WE ARE SO BACK I love the first chapter already!! I hope you have been doing good â„ïžâ„ïž do you think there will be a specific upload schedule for Risk it for a Biscuit? If not thatâs ok of course!! Have a great week<333
Helloooooo
Unfortunately I cannot commit to an update schedule for Risk It 4 Biscuit. I don't have any specific story arc in mind so there is no 'end goal' really. And because of work and moving in the next couple months, I won't have the time I wish I did to work on it. Right now I'm focused on making edits to the chapters that I have had drafted for months and pushing those out so there is something to read.
Which is so say.... right now there are updates happening but don't be scared if I disappear for like 6 months lmao
Risk It For a Biscuit: Sebastian Michaelis x Isekai!Reader
Chapter 2: Break-In
Your breath comes out a plume of cold fog- itâs another damp and dreary morning but work waits for no one. Another uneventful commute to your office (down the street from your cozy apartment) braving the cold. Your gloved hands fumble with your iron key but when you place it in the lock and turn- the mechanism doesnât click. The key shifted without any resistance. A chill runs down your spine as instinct picks up a danger you havenât identified yet. Touching the knob as if it were burning, you gingerly tilt it. There is the slightest give- you slowly turn it back and release it. It was unlocked. Your office doesnât have much in the way of pawnable valuables but it holds something even more important; information.Â
Acts of theft in these times usually escalate into acts of murder. Also, as you found out a month ago, this was the âeveryone diesâ kind of story. You had recently acquired a new high profile client (or perhaps THEE high profile client considering nothing here could surpass the protagonist) with many enemies spanning from petty London thugs to grim reapers. You arenât surprised to see your office has been targeted. And you would be even less surprised to become a target of assassination. Going in would probably get you killed. You should turn around and go to the police station. The police would be useless but you would need their report to explain to your clients why you needed new copies of any destroyed documents. Itâs early but someone should be at the station- which wasâŠunfortunately a sizable walk of an hour and 30 minutes.Â
Fuck. Thatâs a long walk. Itâs already cold and you need to start a fire inside- the stray cat will want to come in for his usual petting session too. You donât want to be walking 3 hours today just to make a police report just to cover your ass because some fuckwad decided to break into your office just because you caught the attention of the worldâs walking death magnet.Â
Itâs just paper though, itâs not like itâs more important than your life. Just maps, just documents, just deeds, just licensing, just snacks and tea, just ink and. The thought of someone putting their filthy hands all over your carefully organized and preserved papers made your blood boil. You would never be able to get the grease stains out of the London City Map you had commissioned last year. Paper is expensive- your preprinted forms are expensive! A vivid scene flashes through your mind's eye- some grubby extra scratching his crusted ballsack and then opening your desk drawer so he can rummage through your office supplies and lip balm.
You are moving before you even realize it and duck down the narrow alley between your building and the neighboring dress shop. While you scuttle in the dark you pat down your pockets and thankfully find your secondary key- one which belongs to the lock of the iron gate that opens the small stocking alcove used by the apothecary so shipments donât block the street. You swiftly enter and relock the door, then wedge yourself between the iron bars of the fence and the grimy bricks of the building to scoot upwardsâ until you find yourself face to face with your own back window. Ever since you moved in, fixing the lock on this window had been on your to-do-list and was never quite done. Just this once you praise your laziness as you use your fingers to jiggle the faulty latch on the window bars and swing them open. Rage and disgust at the mere idea of some man with an unwashed ass had granted you temporary physical prowess only possible in a realm of fiction.
Then, very grateful your window is larger than standard size, you slowly push it open (wincing with every creak) and ease yourself inside. The panic has dulled your brain but sharpened your physicality, you settle onto the floor with panther-like grace granted to you by some sort of workaholic deity. You slink across your kitchenette in darkness, guided only by the sliver of obscured pale sun from the window and the licks of fire from your office. Stupid bastards got comfortable enough to start a fire. Sneaking around like this makes you feel like a thief in your own home but you donât mind the thrill it gives you. All you want to do is listen- maybe sneak a peek. Just know what they tamper with so you can prepare accordingly when they are done. Please just leave your beeâs wax tinted lip balm alone, it was so hard to get the perfect shade.
There is too much silence, no rustling of paper or opening of drawers. It only makes you more tense. What manner of murderer has entered your office? No, even worse- what monster capable of destroying the careful organization of your well-maintained client files, had forced themselves into your sanctum? Your rage by the possibility of someone fucking up your work is only tempered by the very real physical danger you are in. Maybe being around all these manga npcs has gotten to your head because even being aware of your own mortality has you thinking that death is a secondary concern.
Swallowing the urge to bust open the door, you opt to instead slip to the side of it and very slowly push it to widen the crack just enough to peer into your parlor like youâre playing a voyeur of your own space.
You hold your breath as the details are illuminated by the light enough for you to see any distinguishing features. You are ready to recount the entirety of the criminal- their hair and eye color, their clothes, how they walk, how they talk, their dominant hand, the shape of their ears, the number of teeth missing in their mouth. But your commitment to memorizing these details is halted like a brick to the face.
There, sitting only with your fireplace and a candle to light his board game, is your most dreaded client. He looks bored as he grumpily examines the game pieces with a look of distaste. The scene is an absurd relief to the various imaginary scenarios that played through your head like stray dogs in the street. And then also irritation. The adrenaline leaves your body and suddenly you just want to go home and eat and sleep. You let out a noise, something between a sigh and a groan, as the fight or flight is punched out of your gut. Ciel Phantomhive jumps at the noise, he spins around in alarm before it morphs into his standard shit-eating smirk.
âOh, terribly sorry for the intrusion. I thought you were taking visits, as your door was unlocked.â
Bullshit. He was so snuggly-wuggly in his favorite chair, wrapped up in YOUR blanket, with a smug look on his face that dripped with self-satisfaction. He was all the warmer because he had broken into your office and nabbed your blanket. You would bet your left hand that the little bastard ordered his butler to break into your office because he didnât want to bear the cold for a second longerâ
The Butler.
You whipped around and braced yourself against the doorframe in the process, acting on instinct alone.Â
It was the right call, the butler stood before you with a look of surprise- no doubt he was just leering over your shoulder waiting for the perfect moment to scare you. Sebastian blinks once before he gives you a small pout. Clearly you had ruined his fun.
But just because you caught him before he could scare the soul from your body or the shit out your ass, doesnât mean you werenât still startled. As you curse and clutch your heart, the butler brightens somewhat and assumes his usual faux personality.
âGoodness, are you alright? I just made some tea, please take a seat. The cold does no good to your bonesâ His voice had dropped into a soothing tenor (all the better to mock you with), you knew if you were standing closer to him you would be able to feel it in your bones. Even at this distance you could smell his cologne lingering on your back, spicy and floral and sweet and dark. The warmth of his chest lingers as well, it nestles between your shoulder blades and soaks into your spine to melt away the tension in your muscles. Unfortunately, your body whispered to you that the best thing for your fried nerves would be to curl up in his arms. Presumably this is some Twilight shit where Demons entice humans by their very presence. Fortunately, your body isnât the one in charge here, you are.
As you process his words and your annoying physiological response to his touch, whatever lingering warmth he imparted on you is doused with the ice water of annoyance.
He made your tea, in your teapot, in your office kitchenette, after breaking into your office. You fucking hated demons. You wish you could physically remove all traces of him on your person and shove it down his throat.Â
To preserve your sanity you ignored him and the hand he offered you to guide you to the chair opposite the young Phantomhive. With a heavy sigh you pushed off the doorframe and walked to your desk where you slumped into your chair.
âTo what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, My Lord?â You are going through a mental checklist of your day now that you will have to rearrange your schedule to accommodate Hot Topic Tiny Tim. At least Sebastian had already started the fire, that was one chore to cross off your list.
âMy home is too noisy, I will be working here for today.â Ciel looks more like he is about to fall asleep in your office with the way he is tucked in.
âI beg your pardon.â You couldnât help it- you knew you were giving him a hard stare. Sebastian and Ciel would certainly chuckle over it later, a seldom expression of frustration and shock on your usually neutral visage.
âThen beg-â Feeling excited about the chaos he has inflicted upon you, Ciel nearly memes himself before he clears his throat and takes a delicate sip from his cup, âI know as my financial and business advisor, you would approve of me finding a quiet place to work.â
Sebastian nodded along while he placed a teacup on your desk, unfortunately the tea smelled divine and it softened your nerves when you drank from it. Cunt.
âThe Young Master knew that you would kindly offer a comfortable place to focus on his work.â He is whispering in your ear while Ciel pretends not to notice. You are flushed with anger but Sebastian seems to misinterpret it as a response to his husky voice.
âDoes he not have a townhome?â You protest weakly in a hushed whisper at Sebastian as Ciel smugly nibbles on a cookie with drooping eyes.
âAhâŠthat is where the problem is, in fact. His aunt and some business associates have decided to stay with him.â Sebastianâs head tilts just slightly as if to press his lips against your cheek.
âAnd-â âŠdoes he have no companion with which to visit? Why does your ward have no fucking friends you failure of a butler? You bit your tongue before the rest of your sentence came out. Not only did you already know the answer, it felt cruel to ask. Per the story: Ciel Phantomhive was an unusual child who didnât have the luxury to care about the opinions of others. But if there was the hint of a chance that he harbors self-consciousness regarding his destitute ties with societyâŠwell, you didnât want to kick him while he was already down. Because your protest fizzled out, Sebastian decides to rub your nose into your own defeat.
