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llavender-honeyy · 27 days ago

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࿇˚࿔ sebastian invites you backstage…

⟢ genre ; pure smut

⟢ pairing ; seb x afab!enby!reader

⟢ wc ; 4.2k

⟢ summary ; after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

⟢ warnings ; 2nd person pov ; they/them pronouns for reader ; explicit smut [piv] ; no protection used ; bottom/sub reader ; general size difference ; dubcon [coercion, drugging/aphrodisiac] ; smoking [cigarettes & weed] & forced inhalation [reader receiving] ; accidental cigarette burn [reader receiving] ; groping ; reader kinda goes along w everything ; oral [f receiving] ; i heart seb’s nose uhhh ; 1 singular usage of the word “slutty” ; cervix fucking ; squirting ; creampie ; and please feel free to lmk if i forgot anything significant !

⟢ a/n ; reminder that this is a work of fiction! i do not condone or support any illegal/unsafe activities as described below in reality. and just for clarification’s sake, the “mystery drug” i describe is just your run of the mill fanfic-grade magic aphrodisiac, to be on the safer side. stay safe, be responsible, and surround yourself with comfortable people !!

byf & dni | navi | m.list

starts under the cut !

its not like you really had a chance anyways. the truth is, you were fucked from the moment he spotted you. and it just made it all the more easy for him to go through with it, too, what with him making it out to be your idea; your tease of a threat–your innocent joke–to find him backstage was met with a taunt of his own, and really it’s cute how obedient you were to follow instructions when he beckoned you from around the back door after the show. down to those shocked, wide eyes you looked at him with, just the spitting image of a helpless deer.

it was even cuter when, after he’d ransacked his precious stash to provide you both with a shot of liquor in celebration of finishing the performance, you were too stupid to notice the hastily dissolving tablet as he handed you the small glass. stupid because he didn’t even try to hide it—had it right under your nose literally while he pretended to conversate with you before coaxing you into finally downing it. could barely keep himself contained when he saw how it went down your throat, itching to squeeze it closed or stuff it full he didn’t know. hopefully soon, you’d be in the right headspace to make the decision for him.

its only a couple more minutes of letting you lead the conversation–‘i don’t mean to be a bother to your band mates,’ ‘what was that drink anyways?’ ‘it’s getting kind of warm in here, don’t you think..?’–before he sees your eyelids set deeper and your lashes fluttering as you try to keep them open. he’s already buzzing with excitement, the anticipation coursing from his gut to his fingertips and the top of his head, nearly turning himself dizzy in the blur but he brings himself back with the thought that you were way too easy..

he cracks a forced half-smile, soft in a way to be unassuming, and uses the adrenaline to will himself into standing from the tattered black couch. he smears his palms on his too-tight jeans–they were drenched–and almost laughs at himself for being too easy to get excited.

he makes his way to the door in a steady stride, looking back briefly to see you lay yourself on the couch lazily fanning your face. you’re watching him and he wonders for a moment if that’s concern lacing your eyebrows. he attempts to sway your worries with another tight lipped smile, gripping on the handle of the door as if to open it and let in some air, just to wiggle it to double check it’s left locked.

“hey–” he turns with a hand out, palm facing down, “don’t worry.. i’ll take care of ya.”

he feels that same buzz of excitement when he hears a whimper get caught in your throat. he swallows thickly, keep it in your pants, fuck, and keeps himself from pouncing now by busying himself with cracking the small vent-sized window high on the wall adjacent to the couch. not just for your sake at this point, but for his own too.

his hand digs in his zipped open jacket for that familiar rectangular box, fishing out a cigarette with practiced movements and lighting it with equal ease. the end burns with orange embers as he takes a deep inhale through the filter, puffing at it a few times and letting the excess smoke wash over his raised hand. the harsh sensation on his throat contrasts to how it soothes his mind–each inhale almost a peek into the euphoric buzz that will be getting to indulge in you all while he convinces you it’s what you want. it's what you need now that his handy little drug has taken effect. he’ll make sure of it.

