never-mind-09

[never-mind-09]

Reader has period cramps. Sebastian being the most attentive man alive. Established relationship. Probably ooc but idc, needed fluff and comfort.

The cramps had been relentless all day.

A dull, persistent ache had taken up residence in your lower abdomen, tightening in waves, sometimes sharp enough to draw breath through your teeth. Nothing helped. Not the warm blanket you were buried under, not the heat pack pressed to your stomach, not even the stillness of the dim, candlelit room. You had managed to retreat into bed early, hoping that your bed and silence would numb the discomfort, but it only gave your mind more space to feel every pulse of pain.

So you lay there in quiet misery, head resting on the pillow, trying not to let the frustration get the better of you.

You hadn’t expected anyone to check on you. Sebastian had been busy all afternoon. You had seen him hurrying around the estate, carrying out Ciels orders without pause. You thought perhaps he would glance your way, maybe offer a polite remark. You certainly didn’t think he would notice you had barely eaten. Or that you had spent most of the day avoiding eye contact, keeping your arms protectively folded around your middle.

So when the door eased open with the soft creak of oiled hinges, you assumed for a moment you were imagining things.

Sebastian stepped inside, his movements unhurried. In his hands was a tray, tea, a warm towel carefully folded, a small plate of sweets, and something else you could not quite make out through the low light. His face, as always, was unreadable. But there was a subtle softness in the way he approached. Not quite concern. Something quieter than that.

"I took the liberty," he said, setting the tray on your nightstand, "of preparing a few things that might help."

You blinked up at him, momentarily unsure how to respond.

"I am fine," you said, out of reflex more than truth.

He raised a brow, gaze calm, unimpressed. "You are lying rather poorly tonight."

You frowned, but before you could argue, he knelt by the bed and gently lifted the old heat pack from your stomach. Without needing to ask, he replaced it with the warm towel, perfectly heated and folded to the right size. His fingers brushed your side, gloved and steady, and the immediate heat drew a small sigh from your lips.

"You didn’t have to do all this," you murmured.

His eyes met yours again, this time with a trace of something firmer. "I am not in the habit of ignoring you."

The blanket was adjusted with care, tucked around your waist. Then he moved to pour you a cup of tea, the steam curling in delicate trails above the rim. You watched him in silence.

He handed you the cup, and instead of sitting beside you, he climbed onto the bed and shifted behind you. His arms slid carefully around your waist, hugging you from behind. You leaned into him instinctively, your spine easing against the firm, warm presence of his chest.

"You should not try to endure this alone," he said quietly. "Pain has a way of making even the strongest foolishly stubborn."

You took a sip. The tea was just the right temperature, the faintest hint of mint beneath something floral and soft. It helped. A little.

"Thank you," you said.

"You are most welcome," he replied. "Although, I should mention, you have gone rather pale. Paler than usual, which is saying something."

You rolled your eyes. "Charming."

He gave a small smile. "I aim to please."

Then he tilted his head slightly, considering you.

"You have not eaten properly today," he said. It was not a question.

"No appetite," you admitted. "Feels like my stomach is turning itself inside out."

He made a thoughtful sound and reached for the small plate he had brought. There were bite-sized pieces of soft bread, lightly buttered, and a few simple sweets, nothing too rich. He offered you one, not forcing, just holding it patiently in reach.

You hesitated, then took it, nibbling slowly.

Sebastian stayed close, his arm still wrapped gently around you. His fingers moved slowly over your arm, steady and rhythmic, like he was coaxing tension out of you without a word.

"You do not need to speak," he said softly. "I will stay until you sleep. Or until you send me away, whichever you prefer."

You gave a tired smile. "You’re not going to be needed elsewhere?"

He leaned in closer, enough that his voice dropped just for you. "Nothing else in this manor takes priority over your comfort."

Your cheeks flushed at the sincerity in his tone.

"Embarrassed?" he asked, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. "I would think you would be used to my attention by now."

"I’m used to the attention," you muttered. "Not the gentleness."

His fingers slowed their motion. His gaze searched yours for a long, quiet moment.

"Then I will make it familiar," he said. "Until it feels like second nature."

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Soft. Steady. Then one more, just above your brow.

And with his arms around you, the tea warm in your hands, and the towel easing the worst of the ache, you allowed yourself to relax for the first time that day.

The room had settled into a kind of hush, the kind that only comes in the moments between wakefulness and dreams. The candlelight had burned lower, flickering quietly on the nightstand, casting long shadows against the wall.

You’d stopped sipping your tea a while ago, your hands now resting loosely over the cup as it cooled. Sebastian gently took it from your grasp without a word, setting it aside, then pulled the blanket a little higher around you.

His embrace remained constant, warm and steady against your back, fingers lightly stroking your arm in slow, looping patterns. Your body had softened into him completely, and your eyes were fluttering with the weight of oncoming sleep.

But you didn’t want to sleep. Not quite yet.

“You always know what I need,” you murmured, barely above a breath. "Thank you.".

Sebastian’s voice was low, right by your ear. “It’s my duty.”

You shifted a little, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “No, it’s more than that. You could’ve just brought tea and left. But you stayed.”

“I did,” he said, as if there had never been a question. “You didn’t truly believe I would let you suffer alone in silence, did you?”

You hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “Sometimes it feels easier not to bother anyone.”

“Then allow me to be the exception,” he whispered. “You are never a bother. Not to me.”

The words sank into you, soothing something deeper than the ache in your stomach. You closed your eyes, letting them stay shut this time.

“…Do you ever get tired?” you asked softly, half-drifting now.

“Tired?”

“Of taking care of everything. Of me, the other servants..".

There was a pause. Not long enough to feel like hesitation, but enough to mean something.

“Not when it’s you,” he said, voice almost a murmur. “In truth, I find it… grounding.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “That sounds backwards.”

“Perhaps. But it is true. You bring balance to things that would otherwise feel empty.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet honesty in his tone. “You always sound so composed. So perfect.”

“And yet, I find myself watching over you far more than I should,” he said, brushing his nose lightly against your hair. “Does that sound perfect to you?”

