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[mr-smichaelis]

BLACK LIVES MATTER

[mr-smichaelis]

this is my humble version of this old meme

[mr-smichaelis]

“Earl… Sleep a little bit more, okay? It’s still a bit too early to wake up now.”

[mr-smichaelis]

If you can't love yourself right now, love the fictional character you relate too much to and read enough hurt/comfort fanfic about them where they learn to love themselves and one day you will be able to love yourself too.

[mr-smichaelis]

Someone just really has the nerve (and time) 😂🤥 it’s 4/20 it‘s okay to chill

[mr-smichaelis]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive Characters: Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomhive Additional Tags: SebaCiel - Freeform, Bottom Ciel Phantomhive, POV Ciel Phantomhive, kitten play, Sfw for the most part, snuggles, Top Sebastian Michaelis Summary:

It wasn’t always something sexual.

He tells me it springs from my personality, but I truly don’t think so. It’s just an activity I indulge in almost daily after he introduced it to me.

[mr-smichaelis]

Ciel phantomhive - Kuroshitsuji

♦️DON’T REPOST MY WORKS WITHOUT INCLUDING MY CREDITS AND LINK BACK TO MY ACCOUNT ♦️

No repostear mi trabajo sin incluir mis creditos

[mr-smichaelis]

insomnia

[mr-smichaelis]

Dress insp/ref 🌸✌

[mr-smichaelis]

It’s a bit late into the night, but happy Easter everyone 😌 hopefully you had a safe and fun day

[mr-smichaelis]

Happy Easter, Beautiful! I loved your last HCs - I was wondering if you had any Easters ones to share?

Thanks so much for this ask, dearest Chrome! I hope you’re having a delicious weekend~

I especially enjoyed writing these, because one of the later parts of my fic series will feature the Easter setting. I’ve chosen to give headcanons for the characters’ favourite memories of Easter past.

Mey-rin: there had been a good sort of Easter, years ago, before her slingshot had been replaced with a rifle; she didn’t know when. Hadn’t even known it was Easter, really, until later, after the boys ducked in between the passers-by to grab at the earring she’d knocked from the ear of a merchant’s wife. And they discovered the woman had dropped her paper bag of hot cross buns, too, and the three of them had squatted in the gutter behind O’Grady’s tavern and gobbled the things between them. 

She still likes to watch Sebastian glazing hot cross buns in the kitchen, the slick of sugar syrup, and it seems almost impossible that she is actually allowed to eat them afterwards, sitting at the staff table with a cup of tea.

Finny: the first Easter he ever celebrated at the Manor is still the best one, in his mind. Confusing, colourful, the young master’s family arriving and everybody running in the wet spring garden and Lady Elizabeth hanging paper flowers from everything and it had been Nice. He can make no sense whatsoever of the religious reasons for it, but he stands in the back pew of the church with the other Phantomhive servants for the Easter services, and admires the flower decorations, and the egg hunt back at the Manor is one of his favourite things in the year.

Sebastian: he has never liked Easter. Mardi Gras is delightful, of course, but Lent is a bore; even people who usually have no morality whatsoever have a tiresome habit of getting guilty at this time of year. And he is reduced to waiting beside his master’s coach outside the estate chapel while the other servants go through the ridiculous rigmarole of attending Easter services. He prefers his churches de-consecrated. It isn’t that he can’t enter the chapel. He could if he wanted to. If he felt like it. But why the deuce would he feel like it?

There is one rather nice thing about Easter, though; his master gets new clothing made up for the occasion, following the old tradition. And unpacking the earl’s outfits, the ruffles and stockings and shorts, and trying them all on his wriggly little master– well. Sebastian doesn’t mind that at all.

Lizzy: her loveliest Easter was the last one she’d spent with her twin cousins before things went wrong. Or one of her cousins, anyway– Ciel had been the only one who’d come with her into the garden– and she’d had her new dress on, with a big blue sash that tied into the sweetest bow. And they’d run hand-in-hand behind the damp shrubbery and found no hidden eggs at all, only a rock and a beetle under it and Ciel had threatened to drop it down her dress and she’d squealed. And then he’d kissed her, before he ran away again, and her lip had tasted of sugar eggs when she licked it.

