#sebastian stan x woc

Read:The Good Guy

“Hmmm.” He quirks his brow before repeating your name again. This time, he whispers it, tasting every syllable - savoring every vowel and consonant. He closes his eyes, muttering your name again, a smirk forming on his lips. When he opens his eyes again, he turns to you.

“I like it.”

You lifted your brow, amused by his reaction. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

“It suits you.”

“I could have said my name was Bob, and you would have liked it.”

“That’s because I like you,” he countered.

Rolling your eyes, you reached for your glass, finishing the liquid courage in one go. Drinking was easier than talking, and fucking was easier than being. That is why you didn’t mess around with guys like him. You preferred someone who was more interested in what was between your legs versus what was in your head.

He stared at the empty glass, taking register of your body language. “I like you,” he affirmed again.

“You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to know you to like you?”

“That’s typically how these things work.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “I know that you don’t do nice guys or good guys.”

Despite your best efforts, you smiled again for what felt like the hundredth time since you met him. You were doing the opposite of what you said you wanted. When you agreed to leave the bar with him, this wasn’t the type of night you were expecting. You were supposed to fuck his brains out and leave before he wanted to know your name. Instead, you were talking - drinking and talking. You had been talking to the point that he had inevitably asked your name. If you didn’t leave now, you were running the risk of him asking more questions about you.

“Don’t go.”

You stared at him, surprised at how quickly he read your mind.

He raised his glass to his lips, emptying the remaining brown liquid. He winced at the bitterness of the drink. Placing the glass down, he turned to you - his blue eyes sober, despite the alcohol coursing through his system. “I know that you think that I am a good guy, and maybe, I am - I was. But, I also know that you would rather fuck me than be alone tonight, and I would do anything to spend more time with you.”

He had caught you red-handed with the truth. Your heart raced. All the cards were on the table, and you were left speechless.

“The problem is that I really want to know why you would rather fuck me than talk to me. I want to know why you roll your eyes every time I say that I like you. I want to know how you can drink whiskey like it’s water.” He sighed. “I want to know you, but that’s not how this works.”

“How does this work,” you managed to croak out.

He ran his hands through his hair. “You fuck my brains out and leave before I know your name.”

You glanced down, unwilling to face the vulnerability of this moment - his vulnerability. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why,” he repeated as if he was asking himself the same question. “I like your laugh. I like the way your bottom lip curves when you smile. I like losing myself in the richness of your brown eyes. I like talking about you. I mean, when the fuck have I ever talked about the richness of someone’s eyes.” He laughed at himself, as he rubbed the stubble of his beard.

“Seb,” you interjected, knowing where this was headed.

“I liked you before I even talked to you. I’m with you, yet I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know you, but I want you. I want more than just fucking you.”

The truth sat in the air. It hang there, forcing you to face it. You shouldn’t have gone out tonight. You moved closer to him, removing the gap between you. The space between his brow creased as he watched you. You shouldn’t have talked to him. You touched his shoulder before allowing your leg to lay on his lap. You shouldn’t have let him buy you a drink. You hiked up your skirt before straddling him. He didn’t touch you or even speak. He was holding his breath. His eyes filled with wonder as you took control. You shouldn’t have gone home with him. You settled into him. His thighs parting further, so you were adequately supported. You should have left after the first drink. Your hands ran up his chest, tracing his arms and shoulders, before resting on his neck. His adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. The confident charmer who’d picked you up at the bar was now staring at you, waiting for permission. You should leave. You traced his lips then his jaw. You leaned into him. Your head touching his. You could feel his heart racing. You should leave. You kissed him slow. You should leave. Your parted your lips, deepening the kiss and taking more control. You should leave. A moan slipped your lips as he kissed you back. You should leave. You pulled back, catching your breath as you stared at him. You should leave.

“I’m not a good guy,” he whispered breathlessly.

You smirked, knowing that he would say anything to make you stay. “I like good guys.”

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Thanks for reading!
Until next time, xoxo

As per usual, I am joining the thirst game late, but better late than never. Right? Whew, I have now officially joined the Sebastian Stan train. I GET IT. I FINALLY GET IT. I FINALLY SEE WHAT EVERYONE SEES. Thus, this is a Sebastian Stan inspired fic. I hope you enjoy! XX

You laughed, genuinely laughed. You couldn’t stop the natural reaction of your body, or the smile that formed on your lips.

“She laughs.” He smirked.

“He finally said something worthy of laughter.”

“He is Sebastian,” he chuckled, realizing he was still talking in third person. “Seb. I go by Seb.”

“Seb,” you repeated, letting the name sink in as you looked him over.

“She is?”

“She doesn’t do good guys.”

He raised his brow. “Who says I’m a good guy?”

You gave him a once over again. Your eyes confirming what you’d known from the moment he sat down. He wasn’t the first guy that had chosen a seat next to you at the quiet bar. He wasn’t even the first to have talked to you or tried to pick you up. Everything about you screamed “do not approach,” yet, that didn’t stop him or the others. You looked like you were having a bad day, and you couldn’t even blame your resting bitch face. In fact, the truth was you were having a bad month…year. The only reprise from the turmoil in your life was this quiet bar in the middle of one of the loudest cities in the world. It cured your bouts of loneliness by allowing you to be around people, but not be overwhelmed by them. You read unapproachable, but the truth was you were craving for someone to see you - to remind you that you were alive. That’s how you knew he was dangerous - he’d seen beyond your cool girl exterior. Your mask was slipping.

You sighed, taking another shot. “It’s not your fault. I don’t do nice guys either.”

“So, what guys do you do?”

You smiled, realizing the innuendo you’d talked yourself into. “Look, there’s a bar three blocks from here. It’s always packed and super loud. You should head over there and find a good girl…or a nice girl.”

“Who said I do good girls,” he bit his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving you, “or nice girls?”

Closing your eyes, you swallowed your nerves. You were getting sucked into his eyes, his charm, his demeanor…and you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall. “I promise you that I’m not the girl your looking for.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not looking for anything.”

“It won’t end well,” you continued, feeling yourself getting pulled in, despite the alarm bells in your head. He would only be a temporary fix, yet that’s what made this exciting. An hour of relief was better than nothing.

“Happy endings are overrated.”

You laughed, but this time you couldn’t hide the pain that was edged in your voice. Your mask was definitely slipping.

He glanced around at the nearly empty bar, checking it out as if he was actually contemplating your warning. You hoped for your sake and his that he would get up and leave. You wouldn’t hold it against him. It would actually be better this way. Yet, when he stood up, your heart sank. It was better this way you reminded yourself. You lowered your eyes and focused back on your drink. He raised his hand, getting the bartenders attention.

“I’ll close out both tabs.”

You raised your brow, but accepted the gesture. “Thanks.”

“You ready to go?”

This time, you fully turned to him surprised by the question. He grabbed his card from the bartender, placing it in his wallet as if your conversation hadn’t happened. You studied his side profile, trying to read his mind.

“Why,” you finally asked. He didn’t know your name, and everything you said in the past few minutes didn’t inspire any confidence.

His jaw tensed as he turned to look at you. His brows furrowed as his eyes bore into you. You saw the flash of worry in his eyes before he smirked and switched on the charm. Towering over you, he leaned his arm on the back of the barstool until you were face to face.

“A good guy never backs down from a fight,” he whispered, before kissing your cheek.

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Thank you for reading. Yes, I am still working on my taglist. Until I write again, xoxo.