A Demon's Help (Sebastian x Reader)

Prologue

I sigh deeply as I walk the dark night London streets, my (e/c) boots softly making a 'clicking' noise on the cobblestone. Annoyed, I push my (e/l) (e/c) wind-whipped locks from my face, making my already awful mood worse.

"What a bloody joke my life is." I shake my head and say to no one in particular, thinking of the days' horrible events.

My boss, well, former boss, Lord Earl Alois Trancy, fired me today. And for what? I have no clue. He just lashed out and sent me on my way packing.

I didn't like working for the little brat anyway, he was always such a pain. Plus he has his super perfect butler to provide him hand and foot, who, if needed to be found, was found always beside Lord Alois.

I grit my teeth at the thought of Alois's butler, Claude Faustus. There is just something about him that pisses me off. Not to mention the fact that he's a total creep. A cute creep, but still creepy nonetheless. And the way he does things is just too...perfect. Inhuman almost.

I shake my head as I turn a corner, trying to push thoughts of Claude and Alois out of my head and try to focus on finding a place to stay for the night. Somewhere where I can sort my life out. 

"Hey look over there; it's a pretty little Mot* starting her shift." 

I turn my head in the direction of the voices and see a group of young men, most of them looking to be in their early 20's, chuckling and pointing at me, whispering between one another. They see me notice them looking at me, and one of them, presumably the head of the group, steps forward.

His short choppy hazelnut hair flows gently in the breeze, the moonlight illuminating his young, long wrinkleless dirty olive face, stout nose, his thin tan lips, and lust filled wide green eyes. His hands tremble from alcohol abuse as he continues to come towards me, his boys following him.

"Isn't that dress a little too long for someone in a profession such as yours?" He taunts, earning chuckles from the dirty men behind him.

"If you mean to say I'm overdressed, I'm not." I state back, holding my ground.

The man comes close to me and pushes me, my body falling back against the cold stone surface of the building behind me digging painfully into my back. He comes closer still, running a hand down the side of my body, sending me shuddering from disgust.

"What lovely curves you have." He breathes into my ear, his breath heavy with wine, as his hands continue to linger over my body.

I don't respond, but realize his men have circled me, trapping me up against this wall, with this man up against me.

"Oh, not going to say anything, toots? Just going to give me the silent treatment while I treat myself to the delicious taste of you?" He huskily asks, bringing his lips to my neck, sucking gently on my (e/c) (e/t) skin, clearly turned on.

I close my (e/c) eyes, trying to figure out what to do, fear overpowering my angry senses. I need to get this man off of me, and get away from him and his goons.

His voice brings me back to reality. ''Tell me...what is your name? I like to know the names of my victims." He looks into my (e/c) eyes as his hands reach for something in his coat pocket.

"(F/N) (L/N)." I say, my voice quivering a bit when the man raises his hand, revealing a knife clutched tightly in his dirty fingers.

"What a pretty name...and a body. I might just have to keep your corpse when I'm done. My men and I will enjoy you." He brings the knife up against my neck, letting a small amount of blood escape the scratch, his men swaying restlessly behind him.

I let out a whimper of pain, knowing this is it: This is the end for me. 

"Well we can't have you whimpering like that, someone might hear and come to offer help. That is no good." The man shakes his head as he grabs a fistful of my (e/l) (e/c) hair, yanking it, making sure he has control of me. 

I look up, silently praying to God to have mercy on my soul, when I see something, no someone, standing on a rooftop a few buildings in front of me. This person, I quickly realize, has long red hair and a matching coat, and a sharp toothy grin as he leans, his body in an amused position, on a chainsaw.

I feel my eyes widen at the sight, and then my world goes black.

(* Mot: Meaning or referring to in Victorian times as a prostitute.)