knees apart, putting you on full view from his vantage point.

He hummed with approval and you felt your stomach clench, every inch of your body suddenly aching with desire, aching to be touched.

“Seb…” you whispered

“Shhh” he shushed softly, putting a finger to his lips as he looked up at you “Let me work”

If you could find your voice, you would have laughed in disbelief; instead, your mouth just hung open silently before you closed it again.

“Holy fuck” you breathed, a hand pushing your hair back off your face as Seb stood from the bench, fingers still moving.

Seb’s fingers ghosted up the inside of your thigh playing some melody only he could hear causing you to let out a shaky breath as they crept closer to your core.

His featherlight touch made you gasp, arching back; making you moan louder as he immediately plunged two fingers deep inside you.

You thrust your hips forward shamelessly, forcing him deeper, his fingers curling in just the right way, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and lay back across the glassy top you were sitting on.

He had positioned himself between your legs, reaching to bend one knee, your heel coming to rest on the slick keys, the mangled noise mixing with your moans.

The hand not between your thighs pinning your hip to the piano as you tried desperately to roll into his touch.

“Seb, please” you begged, swallowing hard.

He leaned over you, tie still hanging loosely from around his neck as he shook his head. “No”

You frowned slightly, looking up at him “What?” you breathed hard

“I said, no”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying hard to make sense of his words in your blissed out haze. “What do you mean n-”

You were cut off by your own strangled cry as he thrust his fingers harder, hooking them hard against your g spot. Then it dawned on you what he had meant.

“N-no, don’t” you pleaded, thighs squeezing hard around the hand between your legs. Still his hand moved with ease.

“You’ll cum when I tell you to,” he thrust his fingers hard, making you cry out, “And not before”

You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing hard as you leaned back

The hand on your hip moving to your jaw as he leaned over the piano “Look at me”

You gasped, his unrelenting fingers still thrusting as he spoke, the hand on your jaw squeezing tighter, you conceded, opening your eyes.

His breath was warm on your already overheated skin as he spoke “When I’m up here, I’m working; is that clear?”

You nodded as much as his grip would allow, as a violent twitch shook your body. His grip became a little firmer when you didn’t answer. “Yes,” you managed a whisper, but that hadn’t been to Seb’s satisfaction.

“I’m sorry I can’t hear you; is that clear?” he repeated

“Yes!” you cried out; fighting to keep your orgasm at bay

“Yes what?!” his volume matching yours, his voice booming around the empty stage.

“Seb, please” you almost wailed, fingers now gripping the edge of the piano painfully.

“I can go all night,” he threatened “Although I doubt even you have that kind of restraint”

“No, no, no, p-please” the foot you had resting on the keys, slipping from its place, kicking the empty bench hard, knocking it askew on the stage..

No longer caring how desperate you sounded he had taken the upper hand, assuming you had ever had it at all.

“Yes, what?” he repeated, his voice had dropped to a menacing whisper; his fingers sliding from inside you with a lewd squish.

Your breath caught in your throat as your body relaxed slightly and he let go of your jaw “Yes, sir” you whispered, swallowing hard. Heart pounding in your chest as you tried to even your breathing.

Fingers curled around your wrist as Seb righted the bench in front of the piano, pulling you up into a sitting position; your core throbbing painfully, begging you to find release.

You watched as Seb unbuttoned his fly, just enough to free his throbbing cock before he sat on the bench.

He pulled you into his lap, you immediately collapsed against him, moaning into his neck as he buried himself inside you with a grunt as your warm heat enveloped his length.

His hands on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. Your entire form shook with anticipation, ankles hooked around Seb’s back, clinging to him, desperate for release.

“S-Seb please” you whispered, shuddering against him

The slow roll of his hips was agonizing; you had resorted to whimpering, on the verge of crying you were almost certain.

“Not yet, Darling” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hands sliding up your back, opening the zipper of your dress before pulling it over your head, dropping it on your shoes.

He stood, leaning you against the piano, you flinched, the surface cold on your bare back fingers instantly curling against his back as a powerful thrust forced you backward.

“Not yet” he whispered, answering your silent plea as the edge of the piano bit into your bare skin; Seb braced against it, giving himself leverage.

His thrusts were already erratic, watching you fall to pieces in his skilled hands, unable to do much else had been enough to almost drive him mad.

Less than half a dozen hard, determined thrusts, each one making you cry out louder than the last, His weight pinning you exactly where he wanted. “Now”

“Christ” he breathed, bending slightly to kiss you gently before leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s one hell of a birthday present”

You never knew a single word could hold so much power; voice cracking with relief as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, legs dropping from around his waist, thankful for his weight pinning you in place as your orgasm finally reached its peak. A loud grunt against your shoulder as he slipped from inside you, his release coating your entire front.

He collapsed catching himself on the edge of the piano with both hands.

You smiled, draping your arms around his neck kissing him again “You’re welcome”

#Ryan Gosling #sebastian wilder #Sebastian Wilder x Reader #La La Land #Seb Wilder x Reader #fic #I'm not even sorry for two in one day

199 notes · View notes