âAndâŠ.?â His smooth tenor does little to hide the prideful puff of his chest knowing that he won. You grit your teeth and slide your eyes over to glare at him. Why couldnât you have come here with cool supernatural powers like exploding annoying demons with your mind?
âExplode.â Oops, some of your inner thoughts came out.
âPardon?â
âI was just thinking that the pimple on your face looks like it is about to explode. I have sanitary patches if you feel so inclined.â You turn away from Sebastian with a sip of your tea. The demon is frozen in shock, you can see his jaw slack in your periphery. Even Ciel looks too gobsmacked to find this funny.
Good, that should keep the bastard from sticking his face right next to yours a second time. No way he is arrogant and muscleheaded enough to try and brute force another doki-doki moment.
There is scratching at your door.
Sebastian is still too shocked to react to it. You stand up and side step him- as he never straightened himself from his position sticking his face in yours, and walk to your door.
âGood morning.â You greet your business partner as he bursts through the threshold with a soft âmrahâ. The stray is a welcome sight, at least you are evenly matched now. The cat will keep Sebastian occupied, all you had to do was keep your nose out of their business and leave Ciel alone.
Easier said than done, after 2 hours of reviewing his assets purchased since his last visit, you had discovered a sizable issue. The kind of problem that you donât realize exists until some niche inheritance law bites you on the ass.
âMy Lady if I may inquire, what is the name of yo-â Sebastian was speaking softly- too softly- you accidentally cut him off as you fix your gaze onto Ciel.
âMy Lord, I want to clarify something with you.â
âHm?â Ciel didnât look up from his board game.
âThese businesses and properties you gave me- they are not under the Phantomhive Family name.â
âOh my, how astute of you. Thank goodness you pointed that out to me, I would have no clue otherwise. Your reading skills really do earn every penny that I give you.â
You were worried about that- so worried you couldnât even find it in yourself to be bothered by his snarky reply. It wasnât your place to meddle in something like this- something so integral to the plot. It will all work out without your intervention. In fact- interjecting yourself could make the situation worse-
âI have heard of some nobles using a proxy name,â Stop stop stop stop- donât entangle yourself into this- âEither a fabricated identity or the identity of a trusted individual. This is risky, but sometimes the assets of an individual can be seized as property of the noble house even if it is registered as personal business. Controlling parents, jealous siblings, greedy uncles- they can claim that the individualâs name is inclusive to the Family estate, which means that their material and immaterial belongings are automatically acquired by the Family.â
You sneak a peek at him to gauge his reaction. He is deep in thought, hand raised over a game piece but unmoving. There you have it. You said a lot of weird shit that no one cares about. Hopefully no one reads into that and your meddling has no impact on the plot whatsoever. Actually- maybe not âno oneâ. Although he hadnât contributed vocally to this conversation- his attention on you was rapt.Â
Wasnât he supposed to be preoccupied with the stray? When you look at him he punishes you with a high-cornered smile. Automatically you smile back. You get the sense that he is laughing at you. Stupid demonic bastard. You look around the room.
âWhere did the cat g-â
âThat is quite specific, is it a personal anecdote?â Sebastian leans over you, his hair falling out from behind his ear to tickle your forehead. Was he looking to be insulted a second time? This audacious butler really did want to earn his share of scars from your barbs, didnât he? As much as you wanted to tell him that his (non-existent) pimple had grown, you more wanted to use this chance to do your usual sob story.
âAhâŠyes.â You feign sadness and look down at your hands, mostly so he doesnât see the way your face twists with conflict at his proximity. Earlier when he had been this close you were too busy trying to temper down the inner-bitch to recognize how touch-starved you are. But now that the urge to yank his hair out has subsidedâŠyou are faced with a deep longing for physical touch.
The way he drapes himself over the back of your chair- and you by extension- reminds you of a downy feather comforter. Like the first time you met, there is a growing desire to lean into his warmth. But your willingness to touch him only made you more adverse to his presence. He kept getting close to you, tempting you with his body. You donât know why he was trying to seduce you- itâs not like you had information they needed. Or more like, they couldnât even fathom the comic scale of the information you had. But knowing that this physical contact was a manipulation tactic made the longing ache more bitter than sweet. Fuck, you needed to get laid.
âIâm terribly sorry, is it a sensitive topic? I didnât mean to upset you, My Lady.â You can tell by his voice (which is right next to your ear) that he is pulling a face of pity and distress. What an incredibly awful liar. Where is the subtlety, the artistry? Well, you suppose that no one here is really that good of an actor, the audience needed to be tipped off to these kinds of things.
âItâs alright, Mr. Michaelis, you havenât upset me. It was an unfortunate affair, my brother had gotten himself into a great amount of gambling debt and for the collection he listed our familyâs estate. As the sole inheritor, it was his legal right. However, this included the dowry that was set aside for my marriage. My husband is- was⊠a good man, who overlooked the financial loss but it also meant he didnât have the assets needed to found his own trading company.âÂ
You lie effortlessly, the story rolls off your tongue with practiced weariness. Itâs a functional performance bolstered by the consistent misery of Black Butler.
It is made all the more impressive given that the butler still hovers over your shoulder while you monologue.
âI am terribly sorry to hear that.â Sebastian answers smoothly, clearly not convinced. âWould you raise your cup for me?â He moves on quickly. You lift your head and turn just slightly- because if you were to look at him fully you fear that your eyelashes would touch.
âHm?â
âI will refill your cup.â His arm slithers across your shoulders and down your right arm, cupping your elbow and raising it up. For the proximity his chest has to press against your shoulders.
âMon Cher.â He whispers against your ear. Oh my god please this cannot be happening to you right now please say sike.
His hand travels from your elbow up your forearm to cover your hand and trap it against the teacup you hold against your palm. His other arm swoops to your left and elegantly pours some tea into your cup.
Thankfully, Sebastian doesnât see your expression as you try to astro-project your soul from your body to remove yourself from this awkward situation. Ciel, however, does. You lock eyes- you, fighting the urge to gag, and Ciel, grimacing at the overly sensual display. A singular thought is shared seamlessly between you two, a rare connection between adult woman and middle school boy.
CringeâŠâŠâŠ
âSebastian, you are making a fool of yourself. Again.â Ciel says through gritted teeth, still looking at the two of you with disgust. It seems you are not the only one suffering under second-hand embarrassment- although it is probably way worse to see your guardian demon/flesh-eating bird flirt with anything that breathes.
âOf course, My Lord. My apologies.â Sebastian does not sound apologetic at all as he slowly detaches himself from you. You understand the unshakable confidence in his actions- no human in their right mind would be able to deny Sebastianâs seduction. Is it even confidence? It feels more like Sebastian has never considered the possibility of rejection- despite the fact that you keep doing it to him.
He looks at youâŠand winks. Perhaps he is a mastermind who orchestrated this entire stunt just so you wouldnât be able to lie to him anymore. Was that it? Did he realize that the only time your lies suffered weakness was when you were so overcome by cringe that you struggled to keep up the facade? He finally can see your true expression- which was just extreme, uncontrolled mortification. Clever demon- he intentionally wore down your walls by being horrifically embarrassing and cringe. It was a phenomenalâŠplanâŠ.orâŠâŠ
The look of surprise and confusion on his own face is saying that this wasnât a convoluted plot. Sebastian Michaelis really did think that this time he would be able to make you swoon. You can help the groan of disappointment that comes from your chest. Typical Sebastian, he doesnât have to scheme to get what he wants- he can take it through brute force. And sometimes âbrute forceâ is acting like a k-drama protagonist written for teenage girls who think kabedon is peak romance.Â
âHave you thought about what I said, My Lord?â Suddenly, the topic that you wanted to get over with has come back because it is simply easier to deal with than all of this awkward flirting.
âA fake nameâŠdoesnât sound so bad.â Ciel mutters to himself and decisively moves a chess piece on the board with a dull thunk. You get the sense that the conviction in his tone has nothing to do with your suggestion- meaning he just had several pages of expository inner-dialogue while you gave sound financial advice.
For a moment you consider chucking your inkwell at Cielâs head but instead you settle for opening your drawer. You put your hand inside without paying attention, feeling for the smooth round metal tin of your lipbalm. You pat around. You look. The lipbalm isnât in its usual spot, having migrated to the left side of the drawer. You pop it open and see nothing amiss, you dip in your pinkie finger and begin to smooth the formula over your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you see Sebastian, holding the stray cat as he squirms desperately against the iron cage of demonic arms, watching you. He smiles broadly even though you never turn to directly face him. You are pretty sure he is getting blood on your floor from the way that the stray is clawing up his arm.
The clock says 2:00pm, you sigh loudly and return to your work.
âMy Lord, it is about time for dinner.â Sebastian speaks up, startling you.
Ciel and his butler had been pleasantly well-behaved once you got past the breaking-into-your-office part of the morning. You think that perhaps a reward is in order. For yourself. But it would be rude not to indulge the 10-year old as well.
âIn that caseâŠâ You briefly tidy the papers on your desk and then stand up from your chair.
Both of them watch as you walk to the door and open a wooden box by the coat rack. Candied mandarin slices from one of your favorite clients- you canât have these at your desk anymore because you would go through a box in a week.
You take two for yourself, two for Ciel, and one for Sebastian. For a moment you consider giving him no candy at all but you decide you donât want to put up with his whining if you left him out.
Ciel looks at the little wrapped confections with repugnance when you drop them onto his game board.Â
âYou expect me to consume these cheap commonerâs sweets?â
âIf you prefer you can give them to your unpleasant house-guests.â You reply to Ciel and turn to Sebastian, motioning for him to hold out his hand. Sebastian complies and you drop his single piece of candy into his hand. His eyes crinkle the smallest bit, flitting between the two on Cielâs board and the one in his palm.