A smile crept across your lips, even as your breathing slowed. “Sounds like someone’s a little obsessed.”

“Only a little?” he whispered, the corners of his mouth curving against your skin.

“Mm… Maybe more.”

You felt him press one last kiss into your hair, slow and tender.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

You didn’t even realize how tired you really were. One moment you were just enjoying to be held and the next, you had fallen asleep without meaning to.

The first thing you noticed was that the pain had not fully left. The dull ache still lingered low in your abdomen like a quiet, unwelcome guest. But it was softer now. Manageable. The second thing you noticed was warmth, not just from the blanket but from the steady presence of Sebastian's arm draped over your waist.

He had not left.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, greeted by the pale morning light slipping through the curtains. When you shifted slightly, you felt it. His hand resting against your stomach tightened just a little.

"You are awake," he said from behind you. His voice was smooth and calm.

You nodded, voice thick. "How long have you been lying there?"

"For a while," he said without hesitation. "I made sure your breathing was even. That you were warm. That your color had returned."

You turned your head just a little. "So you were watching me sleep?"

"I prefer the term supervising your recovery," he replied with a hint of amusement.

You let out a quiet groan. "That might be worse."

Sebastian shifted then. He slowly sat up, brushing your hair gently away from your face. He readjusted the blanket with practiced care, like even the smallest wrinkle deserved his attention.

"You have not eaten properly since last night," he said, rising to his feet. "Your energy will drop quickly if you do not replenish your blood sugar. You also need something gentle to ease the cramping."

You squinted at him through the morning light. "Sebastian, you sound like a doctor.'

"I would hope I am far better than most doctors," he said, already walking toward the door. "Give me ten minutes. Do not get up. That is not a suggestion."

He vanished down the hall, his footsteps light and deliberate. And true to his word, ten minutes later the door opened again. He backed into the room, a silver tray balanced expertly in one hand.

The tray held a fresh pot of tea, toast drizzled with honey, a warm bowl of porridge with a sprinkle of cinnamon, and a few thin slices of pear arranged in a small dish. It was all perfectly laid out, as if served in a royal suite.

Sebastian set it down beside you, then propped a pillow behind your back to help you sit up.

"This feels like being babied," you mumbled as you reached for the tea.

Sebastian tilted his head. "If your idea of being babied includes anti-inflammatory foods, hydration monitoring, and properly arranged pillows, then yes. I am absolutely guilty."

You laughed under your breath. "You are enjoying this."

"I enjoy watching you follow instructions without resistance. That is a rare delight."

"You are not subtle, you know."

"I am not trying to be," he said as he gently placed another blanket over your lap. "Now eat. When you are finished, I will prepare a bath."

"A bath?"

"There is a blend of salts and herbs that may help with the muscle tension. It will also spare me the displeasure of watching you wince every time you move."

You looked up at him, surprised by the softness buried beneath his words.

"You are being really sweet."

"No. I am being efficient."

You gave him a small smirk. "Liar."

He paused, then leaned down. His lips brushed the side of your head, his voice low and entirely sincere.

"Only for you."

me: groaning dramatically on the couch, buried in a blanket

sebastian: places a warm teacup in my hands without a word

me: sniffles i think this is how i die

sebastian: sits behind me, starts massaging my lower back

sebastian: "Highly unlikely. Though your flair for tragedy is, as always, impressive."

me: melts

sebastian: "Drink your tea. Then I’ll run the bath. We are not negotiating."

why is this man so annoyingly perfect when i feel like a crumpled sock

[never-mind-09]

If Sebastian is going to keep interrupting my reading like that just to get my attention, then by all means, I will become the most voracious reader this mansion has ever seen. Book? I love them. Literature? My passion. Distractions? Preferably tall, dark, and handsome.

Apologies in advance, work keeps me busy so I have no time to reread things

The quiet of the study wrapped around you like a familiar cloak. Only the soft shuffle of pages broke the silence as your eyes moved steadily over the text, fully immersed, your body relaxed in the warmth of the armchair.

So immersed, in fact, that you didn't hear him enter.

“I brought you tea,” came Sebastian’s voice, smooth and unhurried, low enough to ripple through the still air like the first drop of rain.

Your hand extended automatically, fingers brushing the cup he offered, but your gaze remained fixed on the book.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reflexive.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, a silence stretched, comfortably at first, until it thickened.

“I thought you might enjoy a change of pace,” he said lightly, yet there was a weighted suggestion behind the words.

Still, your eyes followed the sentence in front of you, lips parting slightly as you mouthed along without realizing it.

You didn’t notice him take a step closer.

Didn’t register the way his eyes flicked toward your expression, soft, distant, completely lost in the book.

He didn’t like that.

A gloved hand came into your field of vision, pressing gently down on the edge of the book. Not hard, just enough to stop you from turning the page.

You blinked.

And finally looked up.

Sebastian’s face was calm, but there was a subtle pull at the corner of his lips, a smirk that knew far more than he’d say aloud.

He was standing far too close.

“Tell me,” he said, eyes flicking between yours, “do you truly intend to ignore me all evening for a printed romance?”

You opened your mouth, flustered, but no words came. That knowing smirk deepened.

Without another word, he took the book from your lap and set it aside. Not forcefully, but definitively.

Then he knelt in front of you with deliberate grace, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed both gloved hands gently on your thighs.

The warmth of them, even through the fabric, made your breath hitch.

“Now,” he said, his voice quiet and edged with something unmistakably intimate, “let’s see if I can offer something more... compelling.”

You felt the air shift as one of his hands moved slowly, slipping just above your knee, thumb tracing the hem where the fabric met your skin.

“I think you’ve forgotten,” he murmured, leaning in so that his lips nearly grazed your jaw, “what it feels like to be the center of someone’s undivided attention.”

You swallowed, pulse quickening. Heat curled low in your stomach.

His eyes flicked to your parted lips.

“Tell me, love,” he whispered, “does your heroine ever feel this tempted?”

You exhaled slowly, lips brushing his as you whispered, “She wishes.”

