the dirty look he gives you, knowing that you slept with someone for information. he was very opposed to the idea if it weren’t for his master permitting you to do whatever it takes for the mission.
he remembers the blissful look on your face when joker pleasured you in his tent.
the human bears no privileges to taste you—to touch you, and to make you orgasm by his hands.
sebastian mournfully watches you manipulate joker, whispering commands on how to please you; the human only interrupts you with a deep, sloppy kiss—reassuring you that he knows how to make you feel good.
the poor tree close by the tent, where you two are about to fornicate in, snaps in half with his grip; sebastian feels quite delighted seeing the confused look on joker’s face; however, you were not oblivious.
you know damn well it was him throwing a tantrum.
so you give the butler a show.
the sounds you’re letting out feels too theatrical; sebastian knew that you’d rather die than have someone make you induce a noise so dirty.
the worse part? he knew you were sincerely enjoying it.
your eyes made contact with sebastian’s while joker is busy making out with you and grinding his hips deliciously against yours; the demon’s crimson eyes gleam in fury—your body shivers from the cold pressure of the wind and the demon’s rising aura.
the sounds of wet slaps of skins for hours are scratching deeply into his ear drums, he was this close to burning the tent. sebastian wants to slice joker’s tongue, his heightened hearing picks up the whispers he breathes in your ears—about how good you make him feel.
like a natural, you respond just the way joker wants you to. great heavens, you’re a nasty one.
your eyes rolled back in pleasure, letting out an exaggerated moan as the two of you reach your orgasm, rage almost blurs the clear mind of the butler’s.
because despite your advances, you had easily obtained the information needed.
sebastian is infuriated that you can easily sleep with a human you’ve just met, while you reject his advances every time inside the manor.
it makes him look needy, he thinks it’s pathetic and disgusting.
I love the idea of Ciel just sick of the servants trashing the manor all the time so he hires a fifth one who's actually a servant instead of a hitman/soldier/experiment in disguise. the interview goes rlly well! you get hired on the spot and you get along well with the other servants but then you meet the butler and you...
...just instantly know he's a demon.
its not like sebastian tries to hide it, but mostly everyone is happy to look the other way. but you've heard stories of demons having these eyes that are soulless and empty. and those are the exact horrors you're seeing within sebastian.
you can't just quit. you need the money, you cant just give up the opportunity to work for a nobleman. so you steel yourself. you shut your eyes and focus on the task at hand, but you do carry protection.
every night you pour a line of salt across your door. you carry around holy water. you wear a cross around your neck.
you make it oh so obvious that you know he's a demon....and sebastian is getting a little bored.
every morning you can see him casually sweeping away the salt line ("please do make sure you clean up your mess, next time"). he grabs the holy water and drinks it ("thank you for the refreshment, my throat was getting parched). And that one time when you misplaced your cross, you found it settled in Sebastian's bare ungloved hands as he 'returned' it to you ("such a pretty necklace. where did you obtain such an item?").
every. single. thing that you've been told wards off demons...did nothing.
your paranoia gets so bad that even Ciel starts noticing. he doesn't wanna just fire you because you're the only one who hasn't broken a plate when cleaning it. So, instead he just tells sebastian 'just pretend one of the charms actually wards you off'.
So Sebastian just lets you think that the lavender is actually doing something.
He makes a big show of it. He pinches his nose like he smells something bad every time he steps in a room with you. He stays 20 feet away from you at all times. He gets a kick out of it honestly.
Months go by and an inevitable break-in happens. the thugs were initially after Ciel but for whatever reason they take off with you instead.
But, over the coming months, the demon has developed a soft spot for you. he finds you really funny and was disappointed over the kidnapping. its sort of in the same way when you make friends with a squirrel and you feed it nuts, but one day it stops appearing in your window. <- like that.
Ciel is largely annoyed that he might have to replace a competent servant, so when Sebastian asks if he could take a five-minute break to 'grab a certain something', he shrugs and waves him off.
You're returned to the manor largely unharmed and in Sebastian's arms.
🐈⬛️Sebastian is far too perceptive not to notice the changes in you during certain… cycles. Your scent shifts: subtle to human noses, but to a demon it is intoxicating. That warm, sugary fragrance takes on richer, more primal, and he knows before you do that your body is aching for attention.