âThank you very much, My Lady. Such a rare treat for a humble servant like myself. Your genero-â
âSebastian, get my coat ready.â Ciel interrupts him and pockets the candy while your attention is divided.
âYes, My Lord.â
When they entered the carriage, Ciel reviewed the neatly typed âVisitorâs Summaryâ you had handed him before they left. Normally it would be a major faux pas to directly give something to a noble of his stature but you did so with a natural ease that made Ciel accept it before he even realized he had indulged your poor manners. He liked you well enough- but your intelligence and insight made him forget that your commoner roots meant you had no concept of proper etiquette. But just as well that he received the paper directly from your hand- Ciel couldnât endure watching anymore of Sebastianâs seduction attempts.
It was only when Ciel read âpossible identification paper forms for a later dateâ that his neutral expression fell into a frown. Across from him the butler already knew what had caused this reaction.
âQuite the nerve of her to suggest you hand over your estate.â Sebastian commented with a smile. Ciel huffed.
âTruly- I thought she had more survival instincts than that. Jealous siblings? Such a scare tactic would be better suited for someone who has siblings.â He comments bitterly.
The carriage falls silent. Sebastian observes the writhing of Cielâs soul for a moment, enjoying the way it twisted on itself. As Ciel begins to ruminate he idly smooths down his coat and rediscovers the treats he had haphazardly stuffed inside his pocket. He hands one of the candies to Sebastian.
âIs it poisonous?â
The demon eats it.
âNo.â
âHmâŠgive me yours then. Since you just ate mine.â
âMy Lord, you have another in your pocket.â
âShe gave me two so I should eat two.â
âIâm afraid the sweets will ruin your appetite for dinner. And the sugar is bad for your teeth, one a day is plenty.â
âSebastian-â
âIt might be a bit too pedestrian for your refined palette, My Lord. Clearly she isnât familiar with high quality goods if she thinks that such lowly foods could be offered to the Phantomhive Head.â
âŠ.
âŠ.
âThatâs an order.â
Unhappily, Sebastian pulled his candy from his breast pocket and placed it into Cielâs waiting hand.
Risk It For a Biscuit: Sebastian Michaelis x Isekai!Reader
Chapter 1 (B): Why Are You Here
You imagined that this ill-fated one-sided reunion with your teenage anime obsession would be more than just difficult, it would push your already fragile mental fortitude to the brink. The threat this encounter posed to your life was as tangible as the duo in front of you. In the back of your mind you are already imagining being sliced open by scythes, dropped into bone-melting fire, or used as Sebastianâs butcher block.
You were flustered, you flinched, you cowered, your heart was beating so strongly you wished it would just climb out your throat so you could be dead and wouldnât have to deal with this. Adrenaline was keeping you from collapsing onto the floor but at the cost of continuing this dreaded encounter.Â
The two were in front of you, Ciel in your client chair looking like a prim princeling and Sebastian standing off to the side with his eyes tracking your every move- refusing to take a seat no matter how many times you offered it to him.Â
âWhat kind of butler would I be if I sat while my master was present?â You bit back the urge to tell him âa normal oneâ.
This kind of stress was supposed to kill you so why were you still alive and why were you still acting like everything was fine? What was the limit to rational behavior, why didnât you just turn them away?Â
Pride, you had too much pride. How do you become less prideful when you are the singular real person inside of a fucking anime? Maybe you need a vacation, then you wouldnât be so obsessed with your work that you literally offer tea and cookies to a demon and a temperamental pre-teen who could ruin your life in the span of a single comic panel.Â
Playing the role of dignified host, you excuse yourself to the office kitchenette to prepare tea and snacks. But your hands were trembling too much to even scoop out the leaves from the canister.Â
âAllow me, my lady.â
Oh absolutely. Right now you prefer the company of the demon over the company of the middle schooler. You lean back on the counter and watch him work with practiced ease, and disconcertingly, watched him accurately âguessâ every cupboard to open for utensils and snacks. Maybe you didnât have a rat problem after all. Somehow the fear of having your work place so effortlessly invaded is drowned out by the annoyance that this demon didnât even bother to properly close all the cupboards when he was there.
âIf you would like to sit, I will bring out the refreshments.â He waited until he was done brewing the tea before he gently urged you to leave the kitchenette. You doubt he enjoyed having companionship while he worked, but he seemed to preen under your attentive stare.
Sebastian artfully pours your cup of tea and presents it to you in a display fit for a Tiktok Fancam. You think you hear Rihannaâs âBreaking Dishes (Fight a Man Tonight)â in the background as droplets of tea float around him in slow motion. This is basically porn, sorta. Technically itâs not, but it might as well have been for your 12 year old brain. No wonder you liked the show. The outlandish comedy of the situation calms your nerves. A small smile touching your lips as you accept the cup from him and watch him puff out his chest like a content pigeon.
âIt is delicious, Mr. Michaelis. Thank you.â You are much more calm now as you sip your tea. Itâs criminal how much better it tastes when he makes it- the quality feels tenfold. Ciel makes no comment as he drinks and nibbles on your cookies. He really does look exactly as delicate and morose as he does in the manga.Â
The story where people are constantly getting their throats slit and their heads bashed in and their dead bodies walked over by the sexy demon man who says some witty one-liner.
âIâm glad it suits your tastes, my lady. I do pride myself on being one hell of a butler.â
Stupid bastard couldnât help himself. Well, that ruined your mood. The crushing weight of futility sits on your chest. Undoubtedly your role is to act as minor plot development only to be killed off unceremoniously in a single paragraph of exposition.
At least Ciel looks as tortured as you do after hearing Sebastianâs signature line.
âŠ
Perhaps your constitution had improved with demon-made tea because after merely an hour you were no longer feeling sick as in âillâ- just sick as in âtiredâ. Sick and motherfucking TIRED.
Ciel was predictably bratty and touchy. You wondered why he even sought you out because he only had critiques for your office. The decor was too cheap, you didnât have the kind of tea he wanted, the location was inconvenient, âyour catâ (the stray) had tried to climb up his leg.Â
This ire was mostly due to the fact that you had ignored his several attempts at communication- at least, you think thatâs what it's for. But when you think about it some more you come to the conclusion that Ciel has the misfortune of being a gothic protagonist while also being an angsty teenage boy- resulting in a perpetual surliness that draws from an endless well of distilled middle school attitude.
With Ciel the constant assault of his bad attitude and needling made you exhausted from the efforts of trying to manage his mood. You apologized for the bad traffic (not your fault), for the cold weather (not your fault), for the catâs curiosity (absolutely not your fault, Sebastian was the one who let him in!), and for yesterdayâs delayed silk imports (you donât know if Ciel was aware but that one was sorta your fault as you advised several clients to wait a week before coming to port to avoid higher taxation and several other shipments followed suit).
But somehow his Butler was worse. Sebastianâs attempts at charm and intimidation both fell flat as each time you were trying to remember if his teeth were supposed to look so fang-y. You could have sworn that in the kitchenette he only had sharpened canines- why was he sporting full-on shark teeth right now?
Once soothed with promises of changing your cookies to a more sophisticated brand, the Earl was actually quite polite, if a bit reserved and squirmy. His opening questions about business law were tinged with inexperience but informed through reading. He seems to decide that he likes you enough, maybe because you are knowledgeable or maybe because you donât treat him like an idiot.
But.
âMy Lord, if you would like, I can recommend some barristers. They have more resources and experience than I do-â You are petting the stray cat in your lap while you speak- the little man was helping you stay grounded. Even if he was drooling all over your clothes.
âYou were recommended to me.â Ciel cuts you off. You raise an eyebrow. Liar liar pants on fire.
âI seeâŠyou must be in need of some specialized services then.â The Phantomhive Estate no doubt had its own legal staff and connections across multiple government branches given their integration into the economy. Because of this you can only conclude that Ciel is here for personal business.
âNo, nothing specific.â Fucks sake. He meanders, swirling the tea inside his cup. âI hear you function as an unlicensed Barrister. Some would even say your practice is illegal.â His coy remark brought a genuine smile to your face. Not âgenuineâ as in âgood-naturedâ, it was actually tinged with sadism. You did find actual amusement in his assertion and couldnât help but smirk when recalling the few fools who tried to push you out of the field in the infancy of your business. Looking back on it, they were bound by the logical confines of the genre which gave you an undeniable strategic edge.Â
âUnfortunately for those âsomeâ, my business is perfectly legal.â Undoubtedly, Sebastian had informed him of the lengths you went through to secure your business. The technically unregulated and thus ânot-illegalâ areas you occupied because of gendered segregation and classism, was more than just a subject of interest for nobility. It meant you knew how to bend and evade rules. To restrain yourself from going on a tirade about the persistent pseudo-sexism within this fantasy world, you pick up your cup and take a sip. The aroma of the tea is perfect- soothing you down to your bones. It pairs perfectly with the purring cat in your lap. From behind Ciel, Sebastian watches you with smug self-assurance that you can FEEL. Completely ruining the sense of peace you had just barely begun to establish. Before you can be annoyed by how happy the demon is with his tea making skills, the Young Lord speaks.
âQuite.â The sarcastic little bastard smirks at you but within a second it morphs into an endearing smile, âYou must know some very important people, I admit I am quite envious. Such a social network can only be cultivated with time and patience.â
The compliment lingers in the air as you stare at the boy in front of you. Itâs hard to overstate the awkwardness of being buttered up by a 12 year-old who could order his personal pet demon to use your body for rose garden fertilizer. The corner of Cielâs eye twitches with discomfort, he has a brilliant mask for charming people but cannot match Sebastianâs stamina for deceit. You set down your cup.
