Abusive!Ciel Phantomhive ?x? Reader ?x? Sebastian Michaelis

Poor Responses

CIEL'S POV

They're both filthy, filthy creatures. They're both vile, corrupt, traitorous creatures.

Taking a deep breath, I settled at my study desk and closed my eyes, listening only to the faint melodies of birds singing outside.

What I wouldn't give for each songbird to catch flame and fade away into the breeze.

I sighed and opened my eyes, calling for Sebastian and shifting my gaze to the clock to count the seconds until he arrived. I barely reached the end of one before the door opened, Sebastian looking to me and offering a courteous bow.

"I'm hungry." My voice was plain, but I couldn't fathom how he'd deserve any better. He'd betrayed me for that whore, and he surely wasn't going to receive any of the favored treatment that he was used to. I will admit, for as long as he's been under contract, I have treated him as if he were better than those around me. He was almost like a father, despite his chiding sarcasm and keen fascination with making my life as inconvenient as possible.

He bowed, as he was trained to do, and left the study to begin preparing my dinner. For moments, I saw a glimpse of her skirt in the hallway and a rage rose in my chest that almost lifted me from my seat. Instead, I seized the letter opener on my desk and considered calling her in as well, just to put the dulled point straight through her pretty little-

No. How can you call yourself the Earl Phantomhive, yet consider doing such unspeakable things.

I shuddered momentarily and placed the letter opener down, pressing my palms into the sanded wood of my desk and exhaling slowly. I had pushed Sebastian away, and though he were bound by contract, I couldn't risk him turning his eyes as the yard came to investigate a murder. Besides — I couldn't imagine the other three would take too kindly to the evisceration of a girl they'd come to call family. Settling back into my chair, I took a deep breath and dusted off my shorts, regardless of how spotless they already were.

She had come into my home and turned my butler against me.

It was impressive, I had to admit; an operation that I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams. How she had done it was beyond me... was it how she carried herself? Was it how she spoke? Or was it the fact that I had explicitly instructed Sebastian to stay away from her? My jaw locked, and my nails pressed into the arms of my chair.

She was playing a game — and she was winning.

I couldn't recall ever knowing somebody who could best me in a game, and it was a crippling damper on my own sanity to know that it was a street rat who had begun to succeed in doing so.

It was almost genial, how she did it. With beautiful, (e/c) eyes and a laugh that brightened rooms? (H/c) hair that she swept back from her face with her fingers when she was working? The way that she walks from room to room, hardly drawing attention to herself yet catching the attention of everybody around?

Shaking my head, I stood at last from the desk and seized my walking stick. Before I could take a single step, though, I stopped. The item felt cold in my hand, and as I lifted it to study it in the light, I couldn't help but notice the scratches in the wood. Scratches formed by the cane smashing into the wall. Scratches formed by the ricochet from her body into a piece of furniture.

With a short huff, I placed the cane down onto the desk and marched from my study, intent on finding her and making her understand that I wasn't the villain.

SEBASTIAN'S POV

Dinner came along quietly, the silence of the room — vaguely disturbed by Tanaka sipping quietly at his teacup — was all that I found to accompany me. It was a tragic step back from the usual sounds I had grown used to.

(Y/n) humming no more than three feet away. The rustling of her uniform as she moved vegetables to the soup pot. The rhythmic chopping of a knife, accompanied by a scrape of the blade against the cutting board.

Where was she now?

Tch.

Where she is, what she's doing, and how she's being treated is no longer important to me. For years, until this point, I have done everything on my own, and have been favored as a result.

I can feel the knife wedge into the board below my palm, sunken much deeper than recommended for something as soft as potatoes.

Tch.

I would have helped her. I would have helped her leave this place and get away from the person who hurts her so. I would have given up my own attachments and helped her find a new family to tend to.

I've never been known for good deeds, and it isn't within the nature of Hell's creatures to help mortals. I could have made arrangements, though. She seemed so full of fire, so full of promise. Where did that all go?

Tch.

She is a charlatan. Parading around with silken threads wound about her fingers, tying them within the cores of everyone she meets. She works them like puppets, so she can work the tide of war from either side.

Where is she now? With powder soft kisses, timid reservations, and gentle adoration? Where is the way that she looked at me each time I knelt beside her, cloth in hand? I willingly signed up to be a chess piece for Lord Phantomhive — to bend the rules and move in directions outside of the parameter of the game. I was never a knight, nor a king, nor a bishop. I was my own piece altogether, and life was much more peaceful because of it.

I'd taken her in through sympathy. Through chance. I'd never wished to be a piece — much less a pawn — under her.

Anybody but her.