he turns on a heel to step back towards you, eyes on how you’ve tucked your legs up near you on the couch and the resulting swell of your thighs. his mouth is already watering and he needs to take a heavy gulp before he speaks again,

“look, see…you’re just a bit hot, right?” his smirk this time is genuine, but ideally you won't be privy to the real reason why, “people don’t usually wear thick sweaters like yours to crowded shows like this,” a low chuckle gets caught in his throat, focused on making sure his hands trembling with excitement don’t drop his half-smoked cigarette on your face while he brushes a few stray strands of hair back into place.

and the sweater you wear isn’t even that outlandish for the event; in fact it was probably standard attire, rips and tacky graphic and all. but at this point he’s banking on the fact that you hold him on too high a pedestal–and are gullible enough to believe him.

you nod slow, in a manner like you didn’t really hear him but go along with what he says anyways.

“it’s.. yeah… makin’ me dizzy, too..” and another victorious ding sounds in his head. he can’t hold himself back another moment, greedy paws already going to grab at the sweater resting on your waist while he makes room for himself on the couch with your resting form. scrambling like he just can’t help himself, like he needs to be pressed up against your warm and smaller-than-his body in the next few moments or he’ll truly snap. he manages to fit in front of you, almost pushing you back down into the cushion with how oppressively he traps you in.

“don’ worry, i gotcha,” he huffs under his breath, like it doesn’t matter to him whether you heard or not. it’s not genuine reassurance in the first place anyways.

there was really no reason to wiping his palms before; he can feel how the sweat is already back on his hands and the back of his neck, prickling his skin with the accompanying goosebumps that arise from feeling and hearing your pathetic breaths fan between you two. almost like a teaser for how he’ll have you sounding in a few moments, once he gets out of his head and the fantasies planted in his brain just from the way you had watched him while he was on stage.

his free hand curls around the thick of your sweater at last. his eyes are glued to where your skin peeks below the hem, and his lecherous smirk is an unconscious reaction when you don’t seem to protest his upward tugs at the fabric. in his haste the burning out cigarette gets tucked between your pretty pout, just to grab both your wrists and maneuver them above your head.

“stay just like that,” like you had a choice in the first place–your muscles were way too weak at this point to try and struggle. entirely uncoordinated and way too eager he pulls up your sweater, revealing the expanse of your soft tummy to his dark hungry gaze. and even despite just placing the cigarette in your mouth, he spares no time as he pulls almost desperately to get it over your head and off your arms, leaving the cuffs around your wrists like flimsy make-shift handcuffs.

another high pitched whine of yours blesses his ears and his cock pulses with his heart for a beat until–

“mmh.. s’gross,” manages to tumble past your lips and the white roll falls as a result, landing at your collarbone next to the strap of a bra he’s sure you hadn’t planned to show anyone; literally ripping at the seams and very obviously well-worn. he was shocked you managed to open your mouth again, chuckling lightly in disbelief–no, awe–at your determination to stay conscious. like you want to bear witness to what his depraved mind has convinced him to do.

like it somehow makes it okay if you seem conscious enough to say no if you want to, but you don’t, and who is he to say no to you offering yourself up so nicely. the way you squirm under his weight and rub your sticky skin against his palms you don’t even know that you’re only making it more exciting. how the light bounces off your sweat and creates a mesmerizing pattern, only sucking him deeper into the spell you had unknowingly put him in. or maybe you did know and that would make it all the better–because that’d mean that you want it.

you squirm again from the sensation of the burning end of the cigarette singing your collarbone. blinking he realizes his palms are groping the fat of your chest and molding to the shape of his hands, bulging between his digits and turning his mouth dry.

as if burned by your touch he draws his hands back with another idea. he suddenly remembers the joint he indulged in only halfway and set aside before he had to make appearances for the show, left for later on the very coffee table next to him; now in his hold again with his lighter fast approaching.