His chuckle was deep and rich, dark lashes lowering just before he tilted his head toward yours.

“Then allow me to show you what she’s missing.”

And just before his lips met yours, everything else slipped your mind. The moment your lips met his, the world contracted.

It was a brief kiss, frustratingly brief.

Just enough to make your breath catch, just enough for your heart to stutter, and far too short to satisfy the sudden craving it ignited.

He pulled back with deliberate slowness, not more than an inch, his breath still mingling with yours.

Those crimson eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

A smirk ghosted across his mouth.

“Hmm,” Sebastian mused, his voice low and laced with amusement, “and here I thought you were the loyal type.”

You blinked, dazed. “I am.”

“Yet it took nothing more than a kiss to make you forget an entire novel.” He leaned in again, brushing his lips against your cheek, warm, teasing. “Not very faithful to your fiction, are you?”

You felt the heat rise in your face, but before you could respond, he continued:

“You spend hours indulging in paper-bound romances…” His fingers traced along your side, featherlight, “...imagining tension that builds for chapters... longing glances that lead nowhere... touches that are always interrupted.”

He chuckled softly against your skin. “How dreadfully unsatisfying.”

You shivered but not from cold.

His gloved hand slid up your spine in a slow, coaxing motion, drawing a breath from you that you didn’t mean to let slip.

“I assure you,” he whispered, lips at your ear, “what I offer requires no metaphor. No patience.”

He tilted your chin with effortless grace, bringing your eyes back to his.

“No cliffhangers.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow, measured.

“No censorship.”

Your pulse fluttered at his words, at the promise, soft - spoken but heavy with meaning.

Then, just when you leaned forward, thinking he’d kiss you again, he pulled away.

Smirking.

“Unless,” he said, cool and elegant as ever, “you’d prefer I let you get back to your book.”

[never-mind-09]

Where is my Sebastian? I’m just over here, simping for a fictional demon butler like it’s a full-time job, still waiting for love letters that apparently got lost in the infernal post

[never-mind-09]

You heard your name fall from his lips—low, rich, and deliberate. It caught you off guard, made your breath falter before you even turned to look at him.

The room was cloaked in candlelight, shadows dancing along the walls like they knew something you didn’t. He stood there, calm and composed, watching you with that unreadable glint in his eyes.

He had been waiting for this quietly and patiently. The day had dragged on with obligations and orders, but beneath it all, he’d been thinking of this exact moment. Of you. Of the way you'd look when you realized you were alone with him, finally.

You didn’t move.

He didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But his smile curled slowly at the corners—dangerous, knowing.

“Obedience looks good on you,” he murmured, as he passed behind you, his voice brushing your ear like silk, close enough to feel but not quite touching.

You shivered.

And he hadn’t even started.

[never-mind-09]

The silence in the manor had grown heavy.

Too heavy.

Three days. No sign of him. No word.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t your place to ask.

You weren’t his master. You weren’t even anything clearly defined.

But you were something.

At least… you thought so.

And now, just like that, he’s back.

Standing in the hall outside your room. Dusting off a glove like he never left.

Not a hair out of place. Not even a wrinkle in his coat.

Your heart stutters but you force your face to stay neutral.

"You're back," you say, not quite a question.

He bows his head slightly. "Indeed."

A beat.

You wait for more. An explanation. A reason. Anything.

It doesn't come.

He just stands there. Calm. Watching. As if he hadn’t vanished like a ghost.

You swallow. “No note?”

“I assumed it unnecessary. You know I always return.”

You almost laugh. But it’s hollow. “Right. Silly me.”

Your footsteps echo as you cross the room. You set down the book you hadn’t really been reading and lean back on the edge of the table, arms folded.

So,” you say finally, quietly, “what are we?”

He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t.

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “Your little toy for the five spare minutes you happen to have between duties?”

That lands. Not because he reacts—but because he doesn’t. Not even a flicker.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You shake your head, more to yourself than to him. “Forget it.”

You look away. Your shoulders sag, just slightly.

You tell yourself not to care. Not to feel this stupid tug in your chest. Not to wonder if he sees you as anything more than a distraction.

But you do care. And you do wonder.

Still…

What right did you even have to ask?

You draw in a breath, trying to make your voice sound neutral again. “I still have things to do."

You don’t meet his eyes. “Please go.”

No resistance. No argument.

Sebastian only bows his head slightly, that unreadable smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“As you wish.”

The day drags on slowly, the same routine of dusting, sorting, and filing. But it feels different today. There's an edge to everything. The silence of the manor is only broken by the sound of your movements, the quiet shuffle of your shoes across the floor.

You're in the library now, organizing the shelves. You can feel it before he speaks. The weight of his presence, the familiar shift in the air.

"You’re doing it all wrong, you know."

You freeze for a moment, but don't turn around. You can’t be bothered to look at him just yet.

“I don’t need your help, Sebastian,” you say, the sharpness in your voice betraying how much his presence has started to get under your skin. "I have it covered."

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can almost hear the faintest amusement in his silence. And then, ever the patient one, he moves closer, rearranging the books with a precision only he could manage.

You clench your jaw, irritation building.

“What do you want, Sebastian?” you ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “You’re always around when I’m just trying to get some damn peace.”

This time, he pauses completely, turning to face you. His eyes are cool, assessing you in a way that only he can do.

“You’re assuming you're just a plaything for my convenience,” he says, his voice calm, but there’s an edge to it that makes your heart skip a beat. “Bold of you, don’t you think?”

For a moment, your breath hitches. The words stung, but there’s truth in them, too. The kind of truth you hadn’t really wanted to face. But before you can respond, the frustration bursts forth.

“No,” you snap, turning toward him fully now, anger flaring. “I’m the one who’s bold? You’re the one who makes me feel like that—like I’m nothing more than an afterthought. Just here when it’s convenient for you, and gone when you decide you don’t need me. How else am I supposed to feel?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t get defensive, doesn’t try to deflect.

