First Language (Part 3) [a Sebastian Smythe imagine]
Request: Seb has to go to McKinley for classes on how to speak English again with the reader because she can’t go to dalton. And once he remembers about the glee club slushies him and the reader gets angry at them and comforts him.
a/n: my friend and i thought of this…where should this go next?
“Yes! Water!” you grin at your boyfriend, plaid mint green flannel exposing your pale pink tank top. “I forgot how much I love your accent.” you hum, tucking your hair behind your ear, flicking through the flashcards in your hand. Some aren’t really common everyday things, so you’ll focus on them later.
Sebastian rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Non, non (no, no)…” His hand rests on your thigh, squeezing faintly. Tilting your head, you furrow your eyebrows together, shifting in the red plastic chair, ankles tucked around the metal legs. “Puis-je avoir (can I get)…wat-tear?” he asks, gesturing to himself.
Blinking, you search for your backpack, “Uh…” You pull out the ‘French to English’ book you got from the library, holding up your index finger. Sebastian’s shoulders slump, red and white striped rugby long sleeved shirt folding at his stomach, rainforest green eyes watching the pages flip. “Oh! You want a drink!” you beam, scrunching your nose and grinning from ear to ear, bending forward slightly.
A small smile appears on his lips at how cute you are. “Oui (yes)! Wat-tear?” he asks again, pointing to the hallway. You nod, gesturing for him to go. “Je t’aime (I love you).” he mutters, pecking your lips. His converse pad through the hall, only stopping when he finds the water fountain. Grimacing, he leans down, pressing the knob. Dalton doesn’t have fountains; they have coolers. With paper cups. Which was way better.
“Oh, look, it’s Sebastian.” Puck spits, peering around at the other football players. The French boy ignores the delinquent, lapping the water silently. “Not so tough now that you don’t know how to speak, eh, Sebastian?” he taunts, shoving the boy’s shoulder, making him scowl.
Finn’s eyes widen, seeing the Warbler suddenly become cornered into the crany of the wall. “Guys, come on, leave him alo-”
“No, Finn!” Puck argues, arm still behind his back. “You remember what he did to Blaine? To you? He deserves this!” A deep sigh escapes the taller football player, eyes drooping slightly; he couldn’t answer. Puck smirks, “What I thought.” he hums, going back to the main focus. “So, Sebastian…”
What is it with American’s and saying his name weird? “Say-bah-steeahn-” That’s when he gets a face full of electric blue slush. His mouth hangs open, eyes squeezed shut, not seeing the group of people gathering. Laughter surrounds him while he sputters, at a new loss for words. His hands clench into fists at his sides and his eyelashes bat some of the slushie away.
“Seb!” you gasp, pushing people out of the way, glaring at the football team. Sebastian picks his head up, chestnut hair sticking to his forehead; he licks his lips slowly, jaw setting. “Fuck you, Puck.” you spit, taking ahold of your boyfriend’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up, allons (come on).” you whisper, leading him to the bathroom.
The back of his hips rest against the polished sink, blue jeans riding up. You turn on the water, getting a paper towel wet. “Ils m'ont coincé et je ne pouvais rien faire (they cornered me and I couldn’t do anything)…” he grumbles, feeling the towel wipe his eyes. “Tout ce que je voulais, c'était (all I wanted was) wat-tear…” he sniffles, peering down at the floor.
You lift his chin, frowning. His green eyes soften, lower lip jutting out, sticky blue goop sliding down his thin neck, traveling under his shirt collar. “You need to take this off…” you sigh, tugging at the end of his red, white and now blue rugby shirt. “Ugh, you look like America threw up on you.” you half joke, averting your eyes from his tight abs, beginning to dab his shirt.
He smirks, knowing his body catches your eye. “Vous vouliez juste me voir sans chemise (you just wanted to see me shirtless)…”