Bard: a few years back– his first year in uniform– he’d been given leave over Easter Sunday with a few of his friends. They’d walked arm-in-arm in the city streets, whistling at all the rich ladies in their big hats, the lace and flowers and bouncing ostrich feathers. One of the ladies had been very nice to them all, and chatted for a long time, and given Bard her business card with the address and the little picture of the cherub and they’d all laughed like fools because she wasn’t quite a lady at all, but she’d had a perfectly incredible– anyway. Good day. Good times.

Ciel: they’d all been together still, the only Easter he’d really enjoyed. And he had been too tired to walk much after the drizzly boat-ride, tucked at his mother’s side, and hadn’t joined in the hectic egg-hunting with the others, and when they’d all trooped back to the pavilion in the garden after lunch his father had pulled him up onto his lap. And Lizzie had brought him back a sugar egg, and he hadn’t even eaten it. He’d gotten sleepy there while the grownups were talking, with the low warmth of his papa’s voice against his hair, and the hum of the solid chest behind him, and the strong fingers curled up around his own, and the sugar egg growing sticky in their twined hands as he slowly fell asleep.

This was so fun….thanks, lovely!

[mr-smichaelis]

Remember this viral post? Wanda and Jamal and her husband Lonnie are the most wholesome people, this story brought tears to my eyes originally and I am crying once more learning from Jamal's social media that Lonnie has sadly passed away.

Rest in Peace, Lonnie :(

[mr-smichaelis]

Deeper

For such a small master, he was rather endowed. Everything else about him had been completely proportional; from his hairless lean chest, to his smooth but firm belly, the slight curve of his slender hips and plump little rear and his legs… his sylphlike legs currently straddling my chest. There had been absolutely no indication that someone with such a boyish physique could be in possession of such manhood between his soft, milky thighs.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop,” he prompted me, tightening his grip at the top of my head, grabbing a fistful of midnight locks and forcing it towards his weeping arousal.

He was also a demanding little master.

I stuck out my forked tongue and dragged it along the slit of his head, lapping the transparent pearls that seeped from it greedily as he pushed down on his impressive shaft, smearing what little had continued to drool from his eager cock onto my chin. As if I were an infant unable to feed properly, he gathered the excess off my face with his ring finger and fed it to me. My master hungered as well, though differently; his lewd, shameless groan said as much as I wrapped my tongue around his finger twice, delivering an almost strangulating pressure to it, pulling it deeper into my throat. I watched his eyes roll back and felt as he spilled more precum onto the hollow of my neck, thin filaments of it connecting us then breaking and connecting us sloppily and sticking together again with every bob of his erection. His thighs shook with arousal and he began to rock upon my chest, the sweat from his bottom, helping in bringing him closer to my face, sliding with every useless roll of his hips.

“Feed me… please Master…” I begged like some starving, wanton whore. In truth, I was. I relied on the young man for sustenance, existed only because he allowed me to drink of his essence, because he chose me, favoured me among all others. But he’d been busy with finals. Had even turned down my offer to help relieve his stress. I was deemed too distracting.

But not now. His exams were over.

“Beg, incubus,” he demanded, his low voice unsteady as I pumped his finger with my tongue, shutting my eyes and pretending it was another appendage.  He caught on quick. My master was clever. And cruel. He leaned forward, driving not only the finger I held captive but two others into my mouth, grazing across my top teeth and letting himself bleed into me. The illusion of having my mouth full of him only disappointed slightly more than the wrong substance pouring liberally into me. A growl rose from my chest as my own hips began to buck, forcing him to hold onto the headboard to keep from being unseated.

“I beg… I beg Master,” I implored, nearly weeping with need, licking and nibbling his digits, desperate for my meal. “So hungry… please, I’ll be a good demon, a devoted servant.”