“Fair enough,” he says softly, taking a small step closer. His voice is low, almost too calm for what’s just transpired. “But I never said you were nothing. Perhaps you simply assumed that’s all I saw you as. That’s on you, not me.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come. Instead, you feel a sharp tug in your chest. You hate how much he’s getting under your skin. How much you feel like you need to explain yourself.

And then, almost as if he’s read your thoughts, he steps forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His touch is cool, but there’s something soft in the way he holds you, deliberate, but not forceful.

He leans in and his kiss is slow, tender. It pulls at you in a way you didn’t expect, all soft pressure and a quiet heat. His thumbs brush lightly over your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, and for a moment, everything else fades. There’s nothing but the feeling of his hands on your face, the warmth of his lips, and the quiet ache of something unsaid.

When he pulls away, his fingers linger at your jaw.

“You need to stop assuming so much,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur, the calm after the storm. “Not everything is what you think it is. And not everything is as complicated as you make it.”

You swallow, still processing the rush of emotions.

His gaze is steady, and even though his words are quiet, there’s an undeniable weight to them.

Finally, you settle for a simple, soft nod, even if you’re still caught in the confusion of it all.

[never-mind-09]

It was just a cut.

Small. Barely more than a line across your fingertip. You hadn’t even noticed it until the knife was back on the board and the first drop of blood slid downward.

The kitchen was warm with the scent of fresh bread and lemon peel. Rain tapped gently at the tall manor windows.

You stood still, staring at the bead of red as it curved along your skin.

You hadn’t slept well. Or eaten much. Or spoken, really. Not today. You’d moved like fog through the halls, through chores, through conversations you didn’t quite register.

One of those days.

You weren’t upset. Not exactly. Just... somewhere else.

Like your thoughts were a step ahead of you, always around the next corner.

And then:

He was behind you.

You hadn’t heard him. Of course you hadn’t.

Sebastian didn’t speak. He took your wrist in his gloved hand, slow and sure.

You didn’t resist. Just watched, detached, as he turned your hand in his.

“That was careless,” he murmured. Not cold. Not scolding. Just a fact.

“I didn’t notice,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

He removed the glove with a precise motion and set it aside. Then, without looking up, he raised your hand to his lips.

Not to clean it. Not to tend to it.

But to kiss it.

Right there, where the blood welled.

His lips were cool and soft

The kiss was light. Deliberate.

You blinked, the haze in your head cracking, just a little. “Sebastian…?”

He finally looked up at you.

His eyes weren’t teasing. Not fully. But there was something in them. Something captivating.

“Careful,” he said smoothly. “I might take more than just a taste.”

You stared at him, eyes wide.

He smiled just a little. Barely more than a shift in shadow.

“And we wouldn’t want that… now, would we?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Not with the way your heartbeat had just shifted.

Not with how he was still holding your hand.

Not with the part of you that suddenly, strangely, wasn’t quite so absent anymore.

[never-mind-09]

You wake up.

The first thing that unsettles you is the light.

It pours through gauzy curtains in golden streaks, thick and warm, like honey in late summer. The scent of jasmine clings to the air, soft and nostalgic, though you can’t remember why.

This room isn’t yours.

The sheets are too smooth—silk, maybe. The ticking of the antique clock on the far wall is too even. The walls are pale and sunlit, not the cold stone and shadow you're used to.

Your body is slow to move, like waking from underwater. You sit up, letting the blanket fall away, and find you’re dressed in something delicate—soft cotton, laced at the collar. Not yours. Not what you fell asleep in.

The door opens.

He enters.

Sebastian.

But not in his tailcoat. Not with his gloves, nor that ever-poised demeanor of a devil in disguise. He wears a black shirt—open at the throat, untucked at the sleeves. Relaxed. Human, almost.

In his hands: a tray. Porcelain teacup, fresh strawberries, a croissant, a sprig of mint.

He smiles.

And something inside you stirs—not fear, but something like a question you’re afraid to ask.

“I hoped you’d sleep a little longer,” he says, setting the tray down on the side table. “You looked so peaceful.”

You say nothing. The words cling to the inside of your throat.

His gaze lingers on you, not as a servant awaiting orders, but as something warmer. Closer.

“What is this?” you whisper.

He pours the tea—chamomile, from the scent—and offers it to you gently. “Breakfast.”

“That’s not what I meant."

You blink. “Sebastian.”

“Yes?”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s doing that thing again—dodging without lying. Letting you ask the wrong question on purpose.

“This place. This bed. These clothes.” You gesture vaguely to the entire room. “This isn’t the manor.”

“No,” he agrees. Calm.

Your voice softens, though the weight behind it doesn’t. “Then… why?”

Sebastian glances toward the tray. He doesn’t move to answer immediately, as if weighing whether it’s even worth saying aloud.

“You never complain,” he says at last. “Not once. But I’ve seen the look on your face when I leave. When duty calls.”

You look down.

“I’ve seen how your shoulders drop when the doors close behind me. How your voice quiets for the rest of the day.”

He pauses.

“You don't need to speak for me to hear you.”

The silence that follows is different now. Heavier.

You shift, restless. Then stand, padding across the soft carpet to the door. You open it.

What greets you isn’t the corridor. Not even a dreamlike imitation of it.

Just light. Pale and endless. A white corridor stretching on, smooth and silent. Without walls. Without end.

Your hand rests against the frame, but the threshold itself feels wrong—like stepping beyond would mean losing something.

You step back. Return to the bed. Sebastian hasn’t moved.

You sit beside him.

“I never asked you for time like this,” you murmur.

“You didn’t have to.”

Your fingers curl around the edge of the sheet. “It’s tempting.”

“Good.”

A long moment passes. You glance over at him.

Then: “But I want to go back.”

He finally turns his head fully to look at you. His gaze is steady. Unblinking. Crimson.

“Are you certain?” he asks quietly. “This could be real. If you allowed it to be.”

You shake your head. “It’s not. You’re not.”

That earns a small flicker in his expression—something unreadable.

You continue, voice barely above a whisper. “If I have to lose you again in the morning, I’d rather it be the real you than some perfect version that was never mine to begin with.”

Another pause. Then he stands, smooth and soundless, and faces you.