âMy Lord, I donât believe I have the skills to help you. Truly, I know some fantastic barristers that I can direct you to. They have assistants at work so that your materials can be processed swiftly, their fee rates are consistent, and-â
âYou are less ambitious than I thought you would be.â Ciel cuts you off with a bitter scowl. Your reaction (or lackthereof) to his angelic display probably made him irritable, âI had believed that my letters to you were misplaced but now I am beginning to suspect that you ignored them.â Really, you were supposed to melt and coo over him when he acted cute and pathetic like that! Who do you think you are to stare at him and look so put-off!
His tone was dangerous, it wasnât illegal to ignore English Nobility (although it was very stupid) but that was a different story when the English Noble in question is someone who works as a clean-up crew for the Crown. But you had an excuse planned.
âI apologize. I had suspected it was a prank, my connections to individuals of your significance isâŠtirceriary at best.â Excluding one who you had the misfortune of knowing firsthand. You bite down a jab at his alleged ârecommendationâ, it would be nice to see him flush and flounder but you donât want Sebastian sticking a butter knife in your neck.
âAnd now you deem it appropriate to continue rejecting my business even though I have gone through extra-ordinary lengths to receive an invitation to your office?â Ciel fumed while gripping his cane. AndâŠwellâŠ
âYeah, alright. Fair enough.â You relent and slump into your chair. Maybe it was lingering weakness but you tried not to be rude if you canât help it. From Cielâs perspective, there was an individual with an unwarranted avoidance of him and that brought suspicion andâŠa deep desire to prove himself. Maybe he thought you werenât taking him seriously because he was a child. Maybe he thought you were working with a competitor. Maybe he just canât stand the idea of coming in second place anymore.
Your empathetic inclinations aside, he was dangerous and only getting more irate, you didnât want to be an obstacle in the way of an 11 year-olds dreams of being a Business Man. Thereâs a satisfied hum from behind you- you had forgotten about the literal demon in the room. Giving in is the easiest option.
Triumphant, Ciel crosses his arms over his chest with a puff of pride- nothing brightened his day like seeing an adult deflate like a balloon.
âI would like our contract to be drafted and signed today.â AhâŠsuch lofty demands. Good thing you had pre-printed templates. He stands from his chair and Sebastian hands him his coat and hat. The cat in your lap seems to sense that the door will be opened soon and leaps off your lap to wait for Sebastian to let him outside.
âAlright, come back in a few hours.â You abandoned propriety in favor of getting his scrawny ass out of your office.Â
âAh, and we will bring backâŠthe rest of the paperwork.â Ciel gives you a shit-eating grin. You audibly groan.
Sure, whatever. Be employed by the gothic protagonist. What could go wrong.Â
âYou look quite pleased with her, My Lord.â Sebastian spoke once they were both seated inside the carriage. As was promised, the drafts were completed by the end of the day. And much to Sebastianâs displeasure, the cat was nowhere to be found when they returned to collect your work and drop off the mountain of deeds, liens, stocks, and other assets for your review.
âShe seems competent.â The boy sat smugly. It was more than your skills he enjoyed- watching you repeatedly snub Sebastian had warmed his heart. He remembered the look of horror you gave the butler when he tried to help you carry the boxes of additional documents- by putting his hands over yours. Ciel giggled. Sebastianâs advances upon their return were ignored or gently guided away by your expert tongue. You seemed keen not to touch him again and spent as little time as possible looking at him. What a refreshing change of pace from seeing his butler chased after! The boy was beyond thrilled to see a target of Sebastianâs seduction so clearly wave him off. And the sour attitude of the butler was a treat in itself, the demon was seldom ignored and he preferred it that way.
Sebastian, fully aware why his charge was so delighted, frowned. It was a sharp blow to his pride, and unexpected one given that he never had issues familiarizing himself with humans before. He doesnât mind the challenge- in fact your avoidance was refreshing- but no one wants to be laughed at by a 13 year-old. After a moment Ciel collected himself- his smile dropping.Â
âBut, she repeatedly ignored my attempts at correspondence. Ignored the House Phantomhive.â Cielâs pride had not emerged unscathed either.
âIndeed. My investigation brought up no conflicts that would explain why- she remains distant from most nobles. Perhaps it is her personal preference?â From what Sebastian had gleaned, you were aloof and guarded. Even more avoidant of nobility than you had been of commoners- which was saying a lot. The scarce time Sebastian spent observing you was ill spent as you did quite little outside of work and sleep. Your attitude was suspicious- humans loved money and power and being associated with the Phantomhives brought ample amounts of both- so what reason would there be for you to repeatedly avoid them? Even the most anti-social of humans still wanted the resources offered by Nobility.
âDid you ever find out where our first two letters went?â
âYes, My Lord.â Sebastian pulled out the saved letters from his breast pocket- both unopened.
âThe first she threw away without a second glance. The second she took with her to the press then disposed of in her office fireplace.â
âShe is quite the liar.â Ciel mused while looking out the window.
âIf you distrust her then perhaps we should-â
âI trust her enough. I certainly trust her more than Lau, or you.â
Sebastian chuckled approvingly.
âYou wound me, My Lord. Forgive me for prying further but, you do not seek people out solely based onâŠtrust.â
âThe entire reason you scouted her stands- she is under the radar of anyone else doing this kind of work, and she is quite good at it. Her reclusive nature keeps her out of the sight of Londonâs half-witted detectives, and her absurd habits make her predictable.â Ciel seems to be thinking out loud with his eyes unfocused on the passing scenery outside the carriage.
âYes,â Sebastian agrees with a sinister chuckle, âand easy to dispose of, as well. Once she can no longer be of use....â
âWe must simply push her and watch her hang by her own web of lies.â Ciel finished the demons sentence, foreshadowing your ironic death to the audience.
This is the sort of collaborative thinking that comes naturally to a traumatized genius and his perfectionist devil. It is with these situations that their aligned thinking creates a seamless planning- a necessity when you are up against supernatural forces. Once your use was spent and your secrets unraveled, your life would end when Ciel ordered it.
But even the best-laid schemes of mice and men go oft astray. Or the best-laid schemes of horny-crow-demons and âgotta be more than 10 years old probablyâs go oft astray when they leave the plot to start bothering some random woman who just barely managed to chill out a tiny bit.
Synopsis: Sebastian takes it upon himself to investigate your home while you sleep to get more insight into your character. The actual nsft part of this is very short.
Tags: Non-Con/Dub-Con Touching, (Sorta) Somno, (Sorta) Oral (Reader Receiving), Panties Stay On During Pervert Time
This is a part of a chapter for a longer Sebastian x Isekai!Reader fic I am working on. I wanted to get some opinions on this- it is pretty Reader-centric so I'm not sure how enjoyable it actually is to read lmao.
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âPardon the intrusion.â Sebastian announced himself in a soft tone as he entered your home holding his own already-lit chamber candlestick holder. He closed the door smoothly behind him and clicked the latch shut. âI am here to collect payment for your rather unscrupulous attention this afternoon. As a gentleman, I cannot ignore the potential damages to my reputation that such a heated stare would stir.â He continued speaking to the dead night-air.
Before he continued his trek from your doorway to your living room, he stopped himself. Looking down curiously at the floor. Your shoes were neatly lined by the door just off of the rough carpet he stood on. Even more curious- there was an old icebox with the door removed, laying on its back and filled with sand. A deliberate display, perhaps you are superstitious?
He walked on.
âMy Lord has not yet asked me to investigate you at your residence but I assume it is only a matter of time. Any Phantomhive Butler worth their salt would act before their master gives the order.â He slides a hand across the top of your loveseat and surveys the various books lining your shelves.Â
Books on history, scientific theory and politics feature cracked spines with ribbons peaking out from worn pages, indicating a sort of obsessive research. He pulls out one book on British history which seems to have suffered the most abuse. A collection published by Oxford University detailing the wins and misery of the United Kingdom which was released only last year. Your annotations and scribblings line the margins- in some instances you have even written down extensive notes on a loose sheet of paper and then folded it inside the page. The thin wood cover has been snapped, leaving half of it to hang limply encased in the scratched fabric. Sometimes your notes are curses, while the more elaborate scribblings propose historical corrections. Sebastian can sense that he holds the work of a madman in his hands, thumbing the torn edges of the paper in thought. He isnât sure what this means but it is certainly a clue.
After sliding the book back into its place on the shelf- with more care than you have ever given it surely- and moves onto the small selection of books tucked into a corner shelf.
Several volumes of Yellow Books were lined by date on one end- and next to themâŠ
âOh my, what a naughty thing you are.â Sebastian chuckles to himself and picks up one of the erotic works.Â
âThe Lustful Turk, what a classic.â He wishes you were able to hear his teasing. But opening the book it becomes apparent that you only read about 20 pages of it, and the paper which did flit between your fingers lacks the raving madness that possessed you in the History compilation. Sebastian grabs another book.Â
âWhippingham Papers, do you fancy yourself a Mistress?â He opens the book but is once again disappointed when your devoted touch is absent from the pages.
With a pout, he puts the books back and barely glances at the clearly enjoyed Penny Dreadfuls that make up the last of your written entertainment.
âSuch a disappointing display of passion from the Lady who stared me down all day.â He sighs and walks into your kitchen.
And he is pleasantly surprised. Like the rest of your home, the kitchen is clean and orderly. You seem to favor wax paper wrappings, canned goods, and preserved meats.
"You have specific tastes, for someone who forgets to eat." He remarks in amusement. The kitchen goes beyond cozy homemaking- there is an edge of perfectionism and caution.