“try this instead then,” he speaks between a harsh drag of his own and another that he huffs into your mouth as he grabs at your jaw meanly to keep it open.

he exhales the heavy smoke into your untrained lungs and yet your sputtering coughs don’t dissuade him–in fact they make it all the harder to not shut you up with his own mouth; show you how to handle the green and just let it take over your mind so he can take over your body.

he’s practically trembling in his excitement; it’s a wonder how he doesn’t collapse right on top of you where you lay catching your breath. you make it even harder on him when your eyes, squeezed shut to protect against the fanning weed smoke, drop tears down your temples thanks to how hard you’re coughing. your mouth, opened so wide to take in large greedy gulps of fresh air yet all you get is more of the dizzying smoke sucked from his own stash that he’s bestowing unto you–be grateful that he’s willing to sacrifice so much.

he finds himself a moment later almost having gotten carried away–thank god he caught himself before his own mind slipped too far. between his fingers is now just a roach and fuck rocking the hardening bulge in his pants up against your thighs suddenly feels so heavenly. and to think–had he not done all this, he might’ve never known! now that would just be too unfair, y’see–you’re such a tease–so he just had to make it right. eyelids setting heavier over his eyes already he drops what was left of the roll to the floor, uncaring of where it ends up.

his self control has thinned enough now, he decides. he can practically taste you on the tip of his tongue–saccharine and syrupy he just knows it. can’t bear to have it so close but so far anymore.

your bottoms are being tugged down to your thighs before your mind even has a chance to catch up, what with you still reeling from the smoke in your lungs and the resulting haze. you only register how exposed you’ve suddenly become when the air of the room feels cool against your inner thighs and sends a shiver up your spine.

“shit– you’re s’wet..” he huffs the words like they were never meant for you in the first place–maybe they weren’t, almost reverent and entirely desperate. your eyes finally open again, fuzzy and unfocused when you realize he hasn’t just exposed you, no–he’s already dived in, can’t even help himself. the line between your copious amounts of slick and the saliva dripping from his greedy maw is entirely blurred and the resulting sounds make your head heat with a self-conscious flush.

“w-wait… what are you…!” your confused plea falls on seemingly deaf ears, small and far too hushed to be convincing. your weak neck attempts to lift your head to catch sight of the mess of hot breath and spit between your legs.

should be illegal how good you taste–how well the drug worked–making you pour all this sweetness like an overflowing pot of honey into this frenzied bear’s mouth. his hands dig into the backs of your thighs, carving small crescents into the flesh. with brows furrowed he only sinks in further, drinking you down in earnest and worshipping your little hole.

it’s enough to make you squirm under his surprisingly strong grip, but with that powdered pill coursing through your veins you aren’t sure if your hips are bucking away or towards him for more. it’s effects we’re almost dizzying, a swift punch to your senses and making you feel hot, oh so hot. covered in a thin sheen of sweat and radiating every mind-numbing throb from your core to your every nerve. with that cursed nose of his, big, but strong–yet cute, you’d thought earlier in the night, bumping against your swollen clit sending involuntary shocks of pleasure through your every hyper-sensitive limb. and when he gives that a break just to suck and flick at it hard with his tongue, you know. you know that your hips are canting towards his awaiting mouth, that you welcome the trembling of your legs from the unending onslaught of his ministrations, and that you want more.

“did you.. what’d you jus’ say?”

the poor thing you are, all drugged up and pliant, didn’t even notice you said those words out loud. even all sluggish and quiet, he’s sure he heard those words right and it damn near makes him short circuit on the spot.