That familiar gloved hand—though you don’t remember when the gloves returned—lifts to your temple.

But before the touch lands, he speaks, just barely above the hush:

“How very curious,” he says, with that elegant hint of amusement. “To refuse even paradise for the sake of truth.”

He leans in slightly—only just.

“It is no wonder, then, that you continue to captivate me.”

His fingers brush your skin.

And everything fades.

[never-mind-09]

Who wouldn't want to win a meet & greet with actor Sebastian? Next time we’re relocating straight to a hotel bed—just kidding. (Or am I?)

You had never won anything.

Not raffles, not contests, not even the free coffee punch cards at your local café.

So when the email landed in your inbox—polite, official, and astonishing, you’d stared at it for a full minute, convinced it was spam.

Congratulations! You've won an exclusive Meet & Greet with Sebastian Michaelis himself!

You must have read it ten times. Even now, sitting nervously at a corner table of the quaint café they’d chosen for the meeting, you could hardly believe it.

The place was serene, rich wood tones, soft music, and the faint clatter of cups being polished behind the counter. It wasn’t a bustling event hall or a sterile studio. It felt... intimate. Secretive.

Your heart thrummed against your ribs as you checked the time again. Five minutes past the hour.

Maybe he’s not coming, you thought, twisting your hands together under the table.

But then the door chimed.

And there he was.

Tall, graceful, dressed impeccably in a sharp charcoal suit that somehow looked like it had been tailored just for him (it probably had). His dark hair was styled the way you always remembered it—neatly parted but slightly tousled, soft strands falling naturally to frame his sharp features.

If anything, he looked even better in person than on screen, like the world itself sharpened around him without ever quite catching up. His crimson eyes—contacts, you reminded yourself—caught the light in a way that made your breath hitch.

Sebastian Michaelis. In the flesh.

He found you instantly, like he’d known where you would be all along, and walked over with the kind of fluid ease that made the rest of the café blur and dim around him.

"You must be Y/N," he said, voice smooth as silk, the faintest smile curving his mouth.

You nodded, scrambling to your feet, nearly knocking your chair over in the process. "Y-Yeah! That's me."

He chuckled under his breath warm, amused, not unkind and extended a gloved hand.

You shook it, trying not to die on the spot.

His hand was warm, firm, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary before he released you.

"I trust you haven’t been waiting long?" he asked, sliding elegantly into the seat opposite yours.

"No, not at all!" you blurted. "I mean—it’s fine! I would’ve waited however long."

Smooth. So smooth.

That amused flicker returned to his eyes. "I'm honored by your patience."

The conversation that followed felt almost unreal. He asked you about yourself nothing invasive, just easy questions, his voice low and hypnotic. You talked about your favorite episodes, your two mischievous cats and he told a few behind-the-scenes stories, each laced with that dry, understated humor that left you smiling helplessly.

But there was something else, too. Something beneath the polished charm.

You caught it when he tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that seemed to go deeper than polite curiosity. You caught it in the way he moved so perfectly controlled, yet somehow... other.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you swore the air around him seemed heavier. Like the space he occupied bent slightly toward him.

You laughed it off. Just nerves. Overactive imagination.

Still, when your drink arrived and you reached for the sugar, you fumbled the packet sending it fluttering to the floor. You cursed softly under your breath.

Before you could move, Sebastian bent and retrieved it in one smooth, catlike motion, placing it back on the table with a tiny, almost imperceptible bow.

"No need to trouble yourself," he murmured.

You smiled shyly. "You're... really something else, you know that?"

For a heartbeat, he said nothing.

Then that smile, slow, knowing, curved his mouth.

"So I've been told."

There was a beat of comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle clink of dishes around you. You sipped your drink to hide your stupidly red face.

"I have to ask," you said, voice smaller than you'd intended, "how do you do it? Stay so perfectly in character all the time?"

Sebastian tilted his head, a glint of mischief sparking in his gaze.

"Who’s to say this is a character?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he joking?

He leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping into something velvety-soft.

"Perhaps... some things require no act at all."

You blinked at him, unsure whether you should laugh or shiver.

But before you could untangle your thoughts, he stood gracefully, offering his hand once more.

"Our time, regrettably, is limited," he said, and there was genuine regret in his voice. "May I escort you to the door?"

You nodded, your hand finding his again.

As he led you through the little café, you couldn’t help the feeling that, somehow, this meeting had been more than luck. That the red in his eyes wasn't just lenses.

Outside, the late afternoon sun warmed your skin as you reached the sidewalk together.

Sebastian slowed to a graceful stop, releasing your hand gently.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N," he said, inclining his head with a faint, courtly bow. "I trust the experience lived up to your expectations."

You laughed, breathless and a little dazed. "More than that."

His smile deepened subtle, almost private and for a second it felt like the world around you blurred into insignificance. Just you and him.

"If fate allows," he murmured, "perhaps we shall cross paths again."

With one last lingering glance, he turned and walked away, his figure sharp against the soft gold of the afternoon light. Not rushing. Simply going.

You stood there for a moment, heart still tripping over itself, watching until he disappeared around the next corner.

With a soft sigh, you finally looked down at your bag, adjusting it on your shoulder.

And froze.

There: tucked neatly just inside the top, almost as if it had always been there was a folded piece of heavy cream paper. Smooth. Impeccable.

Your fingers trembling slightly, you unfolded it.

In elegant, deliberate handwriting, you read:

> Meet me again?

Same time, next Sunday.

Café Lune.

No signature. None needed.

You pressed the note to your chest, heart hammering wildly.

Maybe it had been luck.

Maybe it had been fate.

Maybe... it had been something else entirely.

But one thing was certain:

This story was far from over.

[never-mind-09]

Part 2

Weeks Later…

He was still there.

What had begun as a temporary arrangement quietly stretched into weeks then longer. No one ever said it out loud, but the question of when he would leave gradually stopped being asked.

One morning, a letter arrived neatly sealed, with the mark of a local orphanage. Sebastian opened it with a gloved hand, read it in silence, then folded it shut again with the same unreadable calm.