🐈⬛️At first, you don’t understand why you feel so flushed and restless. You keep fidgeting, rubbing your soft thighs together when no one’s looking, tail twitching wildly. Sebastian, of course, sees it all. And he enjoys watching you struggle with something you’re too innocent to name.
🐈⬛️He teases you under the guise of concern, standing much too close, letting his gloved hand rest at your lower back a little longer than necessary, leaning in so that his breath brushes the shell of your ear. Your soft cat ears flatten and you give a soft, flustered little noise: half mewl, half whimper and his smirk deepens.
🐈⬛️The first time you shyly admit to him that you “feel strange” and “can’t stop thinking about him,” Sebastian’s eyes filled with amusemente. He tilts your chin up and murmurs with a slight smirk, “Then let me tend to my kitten properly. If I don't, what kind of lover would I be?”
🐈⬛️You’re so small against him that he can lift you easily, settling you atop the kitchen counter or pinning you gently against the wall. His gloved fingers trace along your trembling thighs, parting them slowly. The moment he brushes over the heat between your legs, your cute fluffy tail lashes and your ears twitch uncontrollably.
🐈⬛️He finds your sweet noises utterly addictive... those breathy, broken little mews that escape without your permission. He deliberately drags things out just to hear more of them, his long, skilled fingers working you open until you’re shivering and pressing desperately against his hand.
🐈⬛️When he finally pushes into you, it’s slow at first to not to hurt your delicate body. He savors the way your body yields to him, watch the dazed, overwhelmed expression cross your cute face. You cling to him instinctively, nails digging into his coat, nuzzling at his neck with soft little whimpers.
🐈⬛️His stamina is inhuman. He’ll keep you on the edge until you’re practically crying, murmuring praise into your ear: “So warm… so tight… You were made for this, weren’t you, kitten?”, before finally letting you fall over into release.
🐈⬛️He enjoys taking you in places where you can’t fully hide your cute sounds. leaning you over the kitchen table late at night, pressing your small against the wall of the pantry while the rest of the household sleeps. The idea that someone might hear you only makes him more amused.
🐈⬛️Your soft tail becomes another source of play for him. He wraps it around his wrist, tugs it gently to make you gasp, or stroking along it as he thrusts into your poor cunt. He quickly learns just how sensitive it is and uses that knowledge mercilessly.
🐈⬛️ Afterward, he always carries your tired body to bed, he’ll tuck you beneath the covers, smoothing your soft hair and stroking the base of your ears until you drift into a satisfied sleep. Of course, he has no qualms about waking you again in the middle of the night for another round.
Ways Sebastian Michaelis shows he's obsessed with you (without saying it)
A/N: I wanted to write something short while at work, and I had this idea. I'm trying to work on another fic, but I'm experiencing writer's block because I have so many different ideas.
He memorizes your routines. Without ever asking, he knows your favorite tea, when you prefer silence, how warm your bath should be.
He doesn’t get jealous—he gets possessive. If someone so much as touches you, they’re met with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. No one is worthy of you. That person doesn’t last long.
He’s always behind you. Not in a romantic way. In a predator-watching-his-prize way. Silent. Constant. Comforting only because it’s familiar.
He handles your enemies personally. You never find out how, but people who upset you mysteriously disappear, fall ill, or are financially ruined.
He never calls you by name. He calls you mine, or nothing at all. There’s something more sacred in the silence before he says it.
He keeps something of yours. A glove. A strand of hair. Something innocuous, tucked into his jacket like a holy relic.
You never lock your door. Not because you don’t want to—but because you can’t. It never stays locked with him.
He watches you sleep. But not sweetly. Like a god admiring his offering.
He adjusts his demeanor based on what makes you flinch—or melt. He learns your tells, your weaknesses. And he uses them.
He never says ‘I love you.’ He says, “You are mine.” And it means more. And it terrifies you
── ❦. It's Just A Love Bite, Darling | Sebastian Michaelis x f!reader
. ˳༚༅༚ explicit content, smut, mdni: pet names, heavy marking (biting, hickeys), blood, condescending praise, oral receiving
♱ word count: 2k
You sit down without thinking.
That is mistake number one.
The sharp bite of pain makes your breath hitch before you can catch it, and you have to cover the sound with an exaggerated sip of your drink, eyes darting around the café to check if someone might have seen you flinch.
