Why do people think Ciel, who runs a company, successfully navigates the London underground, survived a full month of Lord-knows-how-cruel abuse, contracted a demon, and has dealt his way out of more than one tight spot, is a child in any sense other than the physical one?
So yesterday my friend and I were at lunch and he was spacing out so I just started telling him the entire plot of Kuroshitsuji except where I replaced Ciel with myself and he just nodded a couple times and then I went to grab my book bag and this guy sitting at the table next to us just looked at me like he was legitimately worried about me. WHAT DOESN’T HELP IS MY YOUNGER BROTHER SCRATCHED MY EYE SO I’VE BEEN WEARING AN EYEPATCH
Shota undertones.Snippets are not in chronological order.
Sebastian always breaks him. He shatters the boy with
practiced ease. Tenderly ruins him beyond repair. And Ciel, he loves every
second of his damnation. Until the day Sebastian decides to tenderly piece him
‘’Don’t you dare lie to me, filthy demon!’’ the boy all but
His butler’s lips curl upwards in seemingly genuine
amusement as he claims not to have the slightest idea what his master is
The earl’s angelic features contort into a terrifying
grimace of anger. The pink bow he holds twists and wrinkles as he clenches his
hand into a fist around it. He considers punching the smug smirk off the
demon’s face but he knows it won’t bring Elizabeth back.
He does anyway.
Ciel is not certain why he finds comfort in tempting a
demon. He doesn’t know why his heartbeat accelerates—not in fear, but in
anticipation— each time he spots that feral glint of garnet.
He thinks the reason might be similar to the one that drove
the demon to him in the first place.
Sebastian likes blood, likes watching it seep out of his
victims. He likes seeing the life seep out of them along with it; he enjoys
carnage as much as any demon should.
So he is understandably surprised the day when the sight of
blood no longer delights him. Then again, he’d never seem his young master bleed before.
The boy has killed; he has given orders that would have
landed his soul in the deepest, darkest, most terrifying depths of hell, were
it not promised to Sebastian. And yet, he can be so delightfully innocent at
times, Sebastian muses, as he dutifully watches his master’s skin grow redder
Perhaps he should blow the candles out during their
nighttime activities in the future.
Ciel Phantomhive doesn’t like sharing his pawns.
‘’Sebastian,’’ he says, his voice bearing every bit of the graceful
haughtiness his upbringing has instilled him with, ‘’the next time you see fit
to engage in such improper behavior I
shan’t be so lenient.’’
The butler, usually the perfect picture of propriety, stands
kneeled before his master, tendrils of blood coat his jaw thoroughly. The boy
had ordered him to drink holy water.
‘’Yes, my lord,’’ he replies, a violent spurt of blood
punctuating his acquiescence.
Ciel Phantomhive doesn’t like sharing his pawns, and he will
make sure that Sebastian does not forget that any time soon.
Not many things bring pleasure to one who has felt all the
kinds of pain this world has to offer. Ciel Phantomhive is no exception.
The boy is cold; even with extra layers covering his petite
body the winter chill has managed to ooze deep into his core. So when the
butler enters and places the candelabra on the night stand he doesn’t say
anything, no scathing remarks escape from his clacking teeth and no
condescending huffs leave his shivering lips. He simply waits patiently for the
older man to pull him into his embrace.
‘’It is very cold,’’ he murmurs, snuggling deeper into the
butler’s warmth. ‘’And you’re very warm.’’ He very thoroughly explains.
‘’Indeed my little lord,’’ the butler complies. A smile—an
adoring one, some would have said—comes to rest on his lips as his little
charge pulls him under the covers. The boy’s hands clench tighter around his
waist and he nuzzles his face into the butler’s crisp white button down.
He is forced to observe the pathetic display. He, ever the
dutiful servant, is obligated to stand by his master’s side and watch as the
wretched girl throws herself on him, pressing her repulsive mouth on his,
tainting his master with her essence.
He is forced to remain silent as the earl staggers back,
visibly shocked at having been attacked by that graceless swine of a lady, puts
a contemplative hand on his mouth and then seats himself as if he hadn’t just
now been robbed of his first kiss.
He might have pitied Lady Elizabeth, he might have shown her
mercy, and he might have even allowed her to grow older by his young master’s
side had she not uttered those blasted words.
‘’He’ll never be yours,’’ she’d said. The demon could have
told her that the boy already was his;
that he already had his soul, but he chose to end her pathetic life instead.
Ciel’s life is no fairytale, and even if some may find a
moral buried beneath the ashen remains of the sins he’s committed, he knows it
won’t have a happy ending.
He doesn’t fear death. It’s rather difficult to fear
something that has walked by your side for the past three years, he concludes.
Life scares him, the fact that he wants to live petrifies
him, the fact that he wants to live because of his death, with it; that makes
his heart wrench and his stomach knot.
His master has fallen ill, as a demon that shouldn’t concern
him. But, what kind of butler would he be if he couldn’t even care for his
fever-ridden young master?
Sebastian so enjoys hearing his young master call his name,
he likes hearing it spoken clearly, followed by whatever pitiless order his
merciless contractor wishes to give, he likes hearing it shouted with annoyance
each time his young lord has lost one of their games, but, most of all,
Sebastian likes hearing his name fall from his master’s kiss-swollen lips,
likes hearing it moaned, repeatedly, like an unholy litany, broken and panted
as the little boy begs for release.
It’s not a word he should associate with a demon, Ciel knows
that. But, on the rare nights he lets Sebastian stay by his side, that is all
he feels, that and… a little more.
‘’Don’t touch me,’’ his master shouts. His bony hands
furiously swipe at his tear-stained eyes.
‘’Young master…’’ the butler tries, at a loss for the first
time in quite a while.
The boy has never cried in front of him before.
Ciel is claimed, owned. He is little more than a belonging.
The violet seal that mars his eye is permanent proof of that and that is why he
shatters the mirror in his bedchamber in a fit of rage. Because, if he can’t
regain what he has lost he can, at least, pretend to still have it.
… …. … … … … …
A/N: So, after posting some of my works on ff.net and starting to post them on AO3 as well I figured why not also put them here.