“not.. ‘nuff… need more,” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, how breathless and faraway it sounded in your own ears, the words processing then instead of before they tumbled out of your mouth. and… well, who was he to deny you offering yourself up so nicely.

between the heartbeat rattling against his ribcage like a bird in captivity and the same heartbeat just below his waistband, he’s wound up enough to know he doesn’t need to ask anymore questions–not that he really had to. he unclasps his belt with one hand, keeping your legs up with the other; not bothering to pull his own pants down more than necessary. just enough to flip the zipper open and dig his hand down his briefs to yank his cock out.

and he wastes no time at all lining himself up with your weeping hole which he just can’t seem to tear his eyes from, clenching around nothing but his swollen tip and turning his mouth dry. it’s as he blinks slowly, almost a split-second decision to sink himself in entirely that he curses lowly and the breath is punched out of both of your lungs.

you feel even better than he could’ve imagined, somehow. whether that be the weed in his system, or that pill in yours, or his own underestimation. he’s throbbing and aching to pound you silly and soothe that tight burn low in his gut–if only he could get a grip first. his sweaty palms release your legs which fall uselessly to either side of his hips, the heat from them alone enough to have him reeling. he hunches over you like he’s mounting you, gripping at your hips like a lifeline and holding your ass up off the couch to get even deeper. nudging right up against the spongy spot inside that makes you whimper. so pathetic and high-pitched he’s convinced you’re out to kill him.

he almost laughs, “ooh, fuck.. you have such a slutty little hole–” a depraved smile on his face but his brows furrowed, really just in disbelief. and it’s as if saying it out loud made it all the more real, but he still holds his breath as he grinds involuntarily into your gummy walls just to check. “s’like you’re suckin’ me in..” he scoots in closer, letting your hips rest on his thighs. and interestingly enough, he can’t seem to sit still.

the hot drag of your walls along his cock is all he can focus on, all he can bare to keep up with. he’s truly screwed himself somehow–put himself in the position of being devoted to humping up against you until he can’t anymore. “fuck, wait.. quit– quit squeezin’ so hard,” he’s choking up, unable to catch his breath with how restless his hips are. practically huffing down your neck and drooling over your skin, hunched over like a man starved finally getting fed. in some twisted way he is; finally found the one that’ll satiate his craving, sit back and let him take what he needs, but not just that–you asked for it, and that fact alone is making him go haywire.

“c-can’t,” you hiccup, mind already utter mush and body jolting with every gushy thrust. your fingers are clawing at the outturned sleeves still encasing your wrists; unable to get them off with your arms as weak as they are, you opted for leaving them there. in hindsight, it was a good decision. especially considering it was the only thing keeping you grounded right now, no thanks to the guy who was seemingly trying to fuck you right off the edge of the couch. the one who doubles down when he notices your back bowing reflexively, using it as motivation to really give you more like you asked for. “s’too m-much!”

“nonono, you wanted this,” he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and tugs you back towards him with his bruising grip, your head ending up positioned in such a way where you have no choice but to watch him sink into you over and over, “yer gonna– mmfuck– take it,” his voice breaks and so does the sharp tone, pleading more than anything through his low whines.

for a moment, you cant look away–every lewd clap of skin ringing in your ears accompanied by the sight, the feeling–and when he drags you on the couch to properly fuck into you, changing the angle and rearranging your insides to fit his shape you fall apart.

every thrust is a pain turned pleasure shooting up your spine, the blunt tip of his dick bullying your poor cervix, but you still only want more. you’re so close already, can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. whatever was turning you silly was doing a damn good job, engulfing you in a heat that’s only being soothed by how relentless his thrusts are into your gummy walls. tightening the knot in your core, promising that sweet release, making your head and eyes roll back just before you will your lazy gaze to the source of a low broken groan.

you almost yelped out, one of his hands suddenly flying up to brace himself up against the armrest and effectively caging you in. after getting over the startle your eyes blink open again, refocusing on the face above you. his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips are dripping both sweat and saliva on your flushed skin, his own cheeks and nose similarly pinkened. the expression he makes, the utter desire and desperation written in his darkened eyes, literally drooling over you–your heart flutters suddenly and you can’t break your eyes away.

before this all started, before the drink and before even having the conversation that led you into this very room, you couldn’t deny your attraction to him. all quiet, brooding, mysterious; the only thing you knew about him was that the sight of his talented fingers stroking at the keys of that keyboard, lost in the music amidst the impressively-bustling bar crowd made you feel things. things not too different from what you’re experiencing now, just… intensified.