"You don't appear picky...in fact it has been some time since I have seen such a wordly-eater. But goodness, what on earth are you cooking that requires chainmail to help with the cleanup?" He closes the sink cupboard with it's scrubs and soaps. Sebastian can see it in the expensive metal utensils, the scrubbed and oiled wood cutting boards, the glass jars and their meticulous labeling. At least half of your income must be dedicated to your kitchen, and certainly half of your time. The edge of mania- paranoia even- touches every corner of the room. Sebastian feels a great deal of intrigue and satisfaction just looking at it. Simply put- game recognizes game.
He travels upstairs, looking at your minimal decorations. Some paintings, some dried flowers, plants, and items from abroad that he assumes were gifted to you or acquired at a discounted rate. Noticeably there are no personal affects. Commoners may not be able to afford paintings or photography but they still retained objects with memories- show tickets, childhood toys, craft work from a mother or grandmother- but your decorations lacked any sort of history. It was as if you inherited bits and pieces of human connection from others. His candlelight illuminates a mirror at the top of the staircase, it is the dirtiest thing in your home he has seen, the surface distorted with a layer of dust that is found no where else, highlighting its neglect.
The mirror in your bathroom is in better shape, slightly. But it is the least interesting aspect of the space. Once again, you favor jars and labels. Your beauty products follow the same trend as your kitchen, clean and cautious. Thereâs a preference for Chinese and Arabic products, a clear aversion to the arsenic-laden but popular European offerings. The notable exception being the German âTanagraâ dental products that occupied your vanity. Sebastian felt himself charmed and impressed. It was exceedingly rare to find such cultured hygiene habits in England, the Plague combined with the chokehold the Church had on the citizens led to a degradation of public and personal cleanliness. One that Sebastian was in a constant battle with in his current estate.
"You truly are after my heart, My Lady." Perhaps Sebastian would be able to use you as an example to his Master. The surly boy seemed to respect you well-enough, maybe he will curtail his whining when Sebastian pulls out the fluate paste.
He looked through your drawers and cabinets thoroughly, taking in your preferences for scent and aesthetic. Eclectic in source but harmonious in the application of itâs owner. It stirs an attraction in him, you have an artless style unmarred by popular influence, an effortless ownership. If every pot of rogue, bar of soap, and herbal comb is a piece of a puzzle then you are the assembler who makes a complete image out of random scraps. Sebastian resolves himself to studying your preferences further for his own application in decadence as he leaves the room.
Your living room displayed obsession, your kitchen held itâs breath with caution, and your bathroom a conveyance of confidence. All that is left is the most intimate place in your home- your bedroom. The place you have rested since he entered. Curiously, your door is wide open. He walks inside without a sound but his attention is drawn to your sleeping figure before he can take in the myriad of details. If Sebastian was more patient, he would have taken note of how vacant the room felt. Basic dresser and closet, clothes neatly arranged, a plant by the balcony. The door leading outside and the windows are all covered in thick drapes to keep the cold at bay. He would have found it odd that all of your jewelry is new and that you have an iron lock box shoved into the back of your closet. But Sebastian is impatient and approached your bed without a glance in any other direction.
Finally, the most important object of observation. Your reproach for him has made it difficult for Sebastian to properly study you. He sets down the candle holder, the stick is over a fourth of the way melted, he had been roaming your small home for an hour.
He used his clawed finger to lift the hair from your face, putting his nose inches from yours.
âCurious. And, is the rest of you like this as well?â He carefully pulls down the blankets- but pauses. You are in an unthinkable state of undress. Even a commoner woman would wear an ankle length chemise and with your occupation you would surely be able to afford one of great quality. But instead, you wore a summer undershirt with a low swooping collar. Even worse your nethers hid behind menâs boxers which were riding up your hips, leaving the entirety of your legs bare.
His mind reached. Were these your undergarments of choice for the day as well? Under your dress, were your nethers blocked only by a manâs thin bolt of cotton?
âI have noticed, My Lady, that not a single cross mounts your walls.â He raises your undershirt and looks at your chest, focusing on the skin that wraps your ribs and circles your nipples. He readjusts himself on the bed, rocking your body slightly as he straddles you, and uses his other hand to run his fingertips from the column of your throat down your sternum with agonizing restraint.Â
âThey are quite the useless eyesore, arenât they? At least you donât bother yourself with such empty promises of protection. Deluding yourself into thinking you could be safe.â He coos out. Under him your heart quickens and your breaths shorten. His eyes watch the goosebumps raise on your stomach.
âExcited? I know,â His voice drops lower as do his hands, they graze the waistline of your boxers and pull them further up your hips so that the cotton presses against your pussy. âI have known since you fell in my arms. You are completely untouched by this world.â He feels his mouth watering.
The eerie magenta glow of his eyes highlights the puff of your pubic hair, the impression of your lips against the fabric, the faint but present wet spot at the center. He inhales deeply, presses the scent of you against the roof of his mouth and swallows the glob of spit at the back of his throat with an audible gulp. He exhales against your skin, warm and wet on your trembling abdomen.Â
âShall I give you a reward for being so pliant? Or should I take my payment for being the object of your desire?â He lowers his mouth to your sex and licks.
Your entire body jerks under him, a squeak leaving your throat. Sebastian chuckles and traces his nose against the hood of your clit.
âSo sensitive. Dare I even continue? I fear that even my influence wouldnât be enough to keep you asleep, and you would wake up thrashing and begging for release.â He is open-mouth breathing against your mound, his fangs poking your skin through the boxers. âMaybeâŠinstead I should try something more restrained.âÂ
He is mumbling to himself but with his lips ghosting your sex, you feel every word. Your trembling legs closed around his head, unbidden.
âI should put your innocence to use. Stimulate your appetite so that you devour those neglected books of yours downstairs.â He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, sucking on the entirety of it through the boxers so that it presses against the flat of his tongue. With a wet pop he pulls away and admires the glistening spit mixed with your arousal. âAnd then just looking wonât be enough, you will be begging for a taste. Yes, let's do one more taste for tonight."
While he has resolved himself to one more lick, he instead once again puts his entire mouth over your pussy. He licks and sucks, trying to coax out your slick from between your folds so it can seep into the fabric and mix with his spit. Along with the wet sucking sounds, he releases the occasional groan. Your boxers are still held in his hands, stretched over your hips so that the fabric can dig into every nook of your pussy. He lavishes it until it throbs with want, plucks your clit with his teeth until it strains against the cotton.
"Trying to hide yourself in such loose garments, how is anyone supposed to know the delicious treat that is between your legs if you do not show it properly?" He chides you while stroking his tongue between your folds, shoving the cotton into your hole.
A 'last taste' becomes 15 minutes of sucking until your sex puffs out obscenely through your clothes.
When he is finally satisfied with the debauched and inviting appearance of your pussy, Sebastian gently unwraps your legs from his head and tucks your blankets back over your trembling body. He tuts at your face- eyebrows knit and eyelashes fluttering. He uses the back of his tattooed hand to caress your cheek, a final parting gift. The touch is mindless, neither sweet or threatening. The act is automatic, his body making one final skin to skin connection with yours for the night.
âSweet dreams, My Lady.â
He blows out the candle on your bedside table, which is just a dim wick floating in a pool of wax, and disappears from your room along with the light.
You lay trembling in bed, waiting. It feels safe. It feels like you are alone. But you donât know for sure so instead you just lay there with your eyes shut and your heart pounding. After what feels like an hour you roll onto your side and curl into a ball, releasing a frustrated sigh. Since you have been waken up by a demon praising your religious abstinence and then his promise to torture you in the future, you donât think thereâs much hope in going back to sleep now. Now you were caught in a terrible debate- masturbate now and risk getting caught or masturbate later when you know the demon will be stuck babysitting.
Now if you are like "Does he know that reader is awake?" the answer is no because this idiot has a huge ego (no human could break through my influence and wake up) and got lost in the sauce (finally, THIS is how all underwear should look on you. covered in spit and clinging to your holes.)
Risk It For A Biscuit: Sebastian Michaelis x Isekai!Reader
Chapter 1: Why Are You Here
When you arrived at this terrible place you were all too fortunate to run into several strings of luck. Luck that your background wasnât scrutinized, luck that you met the right charitable people, luck that you retained skills and knowledge that proved lucrative, and luck that this place had a pervasive naivety. You needed all of this good luck but it didnât even begin to make up for the bad. Being deposited into the consumption-riddled streets of late 1800s London was the biggest instance of âastronomically abyssal luckâ that has ever happened to you.
It wasnât something you were proud of but lying came naturally to you in this place, it was easy, it was fast, and you were able to navigate situations quickly before anyone even noticed what was happening. You chalked it up to being a different time period- maybe it was the abysmal literacy rate or multiple diseases that made people soâŠgullible. In your defense, it was necessary.Â
How else would you explain yourself? You had no connection to nobility but had the appearance of such with your healthy skin and physique. You had no proof of education but could read better than most and held âsecretâ knowledge that only tenured scholars would theorize about. It was imperative that you obscured this wealth of information not only because it could be undiscovered by the world- but also because you were a woman.Â
It concerned you, the readiness that people seemed to have for the death of any woman who stepped out of her role. Within your first week you had seen a woman beaten into unconsciousness by her own husband in front of a neighborhood which only tutted that she should have known better than to burn the pot roast. Lingering religious fanaticism expressed itself as priests on the street preaching about the eradication of witches who collude with Satan. This was the primary reason lying was your most practiced skill. Out of an abundance of caution, you were prepared to act the dutiful wife with various props. Items of âproofâ that functioned to make your existence acceptable- your fake wedding ring, the lock of hair from your âhusbandâ (a clipping of coarse black hair from a stray dog) inside a pawnshop locket, and an elaborate story about âhisâ dreams of becoming a captain of trading ships.