“No space at present,” he informed the staff later. “It seems they’re at full capacity.”

The matter was left at that.

But when no one was watching—when the hallway was empty and the firelight flickered low. Sebastian lingered beside the tray of post just a moment longer. And in that stillness, the faintest curve of satisfaction touched the corner of his mouth.

It was gone in a blink.

The boy remained.

He kept to his duties without complaint. Polished, swept, carried, fetched always reliable, always quiet. But not as quiet as in the beginning.

Sometimes, in the quiet hour after dinner, he sat cross-legged on the floor of the servants’ wing, playing board games with Finny—games the gardener barely understood and often lost with a laugh. The boy never smiled much, but he no longer flinched when Finny cheered too loudly.

Once, Meyrin caught him humming softly while polishing the brass banisters. He stopped the moment he noticed, cheeks pink, but he didn’t snap or scowl. He just looked… embarrassed.

(now to present time, around the Emerald witch arc)

The forest loomed ahead, tangled and dark even under the cloudy daylight. Branches arched like crooked ribs over the narrow dirt path, and the fog that curled at the base of the trunks carried a strange scent—wet earth, old stone, and something almost metallic beneath.

Ciel rode ahead on horseback, expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Snake followed close behind, his serpents unusually quiet. The others moved in tight formation Baldroy muttering about visibility, Meyrin’s glasses fogging slightly, Finny glancing up at every creaking bough.

And among them, much smaller, walked the boy.

He was tucked between Meyrin and Finny, his travel cloak too big across the shoulders, his boots still muddy from the last village. But he kept pace, eyes darting around the forest, one hand occasionally brushing the pouch at his side that held a cloth-wrapped biscuit Sebastian had silently handed him that morning.

He hadn’t been meant to come, originally. Ciel had frowned at the suggestion.

“It’s an investigation, not a field trip.”

But Sebastian had countered. “A servant is a servant, young master. And he’s proven observant. If danger arises, he’ll stay out of the way.”

Ciel had relented with a sigh and a wave of the hand.

So here he was.

And though no one said it aloud, they all felt it—the pressure in the air, like walking into a place that didn’t want them.

The moment they stepped through the creaking gates, it was clear they weren’t welcome.

The village was quiet, no wind, no dogs, not even the sound of water. Just a low buzz of tension in the air, like the static before a storm. Then, without warning, doors creaked open in near-unison. Shapes emerged from the shadows women, all of them, armed with scythes, torches, and blades dulled by use but not age.

They moved in fast, surrounding the group in a practiced semicircle.

Ciel reined his horse to a halt, posture straightening. “Tch. I expected caution,” he muttered, “but not a welcoming committee.”

“Stand your ground,” Sebastian said smoothly, though his voice was lower now quieter. Watching closely.

The boy stood near Finny again, heart pounding, eyes darting.

And then before anyone could react an arm shot out of the crowd.

One of the women, fast as a striking snake, grabbed the boy by the collar and yanked him forward into the throng. A short blade appeared at his throat, the metal glinting dully in the torchlight.

The villagers didn’t speak. The message was clear.

One wrong move, and he’d pay the price.

Finny shouted his name lunging, fists half-raised but froze at Sebastian’s subtle motion: a single hand lifted, not now.

Sebastian’s eyes locked onto the woman holding the boy. No smile. No warmth.

Only a stillness far colder than steel.

The blade at the boy’s throat gleamed faintly, catching the torchlight like a whisper of blood yet to spill.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Sebastian stepped forward.

Not fast, not suddenly, just one smooth stride that shifted the entire air around him. His hands were still neatly folded behind his back, boots silent on the cobblestones. But the space seemed to contract with the motion, like the forest itself held its breath.

“Do reconsider,” he said calmly.

His voice was quiet, almost pilite like it might belong at a dinner party. But it rippled through the crowd with a weight that made even the firelight shudder.

The woman holding the boy narrowed her eyes. “Stay back.”

Her blade pressed just a fraction closer. The boy didn’t move barely breathed.

But Sebastian only tilted his head slightly, as if she’d just mispronounced a foreign word.

“I said,” she repeated, louder this time, “stay back!”

And then—

He was gone.

No one saw him move. One blink and he was still beside Ciel’s horse. The next, and he stood directly before the woman, one gloved hand wrapped around the blade.

Her eyes widened.

The dagger shattered in his grasp.

“Threatening a Phantomhive servant,” Sebastian murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth, “is a grave miscalculation.”

He leaned in just enough that only she could hear

“And laying a hand on what is mine…”

He smiled.

“…is something no one lives to repeat.”

By the time anyone realized what had happened, the woman had already stumbled back, disarmed and breathless, and Sebastian was standing between her and the boy with calm finality.

The villagers shifted uneasily, torches flickering as the moment passed but the boy hadn’t moved. He stood frozen, too stiff, too quiet, eyes fixed on the ground where the blade had landed.

Sebastian glanced down at him.

Not sharply. Not impatiently.

He stepped closer, resting a hand briefly between the boy’s shoulder blades not pushing, just steadying. “Are you hurt?”

The boy’s voice came out thin. “No. I… I’m okay.”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept over him quickly, assessing. No cuts, no bruises, just a smudge of dirt across his cheek and hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking.

Sebastian’s hand stayed where it was for a moment longer , warm, solid, grounding.

Then he withdrew it, and with practiced ease, pulled a clean handkerchief from his coat.

“Hold still.”

He didn’t wait for permission just leaned down slightly, wiped the dirt from the boy’s face with the kind of precision one might use polishing silver, and then handed the cloth over.

“You may keep it,” he said. “I suspect you’ll need it again.”

His tone was light.

And as they began walking again, he guided the boy forward with a hand at his back. Making sure the space between them and the villagers stayed just wide enough.

And when Sebastian said quietly, “Stay close,” you could hear it in his voice.

That things had long since changed.

Even if he’d never say it aloud.