His mismatched eyes narrowed before he removed his fingers from my mouth. Reluctantly, I let them slip out, but not without giving them one last greedy suck, eliciting a moan from the slate-haired boy. “Very well,” he acquiesced, finally relenting, “sit up a bit more.”

Master slid off me, on his knees now, so small that he barely dipped into the mattress and I came up, but only just, until he aligned his cock to my mouth, smoothing it over my lips, wetting them, bathing them in his glistening pre-essence. A taste. Just a tease of what was to come. I kept them shut and slightly pouted, as was the habit and waited, body thrumming with excitement until such a time that he would instruct me. My stomach growled, I was ravenous and yearning.

“Open,” he purred.

My lips parted, but not enough. Smirking, my master slapped his stiffness against them a handful of times before he guided his length just past the opening. “Tighter,” he instructed, and my lips closed around the head and held it there as my tongue flicked the tip, taunting and tickling it. Master’s hands sought the top of the headboard again and gripped it hard as he pushed in, one torturous inch at a time. When he neared the extent to which he could insert himself, my head tilted back to give him passage into my throat. But he stilled, going no further.

“No, Sebastian.”

No? My feast was only moments away and with his endowment filling my mouth and pulsing the way it was, it would take so little effort on my part, or so I thought. I’d grown so weak over the past week, he could not possibly think that I would be capable any spectacular sexual feats with so little nourishment.  My eyes looked up pleading, crimson and glowing. I could see their reflection in his own. Would he deny me? After all this? “Ma-” I tried to supplicate, only to be interrupted by an abrupt tugging of my hair at the back of my head, his length being pulled out and then driven forcefully into my mouth again. The violence of it caught me off guard and I coughed as my master continued to bury himself inside, heavy sac slapping against my chin, cock slamming into me again and again with bruising intensity, skimming every ridge of his arousal against every surface available to him: my tongue, my palate, the back of my throat. He was completely uncaring that I was sputtering and choking. That my eyes were pinched shut against the intrusion of so much hot, rigid flesh, that tears were spilling from my eyes, onto my cheeks and down my chin at an indecent rate. Tear of delirious ecstasy.  

Master was rewarding me.

He wanted nothing from me in that moment but to be a vessel in which he could sate both our needs. His second hand released the upright panel of his bed and also found my hair; drilling himself willfully, passionately into me, thrusting forward, hunched over while pulling my head into himself. I retched and gagged around his length and found his flexing backside, pushed him deeper, slurping, sucking, devouring him as my soot-lacquered nails pricked the soft flesh of his bottom. He grunted and groaned, screamed my name over and over as he neared his peak, erratically thrusting until finally he went rigid and I moaned in anticipation as warmth washed over my tongue.

He angled my head down with his fingers to make it more difficult to swallow. I would have to hold his release in my mouth until he granted me permission. My master was good to me. Unselfish. He’d remained chaste throughout his exams. Had saved himself for me; it was evident in the expansion of my cheek as his cock had stopped twitching from his orgasm some seconds ago.

“Swallow,” he obliged, his tone soft and adoring now, his hands extricating themselves from my hair and caressing my face lovingly.  I obeyed, sighing, eyes rolling back into my head as I slumped against the headboard.

“You are a good demon,” he whispered, petting, then kissing the top of my head affectionately. He slid off my body, pulled me down to lay flat on my back, molded his small frame to my larger one and brought the blanket up to his shoulders.  “Good night, Sebastian,” he mumbled, already sleepy, no doubt exhausted from his exertion.  I snapped my fingers and the lights went out. “Goodnight, Master.”

[mr-smichaelis]

My little baby Sebastian, off destroying people

[mr-smichaelis]

Chapter 5 is ready! It was worth the wait! ;)

[mr-smichaelis]

Mr. Andrew Hozier is really out in there in the woods screwing around badger dens and calling them "hobbit motherfuckers"

[mr-smichaelis]

A very special happy birthday to the most lovely man on planet Earth, Andrew Hozier Byrne.