Nobody has, obviously not. No one ever does. They will never know what kind of mess you are under your coat.
And he? Of course, he planned it that way.
You should be focusing on your planner, or the pastry on your plate, or anything other than the heated flicker of memory dragging its nails down your spine.
But the ghost of his voice hums in your ear, laced with pretentious care and unshakable smugness. "Did I go too deep, darling? You do squirm so prettily when it stings."
You feel your face heat up immediately. Not just because it does sting, but because the barista just asked if you need anything else, and you may have squeaked a tiny "No thank you," like a guilty schoolgirl.
You shift again.
Mistake number two.
You know better... or at least you should. The soreness isn't subtle. It blooms in places no one can see, but you feel it with every tiny adjustment; dull and deep and far too intimate. You try to keep your face neutral, to mask the small gasp that slips out behind your straw as you sip your drink, as if that will help.
It doesn't.
Your thighs are aching, pulsing faintly where his mouth—his teeth—made their home last night. Though it's not just the pain that pesters you; it's the memory, the warmth and the way he looked at you when you begged him not to stop.
It was supposed to be gentle. That's what Sebastian told you at least, murmured against your neck as he helped you out of your clothes. Though, all too greedily did his hands trail over your figure, did his mouth brush your ear as he promised you, "Just a little tenderness tonight, dove. You've earned it."
And it was, at first. Tender, sweet even... at least by Sebastian's standards. He didn't pounce, no, he invited himself in, with fingertips under your chin that tilted your face up to his. His mouth brushed over yours with the kind of softness that felt like a trap, and his tongue teased your lips, coaxed them open until he could taste your desire. You had barely any sense left to hold on to when Sebastian's hand slid to the back of your neck, anchoring you there until you were half-drunk on him.
By the time he laid you back on the bed, your body was pliant, your clothes in disarray, accompanied by a fluttering heart, and need conveyed in the impatient shift of your hips.
A whimper passed your lips into his mouth when he finally leaned down. "Breathe," Sebastian had murmured, while his fingers ran down your stomach. "I'll take care of everything."
First, he looked. With one hand on your waist, the other smoothing down your side, his gaze swept over you in a way that made your knees weak, not from lust but from the sheer weight of his attention, like you were a thing of rare beauty he was planning to ruin.
That's when his lips curled into a smile. "Needy little thing," Sebastian had murmured as his lips ghosted over your cheek, your jaw, down your throat. You whined when he didn't immediately do more, and he laughed. Not cruelly, but knowingly. Like he was enjoying your unravelling more than the act itself.
He kissed lower still, to the soft slope of your chest and moved along your figure with maddening patience, savouring every inch before he dipped lower.
His mouth reached your stomach, his sharp teeth brushing skin Sebastian had already bruised some nights ago. And then he looked up at you from between your legs, those haunting eyes seemed to smoulder faintly in the dark. He was something inhuman, unholy, and entirely too smug.
And that’s when it started. A chuckle rang in his torture before words of satisfation where barely breathed along your skin. "Always so tense, dear," Sebstian's tongue flicked out to taste you, just below the swell of your hip, "like you don't trust me to be gentle."
He kissed the inside of your thigh so soft, so sweet to cause your fingers to curl tight into the sheets as a whimper slipped past your teeth, half-plea, half-warning, because you knew that kind of softness never came without consequence.
And maybe that's why the shift hit so hard. The way his mouth trailed down your body with slow kisses until everything became suddenly hungrier. His voice lowered when he reached your legs and murmured something dark and utterly pleased.
"You always get so fidgety when I take my time." His teeth grazed the inside of your thigh and you twitched in response, causing Sebastian's grip to tighten and pin your hips to the bed. "Now, now. Be good. You'll like this part."
"You said that last time," you managed, your voice embarrassingly thin. "You bit me—"
"Mhm." His mouth curved against your skin. "And didn't you come beautifully after?"
You remember the words that slipped from you next; they were unsure, breathless, a stammered "I-I did, I just—" but they never made it to the end, because his mouth opened wide and then closed around you with no warning, teeth sinking into your thigh with the kind of precision that should have been inhumane but was instead rather exquisite, a pain so sharp and sudden that your back arched off the mattress and a cry clawed its way out of your throat.
"S-Sebastian—!" you choked out, somewhere between a whine and a complaint, your hands scrabbling for anything—sheets, his wrist, the edge of your sanity.