you tuned out everything else between the ad-libs of other onlookers and the pestering of your friends, your eyes settled snugly on the dark haired man up on the short stage that you could swear looked back at you. multiple times. and every time he did it was like you were bolted into place; at a standstill ignited by the skip of your heart like you were exchanging unspoken words.

after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

in the end, all you really cared about was getting him into your pants. and it ended up happening.

a broken moan tears from your throat, garbled and needy in a way that makes his head spin, almost confusing him, “f-fuck.. you really want this, don’t you…” it takes everything in him to stay up straight and not crush you under his weight when all you do is stare back like he’s the only person in the world. he drops his chin to his chest, hearing the beat of his heart rumbling in his ears to the same rhythm of his pulsing cock. turned so sensitive from the weed and the tight squeeze of your cunt like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

in an effort to stave off his own orgasm he grabs at the fabric of the armrest and your waist like a lifeline, his eyes closed tight enough to see stars.

“gonna.. c-cum,” you really are out to kill him, he thinks.

“wait–” he gasps, if not a bit too late; the tight squelch around him a sign enough that you’ve already started tumbling over that peak, “just a bit.. l-longer,” with the amount of pre spilling from him already and how taut his balls get squished against your ass, he doesn’t know if the words are meant for you or himself.

after everything, tossing and turning the idea around in his head–the very idea that landed you here in the first place; he can’t help but want to savor it. at least a little, y’know? relish in the siren song that was your moans and whimpers, lose himself in the feel of your devilish pussy… but hell, he’s been holding on by a string for too long and it snapped the second he felt a gush of pure wet splash up against his pelvis.

his hips squish down into you, trapping you between the scratchy couch cushion and the sudden flood of hot cum in your walls. “fuckk–” he hisses close to your ear, the arm holding him up having finally given up and opting to rest on his forearm instead. he doesn’t dare to let up on grinding down into you, the feel of you constricting around him and the mixed release spilling out far too addicting. you clamp down so hard it’s like you’re trying to force him out, pulling out every last drop of the thick white his cock rubs into you.

his heavy pants feel almost sticky against your neck and collarbone, spreading tingles over your sensitive skin. as the tension dies down the chill of the room enters your senses, prickling at your skin to raise goosebumps, cooling your throat as you drink in the freshness.

breath finally finds you again–him as well, it seems–the labored rise and fall of your chest evened out. but you still hear the beat of your own heart, noticeably speeding up when he starts shifting above you.

even after just resting above your head your arms are still weak and trembling, like loose rubber bands. you find the strength in your shoulders though to finally pull them back down and the sweater sleeves around your wrists finally slide off. not knowing what else to do with your hands, you decide to take a risk and rest them on his arms.

he lifts himself back up but his head is still cast downwards. the long hair of his fringe covers his eyes, messy and riddled with stray hairs. his skin is flushed a deep pink, but that can easily be explained by anything that took place within the last 10 minutes. what otherwise can’t be is how he doesn’t even try and meet your eyes–but he also doesn’t move to take his softening hard-on out yet either. both of his hands grip into the cushions of the couch, the fabric straining and groaning under his palms like he’s holding himself back from something.

his entire mind has been jumbled into disarray–he’s not sure where to start with the scattered pieces floating around his head. you’ve effectively thrown a wrench in his plans. it was simple before; easy, foolproof even. but it turns out he was the fool the whole time. how was he to try and go through with finishing up quick, dumping you out back after having his way with you once like was written in his mental plans, head out with his bandmates and fuck off to who knows where next. how could he ignore the residual rhythmic spasming of your cunt, your thighs pressing meekly to his hips, how the slight inhale of breath you take before speaking to him sounds so similar to the ones you took while he filled you to the brim–

“c.. can we keep going? m’still, y’know…”

the good thing about plans is: when one fails, there’s always a plan b.

↳ ty for reading ♡

#࿇˚࿔ spicy honey ..#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sebastian smut #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x reader smut

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