It took two years but you had found your footing and were finally settled in your apartment and office, a block from each other, with your forged life, and with an acceptance that you would live and die in a time you werenât even born in.
You followed things that were interesting enough to become engrossed in work, your skills caught the attention of merchants and the occasional unconventional member of nobility. What started out as something so frightening you were vomiting from the mere nerves of it- unable to sleep for days, crying in hysterical fits of anxiety, loneliness and confusionâ became normal. Life became normal. Almost.
There was the lingering feeling that something was wrong. Once you had the money and stability, you bought and poured through academic journals and history books. It felt like something was missing, like you were sitting in the cave looking at the shadows on the wall. All information had the shape it was supposed to but the edges were blurry and undefined. For a few months you rode a manic high, unable to sleep as you poured over the books and scribbled down your suspicions. You couldnât check the internet to see if your hunches were correct- there was just loose speculation and the growing pit of dread in your stomach. Did this country exist yet? Is it too early for car phones? Why is everyone still obsessed with witches and burning people at the stake? Were literacy rates supposed to be this bad? If there was compulsory smallpox vaccinations, why was the disease still ravaging the streets? Why the fuck was the bubanic plague still an issue?Â
But the thing that felt impossible to ignore but also impossible to confirm or deny- was everyone supposed to look like they were attending a Lolita Convention?
Eventually your frenzy died down, washed by waves of exhaustion. Everything felt wrong but you couldnât do anything about it. The only thing stopping you from lapsing into a catatonic depressive episode was the fear of being institutionalized pumping your body with enough adrenaline for daily functions.
You woke up, you ate, you buried yourself in familiar red tape for hours on end in your private office, went home for dinner, and went to bed. It was a delicate routine wherein you found the times where people were least around to do your shopping- the most remote way to connect with your clients- and with your home and work being so close you were shamelessly able to lock yourself away from the rest of the world.Â
The dangers of being a lonely woman living alone were mitigated with your lies- a seafaring husband (whom you hint cheats on you prolifically while maintaining an airheaded facade to elicit pity from your audience), family of poor health who relocated to the French countryside where you send your checks to help pay for medical attention (the deposit of such funds are to a dummy account under a false identity, that you then use to buy stocks), friends left behind in your âhometownâ (the falsified place you hail from which explains your accent and mannerisms as culturally local instead of culturally 150 years in the future) as you had to move for your dearest husbandâs career. Months of living on the edge, months of lying to everyone, months of calculated isolation. Finally, finally, routine had done its job and you felt at ease.
Monday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility- especially from that particular house-, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.Â
Tuesday was like any other day. You had begun to worry about rats again so you allowed some stray cats into your office. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.Â
Wednesday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Thursday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clientsâŠ
You had a new letter, someone reaching out for your services. The name was recognizable- in fact you think you had seen it in one of the envelopes you threw away earlier in the week.Â
This time the envelope was plain, humble. It lacked the gold-lettered embellishments and silver gilded officiation stamp that the first carried. But the paper inside betrayed the simple exterior- through the thin material of the conventional office envelope you could feel the thick paper used by nobility.Â
What really stopped you wasnât the weight of the paper- it was the name which accompanied it. A creeping feeling of dread- you remember on Monday that you had passingly thought that it bore some familiarity before putting it into your burn pile. That familiarity had morphed into a slap in the face as memories bloomed in your brain.
E A R L Â P H A N T O M H I V E
A year ago you would have brushed this off, would have just thought the name to be the same Victorian/Edwardian preference of all others you read. But the nagging feeling you have had about this place made you pause.Â
There was always that out of place predictability, the pliable nature, the unusual simpleness as if people were playing background roles with the singular objective of making any particular scene happen the exact way it was written. People would swing from senselessly conspiratorial to frighteningly trusting but always as a unified front. Seldom did you encounter a contrarian- and when you did it seemed their voice was the catalyst for the crowd to turn tide.Â
You stared at the envelope in your hand and your thoughts spiraled.Â
The grocery clerk who remembered your name the first time you gave it but couldnât recognize you outside of your work clothes. Overseas merchants knowing little to nothing about the political events of their original countries except for matters pertaining to England. The stillness of social progression that the public believes to be a turbulent storm. Background information, exposition, just enough detail to lend itself to a larger narrative.
On Thursday you closed in the afternoon and rushed to the nearest newsprint to scour their archives for any sign of the name. Unfortunately, you found it with little need for investigation- on page 6 of the daily paper was an article recounting the tragic events of the Phantomhive family, and relaying that the sole survivor and now successor was finally recovered enough to begin managing his estate.Â
âLondon Daily contacted the Phantomhive Family Estate for details about the young Lordâs health, they relay:
All is well, Lord Phantomhive is recovering steadily and plans on continuing his familyâs work. He gives his sincerest gratitude to those who have wished him well, his steadfast employees, and to all Phantomhive products customers who continue to trust in the quality of our products.
With 3 months until the 1 year anniversary of the Phantomhive Tragedy, no announcement has been made regarding a mourning ceremony.â
You stopped reading. You took a deep breath, thanked the paper clerk for his time and returned to your office. You disposed of the letter, went home, and buried yourself in your books for the first time in months.
Friday was like any other day. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, burn the third letter sent from the Lord Phantomhive, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Saturday was like any other day. You had begun to worry about rats again so you allowed a stray cat into your office. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Sunday was like any other day. You were still worried about rats so you brought the cat back inside again. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Monday was like any other day. You werenât worried about the rats anymore but allowed the cat to come inside anyway. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, draft writs and permit requests, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
Tuesday was like most any other day. The cat expects to come inside now. Collect mail, throw away correspondence from members of nobility, sort and answer clients and related paperwork, prepare for a meeting with a new client, finalize outgoing mail for delivery, drop off at the post office and walk home.
When you woke up on Wednesday you knew it would be a long day- a new client meeting in the early morning would require several hours poured over various documents as you tried to understand the asset history of an individual (who usually had spotty documentation).Â
The few copies of business certifications and permits you had received so far were clean and neat. It was a breathtaking change of pace to read something so organized. But it also filled you with suspicion- if the client had sent you such tidy documentation, what need did they have for a woman running a borderline illegal advising business?Â
What problem from hell did this client have that they needed your services, and to have so urgently requested a meeting? Suffice to say- you expected the worst.
And âthe worstâ is what you got.
At the scheduled time of your appointment- no, exactly 60 seconds before the scheduled time- you received a knock at your door. It was early enough to be unusual for mail or the random visitor- meaning that your client had miraculously showed up in perfect time for their appointment.Â
While stifling a yawn, you unstick yourself from your spot on the floor where you were warming yourself by the fire. The unnatural cold that met your palm when you held the door handle was a warning of what lay outside the door.
Fog rolls inside, disappearing as it meets the heat of your fireplace. It brings with it a pleasant freshness that you inhale deeply. Your lungs fill with a cool and damp air that soothes you, the scent of roses and fresh linens sitting on the top of your palette. In the door frame stands a figure whose silhouette is framed by the early-morning gaslight from the street.Â
As you open the door further to welcome him in and begin to step to the side- a stray cat darts inside. The feline is at a vigorous sprint, which is why you lose your balance when he charges behind your legs.Â
Maybe itâs because you have been apathetic and half-praying to enter a coma for the past several years but you resign yourself to the fall. This willingness to endure bodily harm would normally warrant a visit to a psychologist but you arenât desperate enough for a lobotomy yet.
It seemed this stranger had excellent reflexes and wherewithal- as they reacted while you didnât. Two strong hands have caught you instead. One behind your back, placed between your shoulder blades where your muscles melt against the warmth you feel radiating from under a leather glove. The other finds your wrist, a loose hold that you think was probably to keep you from accidentally smacking someone with your hand.
Your fall has been stopped because the stranger used your momentum to redirect you into their chest. You collided softly, and felt heat spread through your body like you were submerged in a bath. It made you want to melt.Â
It had beenâŠsome time since you were touched.Â
You reuse your measurements for all clothing, and the fleeting glances from fingers taking the length of your calf is very different from the insistent contact that you were experiencing right now.Â
Gloves were an every day accessory, you had become germaphobic in this world on account of all the fucking germs.
There was no one you wanted to touch- your standard of hygiene wasnât commonplace just yet. And worse, there was a tangible inoffensiveness to everyone. They were neither hot nor cold, not quick or slow, there was no discernible difference between the touch of a person and the touch of an animal. No- if anything, the animals held a sort of tension in them which lends itself to unpredictability.
Which is why this proximity to the stranger made your heart beat faster with desire, especially when you realized that the pleasant scent you were inhaling wasnât the crisp morning air.
âIâm terribly sorry about that- I am not so nimble this early in the morning. Ah- um and the cat- he- Iâm so sorry.â You rush to apologize and try to pull away despite being unsteady on your feet. The strangerâs hands linger on you. That palm that was once pressed against your back shifts with fluid precision to cup your elbow. They do not let you pull away completely, their touch anchors to you even as you adjust your posture.
The thing that stands out to you the most is the absence of cigarette smoke and B.O. From such a close proximity you have insight into just how clean this individual is- a tasteful layer of rose perfume or maybe a spiced cologne on top of the thin bed of soap. Such hygiene was a rarity in your office, the advanced personal-care practices of your modern era are either too expensive or too informed to be commonplace in what-ever-the-fuck-era London you found yourself in. What a treat, what a luxury.Â
Without meaning to, you took in deep breaths even while you tried to put distance between your bodies. This person was your first, and likely only ever, favorite client.
