a/n: I JUST HEARD THIS SONG AND FUCK SEBASTIAN IM A SLUT FOR HIM. SUCH A GODDAMN SLUT
Mr. Shue thought the girls should have a chance to do a performance when a few of the schools had a little ‘get together’. So, you, Brittany, Santana, Rachel and Tina decided to do a Fifth Harmony song. Quinn politely passed at the offer. Nervously, you play with your black off-the-shoulder shirt; matching collar snug around your neck. “Guys, I don’t know if I can do this…” you bite your lip, watching Sebastian straighten his striped tie from behind the curtain.
Santana smirks, fixing her tight knee-length black dress, already in her chair next to Brittany. A hand guides you and you straddle the back of your chair, squinting back at the small girl. “It’ll be fine, Y/N. Just do what we rehearsed.” Rachel grins, sitting down as the curtain opens. You gulp, noticing the Warbler’s lime green eyes are on you. “Pick up the pen, put it on the paper… Write on my skin, bring me to life…” she starts singing, letting the blond take over.
Brittany stands up with her girlfriend, running her hands down her black crop top, eyes closed as she hums. “Can’t start again, there ain’t no eraser. All of my flaws, you got them so right.” she moves around when Santana joins her in the bridge. “Everything is blank until you draw me, touching on my body like you know me…” they harmonize together perfectly.
“Write on me…” you belt out, staring straight at Sebastian, standing up slowly. He leans forward, smirking up at you, winking. “Color outside the lines… Love the way you tear me up! Baby take your time…” you sing directly at him as the other girls join in. “Write on me….Give me some wings, I’ll fly, love the way you tear me up!I’ll never change my mind… Write on me, write on me…” you repeat.
Sebastian lies you down in the backseat of his mustang, hands roaming up your stomach as he smiles. “I think I’m gonna write on you tonight…” he muses, attaching his plump lips to your collarbone, pushing up your shirt. Gasping, you hook your fingers in the knot of his red and navy tie, undoing it. “You’re so beautiful, mon bebe…” he praises, tugging off your shirt.
His palms explore every possible place of your body; mouth following. Those long fingers pop the button of your black shorts, pulling them down your legs, along with your panties. You breathe his name, punctuating the French, knowing it drives him mad. He slips his blazer off, yanking his tie too, finally shimmying his trousers and boxers down to his knees.
Cradling your face in his large hand, the Warbler kisses you deeply, distracting you momentarily. A gasp of air exits you when he enters you and you arch your back against the sleek leather seat, pressing your boobs to his chest. Sebastian leaves hot, opened mouth kisses down your neck, rocking his hips with yours at a slow pace.
“I know your body so well…” he pants against your skin; hands gripping your hips, guiding you further into him. You card your fingers through his slicked back brown locks, yanking on them when you grind up. “You were thinking about me all night, weren’t you?” he smirks, green eyes darting to your face while he smacks your ass. You moan, nodding. “I was too…” he admits breathlessly, focusing back on thrusting.
Your stomach tightens and you pant, pulling at the back of his crisp white button down. “Sebastian…” you gulp, watching his eyelashes flutter at the sound of his name. “I-I’m s-so close… please.” you beg, shouting when he hits your g-spot as well as your ass.
Sebastian’s hair is messy, partly in his face, partly slicked with sweat. He thrusts, blunt nails indenting your hips, marking your skin. “Go ahead, babygirl.” he hums, feeling you cum around him, making him groan. His cum shoots out and he bites your neck harshly, sucking on it, creating a bright purple hickey.
When the both of you come back from your high, the Warbler pulls out, moving underneath your naked body. “Did I write on you enough?” he whispers in your ear, fingers mapping out the string of different shades of purple scattered across you.
“Yes. You can write on me anytime, Sebastian. I love you.” you say quietly, kissing the mole on his left cheek.
I was inspired by one of my favourite scenes of the movie The Wicker Man (1973). I’ll leave the link if you want to watch the scene and understand better what’s going on in this fic, it’s only 4 minutes long. Well you don’t have to watch this scene or the whole movie to get the story but it gives more emphasis.
Warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, dirty talk
“Aw Sam Jesus Christ not again!” you ranted
“What’s wrong this time” Sam shouted from the bathroom with an annoyed tone.
“Come and see numbskull” you invited him to join you in the basement.
Sam appeared on the doorstep, half of his face was covered in shaving foam and the other half looked as smooth as a baby’s bottom. In a different situation you would have found that irresistible but this time you were really angry at him.
“I’ve already told you never wash white and coloured clothing together.” you were pulling out the washing machine all the ruined clothes and piling them up in the laundry basket. It wasn’t the first time that happened but you were really pissed off. Sam moved closer to inspect the mess he had made.
“What can I say? Light blue is pretty close to white. And light green, and light grey.” he said with such nonchalance that made you even angrier.
“Well then fuck it, this was my favourite shirt and it’s ruined.” you got up and looked at him with a threatening gaze, your hands resting on your waist.
Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to get away easily; he only saw you being that angry two other times and he wished there wouldn’t be a third. The only thing he could do was hold your own.
“Where’s the issue? Besides, you look better when you’re not wearing any clothes.”
May you get your period one day early May you misplace your keys when you’re running late May you toss and turn through the night May you forget something important that you were about to say May you feel like you have to sneeze but never do so May they forget your French fries in the drive-thru
Intuition (Ne): Percy conceals
his feelings behind a veil of indifference, superficiality, and mockery aimed
at society’s preoccupation with shallow superficiality; he is quick to banter
with others, engage them in “mindless” word games, and entertain them with
hilarity, poetry, and pretentiousness. He pretends to indulge in trivialities while
working behind the scenes to manipulate circumstances to his advantage. Since
his disguises and methods of getting aristocrats out of Paris are never the
same thing twice, he drives the French secret police mad trying to anticipate
his next move or catch him in the act. His idealism leads him to fall in love
with the idea of Marguerite, then
reject her when disillusioned. Percy’s imagination and ability to focus on the
big picture (saving as many lives as he can) is an asset in his work as the
Pimpernel, but also a determent since it makes him unaware of his wife’s
unhappiness, much less her true nature.
Feeling (Fi): When
Marguerite expresses concern that they are “moving too fast” in their relationship,
Percy retorts, “My heart dictates the pace.” He uses his prejudgment of
Chauvelin, and his loathing of the man’s politics, to taunt, tease, and
humiliate him, in order to get out his own feelings of contempt. Percy strongly
identifies with the French aristocracy (as a British aristocrat) and strives to
save them through whatever means possible. His reluctance to control the
behavior of the members of his League leads him to make a near-fatal mistake
(Fi’s belief that “no one should be forced to do anything they don’t want to do”).
Percy reacts strongly on moral grounds when he hears Marguerite has betrayed
someone to his death, and feels justified
in treating her harshly as a result. When confronted with something he agrees
with, rather than lie and defend his wife’s honor, he remains silent.
Thinking (Te): Percy
frequently loops out of his emotions, preferring to put aside his failing
marriage in order to focus on an objective goal: getting the Dauphin out of
France. His ability to come up with a plan without much forewarning helps keep
him and his friends alive. He uses information always for a reason: to assist
him in his goals. Percy organizes a large group of agents in France and
England, comes up with rescue plans, and sets limitations and standards for the
body as a whole. He undertakes a long-term façade and executes it with
precision, taking advantage of each situation, always with an eye on the consequences.
But he can be caustic, offensive, and even cruel to Marguerite, when he
believes she has behaved immorally.
Sensing (Si): His entire
façade is built around a man preoccupied with his own appearance, fussy about
the details of his garments, and entertained by the mundane details of life,
parties, and social expectations – but Percy is actively mocking all of these things. When it comes to recalling former
situations, or amassing information about people that would help steer his
intuition in the right direction, he fails – he believes the lies about Marguerite
(attaching to someone else’s story or idea – Ne) rather than forming an
impression over their shared interactions (Si). He underestimates Chauvelin. All
his mistakes are because he cannot interact well with his sensory environment,
in an uncontrolled setting (his failed escape attempt).