But Sebastian didn't stop, he didn't even flinch.
"Wait—" you gasped, half way sitting up, only for him to push you back down. Sebastian held you there, with lips sealed to your skin, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still since you writhed against him.
The mark throbbed and burned so sweetly, and he knew. He knew how shamefully good he made you feel as his fingers moved along your wet panties.
And then, as you panted and whimpered, your legs trembling beneath his palms, Sebastian pulled back with a sigh like he had just tasted something divine.
"Poor thing," he cood, and licked over the wound with infuriating calmness. "It's just a love bite, darling. Don't pout."
But you were pouting. You were whimpering as he kissed the bruise he had created, soft in a way that made you shudder all the more. Until he moved to the other thigh and all that relaxation was forgotten.
"No, no, no—please, I just—" you started, panic-stricken as your breath caught. You tried to speak, but it came out in fragments; a protest, a moan, a breathless complaint that sounded more like please do it again rather than please stop, and Sebastian must have heard it for what it was, because he kissed you again, lower this time, so close to where you pulsed with need for his attention.
"It's simply music to my ears when you whine like that," he whispered, nuzzling into your panty-clad heat with a tenderness that made you feel absurdly, sickeningly adored, "like you hate it, but you still open your legs for me every time."
"S-Sebastian— you... bastard!"
Sebastian licked the mark once. Then again before smiling a wicked curve that means he was not done yet. "Such desperation. It's rather unbecoming" he speaks softly, and kisses your inner thigh, slow and wet. "But flattering."
So he kissed your inner thigh once more, then a third time, his lips plush and lingering. "Shhh, dove. Just one more. For symmetry."
He held your legs open with one hand, just firm enough to make you feel it. And then his mouth opened wide, and he bit the other thigh just as hard.
Your hands curled into the sheets, your voice cracking as you cried out, pleasure and pain in equal measure bloomed under his mouth.
He didn't rush, he didn't soothe. Instead, Sebastian pressed open-mouthed kisses to each mark like he was blessing them, low murmurs of "so pretty" falling between each kiss.
You cried out half in pain, half something worse, and tried to close your legs, but he tsked gently, mouthing at the angry new bruise like an artist admiring his brushstroke.
You remember his mouth dipping lower, his voice purring things like, "Look at you," while his thumb brushed over your clit before gathering more of your slick. "Falling apart from just a few love bites. How terribly fragile."
You could barely get out his name because you were too busy gasping for air as his tongue finally tasted you, slow and steady until you finally came under his mouth.
You fisted into neatly-styled black strands, your thighs trembled around his head, as your helpless voice gasped and cried in ways that made your demon feel as though he had achieved something virtuous.
You came embarrassingly fast. And then again... and again. And Sebastian never let you close your thighs, not once, not even when you were crying from how good it hurt.
When he finally kissed his way back up to your mouth, you were a wreck. A sight to behold that made Sebastian smile so sweetly, you were sure it was fake.
"My darling," he whispered, smoothing your hair back, "you wear suffering so beautifully."
You could have slapped him, you wanted to. But instead, you clung to him and let him pamper you to bed like the spoiled, aching creature he had made you.
─── ♱
And now? You still feel him between your legs, still feel his breath hot and heavy, his voice low and amused as it curls against your skin. The reminder of Sebastian the reminder is everywhere.
Especially so once you press your thighs together under the café table, hissing quietly as the pressure stokes the soreness into something more dangerous.
The chair is your enemy today, and Sebastian, wherever he is, absolutely knows.
It's not even noon and you're already ruined by memory, by sensation, by the stupid little love note folded neatly in your coat pocket. You haven't opened it yet, instead you try to focus on your planner, on your to-do list, on anything but the heat between your legs and the fresh pulse of soreness you can't escape.
Sebastian tucked the note in sometime before he vanished this morning—right after leaving a bouquet of peonies and devil's trumpet on the windowsill.
You slide out the square of thick ivory paper, sealed in deep black wax with an S stamped through it. The handwriting is graceful.
You unfold it with a sigh, your thighs clenching before your eyes even hit the words.
My beloved,
I trust you are reminded of me today.
Try not to squirm so much.
You will only bruise deeper.
Sit pretty.
Yours (in all the inconvenient ways),
— Sebastian.