âItâs quite alright, My Lady. I should have caught him before he ran inside. But, he looked so eager, I couldnât bring myself to intervene.â A smooth and amused voice. A voice that sounded like it brushed its teeth! A voice that was as relaxed as it was warm, just like the hands that withdrew once it was assured you were stable on your feet. A voice that was self-assured and familiar. And Familiar.  And  Familiar.
You raise your head and look up into the face of a man. These past couple days you had become somewhat of a religious experimentalist, praying to every single god you could find to ask that they keep this monster away from your door. He was as beautiful as you imagined a demon to be. Angular features that seemed to direct all attention to his eyes which were a dark beautiful brown.
So beautiful, it is almost painful that you would deny yourself the pleasure of basking in his clean presence. Wonderful eyes framed by delicate black eyelashes and slender eyebrows that quirked up at you in mild surprise-Â
Probably because your expression of terror wasnât appropriate when he hadnât threatened to cook you alive in an oven and serve you with fingerling potatoes. Yet.
âMy LadyâŠ?â His voice is soft and apprehensive, as if he is actually concerned for you. His voice was so velvety, you wanted to press yourself against him again to see if you could feel the vibrations that were created when he spoke. You also wanted to vomit because so far the most real person you have met is the homicidal demon from your edgelord phase.
Sebastian Michaelis was every bit the dangerous heartthrob that he was written to be. A few brief seconds of being in front of him and you knew he was as capable and deadly as you believed- and likely even more brutal than your little teen-audience anime could reasonably depict.Â
He followed the Lead Character, a little hellion ball of negativity who was burdened by the plot to bring death and ruin in his wake- a life written to be turbulent and miserable. Sebastian was, of course, just another character who was pulled to and fro by the story to create the character development of----
âStop blocking the doorway, itâs cold out here!â
---The Protagonist, who was clambering to enter your parlor.
Likes: Cats, Seeing Ciel Upset, Quality Material Items, Attention
âCielâ Phantomhive:
Race: Human
Traits: Traumatized, Sassy
Occupation: Former Scion of Phantomhive Name- Now Lord of Phantomhive Estate, Governor of Phantomhive Businesses, and Subordinate of the Queen of England
Skills: Strategy, Tenacity, 8th Grade Meanness
Likes: Sweets, Seeing Sebastian Upset, Puzzles, Revenge
2 years after being dumped into to Victorian-Era England you have finally found some semblance of peace with your situation- as peaceful as someone can be when they are paranoid about Botulism. But a new client with a familiar face threatens your charade of normalcy and your patience. After much forced interaction, you somehow manage to become conflicted between the gruesome death that awaits people who associate with the Phantomhives, and the only genuine companionship you have had in years. Meanwhile your attempts to hide your knowledge and identity pique Sebastian's curiosity until it grows into obsession.
Existential dread can wait- someone needs to be the adult in the room and it's not going to be the edgy 13-year-old or the demon who keeps going through your dresser drawers.
Isekai! Reader AU, chapters with nsfw themes will be marked, this is not strictly chronological and will be focused on scenes with character interaction.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Reader, Ciel Phantomhive & Reader
Characters: Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomhive, Reader
Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, Isekai and Transmigration, Yandere Sebastian Michaelis, Yandere, POV Second Person, Dadbastian Week (Kuroshitsuji), Spoilers, Period-Typical Sexism
Summary:
2 years after being dumped into to Victorian-Era England you have finally found some semblance of peace with your situation- as peaceful as someone can be when they are paranoid about Botulism. But a new client with a familiar face threatens your charade of normalcy and your patience. After much forced interaction, you somehow manage to become conflicted between the gruesome death that awaits people who associate with the Phantomhives, and the only genuine companionship you have had in years. Meanwhile your attempts to hide your knowledge and identity pique Sebastian's curiosity until it grows into obsession.
Existential dread can wait- someone needs to be the adult in the room and it's not going to be the edgy 13-year-old or the demon who keeps going through your dresser drawers.
Isekai! Reader AU, chapters with nsfw themes will be marked, this is not strictly chronological and will be focused on scenes with character interaction.
Hello!! I love your works and hope you return when youâre ready!! I just saw a video reminding me about the non canon version of Black Butler where Ciel becomes a demon. Iâm pretty sure that meant Sebastian had to serve him forever, Iâm not too sure I havenât watched it in years (Iâm unc).
I just wonder how the dynamic between him, Ciel, and your version of the reader. I think itâs a very interesting concept because, what was he planning to do with us after his contract with Ciel was completed?? What can he do now?
love you â„ïžâ„ïžâ„ïž
Hiiiii, I'm sorry I have been so absent. I AM writing, but I hate when I push something out without having it finished so I am holding off on posting the fic. I have about 16k words written, first chapter is ofc the longest and most polished. I would like to have three chapters ready to go for release before I post it. This isn't chronological or anything but I would just feel bad if I was like "heres the AU!" and then never got past chapter 1 lmao
There is also other fics being written- some of Tokyo Debunker, and one for BSD Dazai which is a sex pollen one where you ride him raw. They are there, I swear! Just. Sitting for now lmao
For your question, it all comes down to Ciel and how he functions as a demon. Sebastians moves on you will always be pretty one-dimensional. He wants to be around you as much as possible and soak up all of your attention. I think if anyone has the interest of Sebastian they will have the interest of Ciel. So while Sebastian might be somewhat of a perma-Butler to Ciel and is now stuck teaching his brat how to demon properly, I think they would just kinda. Keep you.
With Ciel as a human there are way more difficulties- Sebastian has to keep an eye on and protect both of you, Ciel is reliant on Sebastian for his revenge and is essentially running against the clock of his own mortality and identity. As a demon, Ciel is more resilient and autonomous, which means Sebastian can dote (obsess) over you much more liberally.
I think as a demon, Ciel would also lose some of his current paranoia and hangups. He would become more greedy, more sadistic. This wouldn't turn to you, of course, but he wouldn't have the reservations of human Ciel for things like uuuhhh holding you captive.
If Ciel has something to direct his attention to, that will be what defines how much of you is shared between them. If Ciel can focus on revenge or power then you will primarily be dealing with Sebastian. If Ciel doesn't have an external force to put his energy into, I think he will start to crave sibling companionship again and you will be what he reaches to for that. As a demon, Ciel can protect you so he doesn't have to fear connection like he did as a human. Expect him and Sebastian to get into surly spats over monopolizing your time but also act as a unified front to keep you from ever leaving the house.
Also I am going to elaborate on this more in the fic but for me, reader has a disgusting soul and literally no one wants to get near that thing- much less eat it. It's the soul version of a blobfish that survived the changing water pressure and has begun living on the surface- a freakish affront to nature that shouldnt exist. Imagine it like vanilla extract or perfume- smells great! Tastes like absolute shit.
All I can think of right now is Sebastian and how he WILL be looking like this photo after we go out drinking during an all employees group hangout (with the adults that can drink, wait idk the drinking age back then but whatever)
He probably doesnât mind though (because heâs an attention whore)
He loves it, Sebastian pulls the "Please behave with some decorum" but he loooooves it. Likes to show off how much you like him. Uses your attention to jab at everyone else for NOT having it. Now lets say you are just an affectionate drunk, Sebastian has to walk a thin line of pretending to reject your kisses while also making sure you don't kiss anyone else.
"Oh my, have you had too much to drink? Such behavior is quite unexpected."
"Aaawww alright. I'm going to kiss Bard th-"
"I fear you are too drunk to even walk straight, hold onto my arm or else you might fall :)))" *death grip on your waist*
Now if he is in a mission/focusing on an objective then expect to be rolled up in a burrito and placed on standby until he is done. You will not be able to move, this is your prison now.
Synopsis: Sebastian takes it upon himself to investigate your home while you sleep to get more insight into your character. The actual nsft part of this is very short.
Tags: Non-Con/Dub-Con Touching, (Sorta) Somno, (Sorta) Oral (Reader Receiving), Panties Stay On During Pervert Time
This is a part of a chapter for a longer Sebastian x Isekai!Reader fic I am working on. I wanted to get some opinions on this- it is pretty Reader-centric so I'm not sure how enjoyable it actually is to read lmao.
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âPardon the intrusion.â Sebastian announced himself in a soft tone as he entered your home holding his own already-lit chamber candlestick holder. He closed the door smoothly behind him and clicked the latch shut. âI am here to collect payment for your rather unscrupulous attention this afternoon. As a gentleman, I cannot ignore the potential damages to my reputation that such a heated stare would stir.â He continued speaking to the dead night-air.
Before he continued his trek from your doorway to your living room, he stopped himself. Looking down curiously at the floor. Your shoes were neatly lined by the door just off of the rough carpet he stood on. Even more curious- there was an old icebox with the door removed, laying on its back and filled with sand. A deliberate display, perhaps you are superstitious?
He walked on.
âMy Lord has not yet asked me to investigate you at your residence but I assume it is only a matter of time. Any Phantomhive Butler worth their salt would act before their master gives the order.â He slides a hand across the top of your loveseat and surveys the various books lining your shelves.Â
Books on history, scientific theory and politics feature cracked spines with ribbons peaking out from worn pages, indicating a sort of obsessive research. He pulls out one book on British history which seems to have suffered the most abuse. A collection published by Oxford University detailing the wins and misery of the United Kingdom which was released only last year. Your annotations and scribblings line the margins- in some instances you have even written down extensive notes on a loose sheet of paper and then folded it inside the page. The thin wood cover has been snapped, leaving half of it to hang limply encased in the scratched fabric. Sometimes your notes are curses, while the more elaborate scribblings propose historical corrections. Sebastian can sense that he holds the work of a madman in his hands, thumbing the torn edges of the paper in thought. He isnât sure what this means but it is certainly a clue.
