Teacher! Sebastian Michaelis x Teacher! Female Reader
A/N: This takes place in the Black Butler: Public School Arc before Ciel and Sebastian finds Derrick & The others
The oil lamp sputtered on your desk, casting your chambers in warm shadow. You’d stayed late again—grading, preparing, anything to fill the silence. Weston had a way of feeling heavy at night, its corridors too long, its rules too rigid, its traditions smothering. And lately…its shadows seemed to whisper.
A knock startled you. Before you could answer, the door opened.
“Still awake, Miss [L/N]?” The low, refined voice curled through the room, smooth as silk, sharp as steel.
Sebastian Michaelis stepped inside, tall, composed, every movement deliberate. Another teacher—or so you thought. His presence always unsettled you, though you could never place why. He was courteous, professional…but the way his crimson eyes gleamed in lamplight stirred something dangerously primal in your chest.
“Mr. Michaelis,” you said carefully, setting down your pen. “It’s late. Did you need something?”
His lips curved, not quite a smile. “Only a moment of your time.” The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet locked you both inside.
He moved closer, until he loomed over your desk. His gloved hand brushed across the papers you’d been marking, but his gaze never left yours. “You work too hard. Do you never allow yourself…indulgence?”
Something in his tone struck deeper than it should have. Your throat tightened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
That was when his restraint broke.
He seized your wrist, tugging you up from your chair with effortless strength. In one swift motion, he turned you, pressing you back against the desk, his body flush with yours. His mouth captured yours before protest could leave your lips—rough, consuming, tongue sliding past your teeth like he owned the right.
Heat shot down your spine, shock and hunger warring in your veins. You should have pushed him away. You didn’t.
His hands were everywhere—clawed fingertips dragging over your waist, your thighs, leaving faint pricks against fabric. He tore at the buttons of your blouse, lips trailing down your throat, sharp teeth scraping until you gasped. That sound pulled a guttural growl from his chest, inhuman, dangerous.
The skirt rode high as he lifted you onto the desk, pushing your legs apart with knee and hand. His gloved fingers hooked beneath your underwear, ripping them with a sound that made you shiver. The ruined fabric fluttered to the floor.
“Such fragility,” he murmured, voice slipping lower, less human. “And yet—so responsive.”
Two fingers slid into you, unrelenting, stretching, curling until your head fell back. He set a merciless rhythm, stroking that sensitive spot inside until you moaned his name, nails clawing into his jacket. His eyes burned brighter—hellish crimson—and for an instant, you thought you saw the faint silhouette of wings cast against the wall.
He didn’t let you catch breath before he replaced his hand with the hard length of him, driving in with one brutal thrust that forced a cry from your throat. The desk groaned under the force, papers scattering to the floor. He filled you completely, hips snapping forward in a punishing pace.
He rasped, fangs bared, aura heavy and suffocating. His hand gripped your throat, not enough to choke but to hold you still, to feel your pulse thrumming wildly. His other hand clutched your hip hard enough to bruise, claws piercing faint crescents into your skin.
The collision of bodies, the wet sound of him plunging into you again and again, the scent of sweat and heat and something darker—all of it blurred into a haze. You tightened around him, pleasure spiraling higher, and his composure faltered. His growls deepened, primal, every thrust harder, faster, like he needed to stake a claim inside you.
When you shattered around him, crying out his name, his head dropped to your shoulder. With a snarl, he drove himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you, shuddering, the sound torn from him almost feral.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. His chest heaved against yours, claws still biting into your skin as though he couldn’t bear to release you. His forehead rested on your shoulder, breaths ragged, aura curling possessively around you.
And then—just as quickly as it had came undone—his composure returned.
He drew back, eyes still glowing faintly, expression unreadable. His thumb brushed your cheek almost tenderly, a strange contrast to the violence he’d just wrought. He studied you as though you were something alien—something he couldn’t quite categorize.
“Now, Miss [L/N]…” His voice had cooled, smoothed, but the hunger remained. “Tell me what you know of Derrick Arden. And the others who’ve gone missing.”
Your stomach dropped, still trembling from his touch. “What…?”
“Do not feign ignorance,” he said, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “You spoke with him before he disappeared. Tell me what you know.”
His hand tightened on your hip, reminding you of just how easily he’d held you down moments before. His crimson gaze pinned you, sharp, merciless—and yet beneath it, something flickered. Something not hunger. Something not possession. Something he didn’t even recognize in himself.
For the first time in centuries, Sebastian Michaelis realized he could care.
And that truth unsettled him more than any information you could give.
Your chambers were too quiet. The lamp guttered low, the scent of sweat and sex still hanging in the air. You sat perched on the edge of your desk, blouse half-buttoned, your thighs trembling from what he had done to you.
And yet Sebastian stood immaculate. Not a single dark hair was out of place, not a wrinkle in his uniform. Only the faint crimson glow lingering in his eyes betrayed the inhuman heat still coursing through him.
“Derrick Arden,” he repeated, the syllables precise, edged. “Tell me what you know of him.”
You shook your head, still breathless. “I don’t… I don’t know anything. He came to me about an assignment, that’s all. He was distracted, but I assumed it was nothing more than the usual pressures. The next morning, he was gone.”
Sebastian tilted his head, regarding you like a hawk circling prey. His hand reached out, gloved fingers lifting your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Distracted,” he murmured. “How so?”