[never-mind-09]

I don't know if you're accepting submissions, but I have an idea and I'd love it if you decide to write it. I was thinking of a child reader and Sebastian (not necessarily a very young child). The orphaned child (perhaps he was dropped off at the manor and was raised to become a servant, or he came to find work), has grown very fond of Sebastian and perhaps because of his childlike innocence could take a place in the demon's heart as well. How will the demon react to the child endangerment (perhaps tied to the events of the new season, or the events of the manga)? I think such a creature, having found an attachment in his eternal life, will not accept the possible loss 👀.

Dear anon,

I'd be happy to write something with Sebastian x child!reader for you! Since I’m not really fond of writing things like:

~ The atmosphere is tense at first, Sebastian doesn’t know what to make of this new addition,

I’m giving you a biiiig oneshot. Just to let you know, the kiddo will warm up a bit more, but I needed to add some backstory first. I hope that makes sense!

I hope you like it! This is part 1; some scenes may be a bit short. By this time tomorrow, I’ll post part 2.

Rain had been falling for hours over the English countryside. Not the furious kind that broke windows or tore branches from trees, but the cold, persistent drizzle that soaked into one’s bones and clung like a second skin. Before the grand iron gates of the Phantomhive estate stood a figure , small, soaked through, yet standing tall despite it all.

He carried nothing but a tattered satchel and a gaze far older than any eleven year old should wear.

Sebastian Michaelis, the estate's butler, stood not far beyond the gate. Dressed in black, immaculate despite the weather, he regarded the boy with a gaze as sharp and unreadable as ever.

“I’m looking for work,” the boy said at last. His voice was hoarse, but steady. No pleading, no desperation only quiet determination. “I can clean, sweep, carry things. I learn fast. I… I’m strong.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, broken only by the rain tapping against Sebastian’s umbrella.

Sebastian tilted his head, the faintest flicker of interest or perhaps amusement passing through his crimson eyes. “Strong, are you?” he echoed, voice smooth and laced with something unreadable. “You hardly look it.”

“I am,” the boy insisted, eyes locked on his.

I see,” Sebastian murmured, more to himself than to the boy.

With no further explanation, the butler turned on his heel. The gates creaked open, and the boy followed him in silence.

The manor loomed above him like something out of a storybook elegant and intimidating, beautiful in a way that was almost cruel. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the grand foyer as Sebastian led him inside. Warmth wrapped around him for the first time in days, but it did little to soften the sharp tension in his shoulders.

“Wait here,” Sebastian said without looking back. “Touch nothing.”

And then he was gone, gliding soundlessly up the staircase with the kind of grace no human should have.

Upstairs, in the study

The soft scratch of the pen against parchment was the only sound in the room as Sebastian stepped inside.

“My lord,” he said smoothly. “There’s a boy at the door. Eleven or so. Says he wants to work.”

Ciel didn’t look up. “Then why are you here?”

“He appears… persistent.”

Ciel exhaled slowly through his nose. His hand stilled above the paper. “You interrupted me for that?”

Sebastian smiled faintly. “You are, of course, the master of the house. I thought it prudent.”

“Tch.” Ciel finally set the pen down and leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers against his temple. “We’re not running a charity. But… if he’s able to lift a broom and doesn’t cause trouble, let him stay. Temporarily. Until we find a better use or place for him.”

“Very good, my lord,” Sebastian replied with a slight bow.

As he turned to leave, Ciel added without looking up, “And make sure he doesn’t get underfoot.”

The boy hadn’t moved from where Sebastian had left him, though he had turned to study the space around him. It was hard not to this place didn’t feel real. The carpets were too clean, the chandeliers too polished, and even the silence had a sort of… weight.

Sebastian returned with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve been granted temporary employment,” he said without ceremony. “Don’t give us a reason to regret it.”

The boy gave a small nod. His hands clenched at his sides, still damp from the rain.

“You’ll need to be cleaned before anything else,” Sebastian went on, glancing briefly over the boy’s state. “Finny.”

From somewhere down the hall came the eager sound of quick steps.

“Yes, Mr. Sebastian?” Finny skidded to a stop with his usual cheerful energy. When he saw the boy, his expression lit up even more. “Oh! A new face! Hello!”

The boy flinched at the suddenness but didn’t back away.

“This is your task,” Sebastian said. “Get him cleaned up. Use the staff bath. I’ll see to clothing.”

“Yes, sir!” Finny beamed. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is! Don’t worry, the water’s warm!”

The boy hesitated, glancing once more at Sebastian but then followed the gardener, his small frame disappearing down the corridor.

Sebastian watched them go for a moment, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

The bath was small, tucked away near the back of the servants’ wing, but warm and filled with steam when Finny turned on the taps.

“There you go!” Finny said, placing a towel and a bar of soap nearby. “I’ll wait outside, alright? Take your time. You’ll feel loads better after.”

The boy eyed the water warily at first, then stepped in. The heat stung against his skin, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that told him he was still alive.

He scrubbed quickly, efficiently. Dirt from the road stained the water in clouds, but when he stepped out, toweling off, his skin looked pale and thin, but clean.

Back in the Hallway:

Sebastian was already waiting with a simple set of servant clothes folded over his arm. Not new, but freshly pressed.

“Put these on,” he said. “You’ll be assisting Meyrin today.”

The boy changed quickly behind a curtain, and when he stepped out, he looked more like a proper servant, though the sleeves hung a little long.

Sebastian gave a slight nod. “Follow me.”

The grand hallway was already gleaming, and Meyrin was halfway through trying to polish the marble floors with a nervous energy that made her movements jerky.

“Here!” she said, shoving a bucket toward the boy. “We’ve got to finish the floor and the stairs before the young master comes down for tea!”

The boy looked at the second bucket beside her. Something about the smell hit him wrong. Not soap. Too sharp, too bitter.

He squinted at the label and blinked. “That’s… shoe polish.”

Meyrin froze. “Wh-what? No—oh my goodness!” She bent down, horrified, nearly dropping the rag in her hand. “I—I grabbed the wrong bucket—”

“You didn’t use it on the stairs yet, did you?” the boy asked.

She shook her head quickly. “Not yet, just started here thank heavens you noticed!”