After sliding the book back into its place on the shelf- with more care than you have ever given it surely- and moves onto the small selection of books tucked into a corner shelf.
Several volumes of Yellow Books were lined by date on one end- and next to themâŠ
âOh my, what a naughty thing you are.â Sebastian chuckles to himself and picks up one of the erotic works.Â
âThe Lustful Turk, what a classic.â He wishes you were able to hear his teasing. But opening the book it becomes apparent that you only read about 20 pages of it, and the paper which did flit between your fingers lacks the raving madness that possessed you in the History compilation. Sebastian grabs another book.Â
âWhippingham Papers, do you fancy yourself a Mistress?â He opens the book but is once again disappointed when your devoted touch is absent from the pages.
With a pout, he puts the books back and barely glances at the clearly enjoyed Penny Dreadfuls that make up the last of your written entertainment.
âSuch a disappointing display of passion from the Lady who stared me down all day.â He sighs and walks into your kitchen.
And he is pleasantly surprised. Like the rest of your home, the kitchen is clean and orderly. You seem to favor wax paper wrappings, canned goods, and preserved meats.
"You have specific tastes, for someone who forgets to eat." He remarks in amusement. The kitchen goes beyond cozy homemaking- there is an edge of perfectionism and caution.
"You don't appear picky...in fact it has been some time since I have seen such a wordly-eater. But goodness, what on earth are you cooking that requires chainmail to help with the cleanup?" He closes the sink cupboard with it's scrubs and soaps. Sebastian can see it in the expensive metal utensils, the scrubbed and oiled wood cutting boards, the glass jars and their meticulous labeling. At least half of your income must be dedicated to your kitchen, and certainly half of your time. The edge of mania- paranoia even- touches every corner of the room. Sebastian feels a great deal of intrigue and satisfaction just looking at it. Simply put- game recognizes game.
He travels upstairs, looking at your minimal decorations. Some paintings, some dried flowers, plants, and items from abroad that he assumes were gifted to you or acquired at a discounted rate. Noticeably there are no personal affects. Commoners may not be able to afford paintings or photography but they still retained objects with memories- show tickets, childhood toys, craft work from a mother or grandmother- but your decorations lacked any sort of history. It was as if you inherited bits and pieces of human connection from others. His candlelight illuminates a mirror at the top of the staircase, it is the dirtiest thing in your home he has seen, the surface distorted with a layer of dust that is found no where else, highlighting its neglect.
The mirror in your bathroom is in better shape, slightly. But it is the least interesting aspect of the space. Once again, you favor jars and labels. Your beauty products follow the same trend as your kitchen, clean and cautious. Thereâs a preference for Chinese and Arabic products, a clear aversion to the arsenic-laden but popular European offerings. The notable exception being the German âTanagraâ dental products that occupied your vanity. Sebastian felt himself charmed and impressed. It was exceedingly rare to find such cultured hygiene habits in England, the Plague combined with the chokehold the Church had on the citizens led to a degradation of public and personal cleanliness. One that Sebastian was in a constant battle with in his current estate.
"You truly are after my heart, My Lady." Perhaps Sebastian would be able to use you as an example to his Master. The surly boy seemed to respect you well-enough, maybe he will curtail his whining when Sebastian pulls out the fluate paste.
He looked through your drawers and cabinets thoroughly, taking in your preferences for scent and aesthetic. Eclectic in source but harmonious in the application of itâs owner. It stirs an attraction in him, you have an artless style unmarred by popular influence, an effortless ownership. If every pot of rogue, bar of soap, and herbal comb is a piece of a puzzle then you are the assembler who makes a complete image out of random scraps. Sebastian resolves himself to studying your preferences further for his own application in decadence as he leaves the room.
Your living room displayed obsession, your kitchen held itâs breath with caution, and your bathroom a conveyance of confidence. All that is left is the most intimate place in your home- your bedroom. The place you have rested since he entered. Curiously, your door is wide open. He walks inside without a sound but his attention is drawn to your sleeping figure before he can take in the myriad of details. If Sebastian was more patient, he would have taken note of how vacant the room felt. Basic dresser and closet, clothes neatly arranged, a plant by the balcony. The door leading outside and the windows are all covered in thick drapes to keep the cold at bay. He would have found it odd that all of your jewelry is new and that you have an iron lock box shoved into the back of your closet. But Sebastian is impatient and approached your bed without a glance in any other direction.
Finally, the most important object of observation. Your reproach for him has made it difficult for Sebastian to properly study you. He sets down the candle holder, the stick is over a fourth of the way melted, he had been roaming your small home for an hour.
He used his clawed finger to lift the hair from your face, putting his nose inches from yours.
âCurious. And, is the rest of you like this as well?â He carefully pulls down the blankets- but pauses. You are in an unthinkable state of undress. Even a commoner woman would wear an ankle length chemise and with your occupation you would surely be able to afford one of great quality. But instead, you wore a summer undershirt with a low swooping collar. Even worse your nethers hid behind menâs boxers which were riding up your hips, leaving the entirety of your legs bare.
His mind reached. Were these your undergarments of choice for the day as well? Under your dress, were your nethers blocked only by a manâs thin bolt of cotton?
âI have noticed, My Lady, that not a single cross mounts your walls.â He raises your undershirt and looks at your chest, focusing on the skin that wraps your ribs and circles your nipples. He readjusts himself on the bed, rocking your body slightly as he straddles you, and uses his other hand to run his fingertips from the column of your throat down your sternum with agonizing restraint.Â
âThey are quite the useless eyesore, arenât they? At least you donât bother yourself with such empty promises of protection. Deluding yourself into thinking you could be safe.â He coos out. Under him your heart quickens and your breaths shorten. His eyes watch the goosebumps raise on your stomach.
âExcited? I know,â His voice drops lower as do his hands, they graze the waistline of your boxers and pull them further up your hips so that the cotton presses against your pussy. âI have known since you fell in my arms. You are completely untouched by this world.â He feels his mouth watering.
The eerie magenta glow of his eyes highlights the puff of your pubic hair, the impression of your lips against the fabric, the faint but present wet spot at the center. He inhales deeply, presses the scent of you against the roof of his mouth and swallows the glob of spit at the back of his throat with an audible gulp. He exhales against your skin, warm and wet on your trembling abdomen.Â
âShall I give you a reward for being so pliant? Or should I take my payment for being the object of your desire?â He lowers his mouth to your sex and licks.
Your entire body jerks under him, a squeak leaving your throat. Sebastian chuckles and traces his nose against the hood of your clit.
âSo sensitive. Dare I even continue? I fear that even my influence wouldnât be enough to keep you asleep, and you would wake up thrashing and begging for release.â He is open-mouth breathing against your mound, his fangs poking your skin through the boxers. âMaybeâŠinstead I should try something more restrained.âÂ
He is mumbling to himself but with his lips ghosting your sex, you feel every word. Your trembling legs closed around his head, unbidden.
âI should put your innocence to use. Stimulate your appetite so that you devour those neglected books of yours downstairs.â He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, sucking on the entirety of it through the boxers so that it presses against the flat of his tongue. With a wet pop he pulls away and admires the glistening spit mixed with your arousal. âAnd then just looking wonât be enough, you will be begging for a taste. Yes, let's do one more taste for tonight."
While he has resolved himself to one more lick, he instead once again puts his entire mouth over your pussy. He licks and sucks, trying to coax out your slick from between your folds so it can seep into the fabric and mix with his spit. Along with the wet sucking sounds, he releases the occasional groan. Your boxers are still held in his hands, stretched over your hips so that the fabric can dig into every nook of your pussy. He lavishes it until it throbs with want, plucks your clit with his teeth until it strains against the cotton.
"Trying to hide yourself in such loose garments, how is anyone supposed to know the delicious treat that is between your legs if you do not show it properly?" He chides you while stroking his tongue between your folds, shoving the cotton into your hole.
A 'last taste' becomes 15 minutes of sucking until your sex puffs out obscenely through your clothes.
When he is finally satisfied with the debauched and inviting appearance of your pussy, Sebastian gently unwraps your legs from his head and tucks your blankets back over your trembling body. He tuts at your face- eyebrows knit and eyelashes fluttering. He uses the back of his tattooed hand to caress your cheek, a final parting gift. The touch is mindless, neither sweet or threatening. The act is automatic, his body making one final skin to skin connection with yours for the night.
âSweet dreams, My Lady.â
He blows out the candle on your bedside table, which is just a dim wick floating in a pool of wax, and disappears from your room along with the light.
You lay trembling in bed, waiting. It feels safe. It feels like you are alone. But you donât know for sure so instead you just lay there with your eyes shut and your heart pounding. After what feels like an hour you roll onto your side and curl into a ball, releasing a frustrated sigh. Since you have been waken up by a demon praising your religious abstinence and then his promise to torture you in the future, you donât think thereâs much hope in going back to sleep now. Now you were caught in a terrible debate- masturbate now and risk getting caught or masturbate later when you know the demon will be stuck babysitting.
I love your Sebastian fics omg, do you think you are going to make more? No pressure ofc
I promise I'm working on it- right now the stuff is very disjointed. I am not sure I care about releasing stuff in chronological order BUT I do want to release two full chapters to start with.
I work on it as I can, it is def something that has become a brain parasite for me at this point. My biggest issue is that I'm too busy writing sexual tension to write the actual sex part u-u