“He seemed tired. Nervous, maybe. But students often are.” You swallowed hard, unnerved by the crimson depth of his stare. “He never hinted at anything. I swear it.”
The words rang true. He could feel it. He could taste the truth in your voice, in the frantic drum of your pulse. Humans were open books to him—pages he could tear apart with ease. And yet…he lingered, eyes searching yours for something more, something that had nothing to do with Derrick Arden.
His thumb brushed over your lower lip where he’d cut you earlier with his fang. A drop of dried blood still marked the corner. His own breath hitched faintly—an imperceptible slip.
“You truly know nothing,” he said at last, though his voice was softer now, less demand and more contemplation.
“I told you.” You pushed his hand away, but the gesture lacked strength. He’d stolen that from you with his body.
Instead of leaving, he leaned closer, his mouth ghosting over your ear. “You’re fortunate I believe you. I am not often so…merciful.”
A shiver raced through you. His presence was suffocating, but it wasn’t fear that knotted in your stomach. It was something far more dangerous.
He should have ended it there—taken your answer, turned, and walked away. But Sebastian didn’t move. His hand traced down your arm, gloved fingertips grazing the back of your hand. Gentle. Curious. Almost…hesitant.
He’d had countless humans beneath him. Countless souls begging, screaming, pleading. But you were different. He didn’t crave the marrow of your essence, didn’t salivate at the thought of tearing you open and feasting. Instead, he craved the sound of your voice, the way your body yielded under his, the fire in your gaze when you tried to resist him.
It unsettled him. It infuriated him.
Because Sebastian Michaelis was a demon. And demons did not care.
“Mr. Michaelis…” you said softly, your voice unsteady. “Why are you really here?”
His smile returned—polished, sharp, practiced. “Simply doing my duty as a fellow teacher, ensuring the safety of my students.”
But the words tasted like ash in his mouth.
His eyes swept over you one last time, memorizing the disheveled lines of your blouse, the bruises blooming beneath his gloves, the defiance in your gaze despite it all. Something dark and possessive tightened in his chest.
He turned toward the door, every line of his body screaming elegance, composure. But his hand hesitated on the knob. For the first time in centuries, he almost didn’t trust himself to look back.
“Miss [L/N]…” His crimson eyes softened for only a fraction of a second. “Lock your door. Weston can be…unpredictable at night.”
And you were left alone, your heart hammering, unaware that you had just unsettled the most unshakable demon to ever walk the earth.
The night outside Weston was thick and silent, but inside Sebastian’s mind, there was no peace.
He should have dismissed you. He should have taken your truth for what it was, cataloged it, and turned his attention back to the task his young master demanded of him. And yet—he found his steps leading him back to you. Again and again, like a moth lured to flame.
Demons didn’t feel. They devoured. But tonight, his body betrayed him.
Your chamber door was locked, just as he had instructed. Still, he slipped the latch with a flick of his hand and let himself in. The soft glow of lamplight still lingered, though you’d clearly tried to sleep. You stirred when you sensed him, sitting up in your bed, covers pooling at your waist.
“Mr. Michaelis?” your voice was husky, wary, but not unwelcoming.
“Forgive me,” he said smoothly, though his tone was lower than usual. “I find myself…restless.”
He didn’t wait for permission this time. In three strides he was at your bedside, tugging you into his arms and pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss was fierce, hungry—but not the same hunger as before. It wasn’t about dominance or information. It was something darker, softer, infinitely more dangerous.
You gasped against him as he pushed you back into the pillows, his weight settling over you. His gloves fell to the floor, discarded, and when his bare hands touched your skin, his claws scratched lightly—danger nipping at tenderness. He dragged your nightdress up, lips roaming down your throat, fangs grazing without breaking skin.
He growled against your collarbone, the sound rougher than he meant it to be. His hips rolled against yours, hard and needy, betraying his carefully cultivated composure.
You whispered his name like a prayer, and that was all it took. He freed himself, guiding your legs around his waist, and sank into you in one deep thrust. The air left your lungs, replaced with a broken moan.
This time, he didn’t pound into you with punishing force. His rhythm was steady, deep, dragging out every sensation as though memorizing the shape of you around him. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes burning red but softer now, almost…vulnerable.
You clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he obeyed without thought, burying himself deeper. Every sound you made unraveled him further, shredding the fragile line between demon and something far more human.
When you came around him, tight and trembling, he let go as well, spilling inside you with a low, guttural groan, his claws carving into the sheets on either side of your head to stop himself from breaking you apart.
Silence followed, broken only by your unsteady breaths.
And then—something unthinkable happened.
You shifted closer, tucking yourself against his chest as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Within minutes, your breathing evened out, soft and steady, your head resting on him.
He should have risen. He should have left before dawn, as he always did, before humans woke and remembered. But instead…his arms moved of their own accord, curling around you, holding you there. His clawed fingers traced absent circles along your back, gentle.
He stared into the darkness of your room, the weight of you warm against him. Something inside him twisted, alien and unwelcome—and yet, he didn’t reject it.
For the first time in centuries, Sebastian Michaelis understood.
He didn’t want your soul. He wanted you.
And as you slept peacefully in his arms, he allowed himself the smallest, quietest smile.
A demon had no right to such a thing.
But perhaps, just this once, he would keep it anyway.