The boy gave a small shrug. “My dad used to make me polish his boots. I know the smell.”

Meyrin let out a loud breath of relief. “You just saved me a lecture from Sebastian. Or worse. Thank you!”

He looked away, awkward. “Just don’t want anyone to slip.”

“Still,” she smiled. “That was quick thinking."

Unseen by either servant, Sebastian watched from the far end of the hallway. He hadn’t moved since assigning the task had merely stepped into the curve of a doorway, one gloved hand resting lightly against the polished frame. The light didn’t quite reach him there. It never did unless he allowed it.

His crimson eyes narrowed slightly as the boy corrected Meyrin without condescension. A child who knew the scent of polish, who had scrubbed boots enough to tell soap from wax by memory. Who didn't gloat about it, only wanted to stop someone from making a mistake. How innocent.

Interesting.

There had been no hesitation in his voice. No desire for praise. Just quick thinking and quiet execution.

Sebastian tilted his head just a fraction, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that might have been amusement… or curiosity.

So the boy had not lied when he said he was strong.

Not physically though there was endurance, to be sure but in the way that mattered. In will.

And Sebastian knew a thing or two about that kind of strength.

He stepped back into the darkness without a sound, coat trailing behind him like a ripple of black silk.

The room was small, narrow, and windowless—just enough space for a bed, a trunk, and a hook on the wall for a uniform. The mattress creaked when he sat on it, springs old but not uncomfortable. For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he wasn’t cold.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

He lay on his side, knees drawn up, the blanket pulled over his shoulder though he didn’t shiver. The walls were quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling or the muffled tick of a distant clock. Somewhere above, the life of the manor continued far removed from this forgotten corner.

His eyes stayed open.

He wasn't used to beds. Not real ones. Not silence, either. The dark was different here - heavy, not hollow.

He stared at the outline of the door, watching shadows shift under it with the passing of someone’s footsteps. Just one. Slow, steady. Gone again.

He didn’t relax.

Back at home—not home, not anymore—quiet was never good. Quiet meant listening. For the wrong kind of footsteps. For creaking floorboards, raised voices, the sound of boots on stairs.

He curled tighter under the blanket, fingers gripping the edge.

He wasn’t safe yet.

[never-mind-09]

sometimes I wish I'd have reader's life...like seriously, where is my Sebastian

You should’ve known the bag was going to give out.

It had that sad, overstuffed stretch to it. You’d packed it to the brim out of stubbornness and a refusal to take another trip. And of course, after the week you’d had long hours, snappy emails, everything that could go wrong doing exactly that the universe decided to throw in one more little insult.

The bag tore.

Not gracefully. Not quietly. Just splorch and then the symphony of cans, boxes, and your dignity spilling across the sidewalk.

You stared at it.

Because of course. Of course this was happening. Your stomach sank, your hands clenched, and for a brief, simmering moment you were this close to throwing the rest of the groceries at the nearest wall. One more thing. One more stupid thing and you were going to lose it. Actually lose it. You could already feel the meltdown clawing up your throat.

This week had been an endless parade of almosts: almost missing your train, almost crying at work, almost managing a proper meal that wasn’t instant noodles. And now? This.

Just fantastic.

“…Need assistance?”

The voice was smooth, deep, and far too composed for this particular moment.

You turned, half-expecting a nosy stranger or some judgmental passerby. Instead, you found a tall man standing beside you, black suit, crimson eyes, and the kind of grace that felt entirely out of place next to scattered spaghetti noodles and cat treats.

He knelt before you could answer, already picking up the scattered items with practiced ease. One gloved hand lifted a bag of kibble. He regarded it with interest.

“Ah,” he said, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “You have cats. With rather refined palates.”

You blinked, thrown off by the fact that he wasn’t laughing or judging you. “Two, actually.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Then might I suggest the feline Cuisine Salmon Pate next time? A bit overpriced, but cats tend to adore it.”

You stared at him. “…Right.”

Without another word, he gathered the rest of your groceries in neat, balanced stacks and rose to his full height.

"I’ll carry these for you.”

You frowned. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist.”

You hesitated, still trying to piece together what exactly his deal was. He noticed.

“Forgive me,” he said, shifting the bags in one arm and extending a gloved hand with effortless poise. “Sebastian. It seemed rude not to offer a name.”

You blinked at the sudden formality, then shook his hand. “Y/N.”

He gave a small nod. “A pleasure.”

And somehow, saying no felt… impossible.

So you walked side by side, quiet but not awkwardly so.

So you walked side by side, quiet but not awkwardly so. You didn’t know who he was some stranger with perfect posture and opinions about cat food but you were too tired to question it. The sun had dipped low, washing the street in amber light, and your apartment was thankfully only a few blocks away.

As you reached your building, you turned to him with a small, tired smile.

“Thanks. Seriously.” You gestured to the door. “I can handle it from here—”

“Mrrrow!”

The sharp meow was followed by a blur of fur as your front door creaked open, just enough for one of your cats to bolt outside. She made a beeline for Sebastian and ,unapologetically, rubbed herself all along his leg, purring like an engine.

You were mid-apology when he crouched again, slow and reverent, as if greeting royalty.

“Oh… aren’t you lovely?” he murmured, stroking her back with soft precision. “Such a well-groomed coat… You must be adored.”

Your cat flopped to the ground dramatically, exposing her belly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the look on Sebastian’s face. He was… enchanted.

“I have another one inside,” you said after a moment, watching his fingers work skillfully behind her ears. “She’s waiting.”

His head turned slightly, crimson eyes flicking toward you. There was something just a little brighter in them now. A little too pleased.

“In that case,” he said, standing smoothly, “it would be terribly rude not to greet her as well.”

You snorted under your breath, stepping aside. “By all means. Come in.”

He followed without hesitation still holding your groceries with one arm and calling softly for the second cat with the other, like he’d done this a thousand times before.

You closed the door behind him.

Your week had been awful.

But right now?

It didn’t feel so bad.

Then the reader showed Sebastian the bedroom

[never-mind-09]

Reader is delulu af... Anyways, if you wanna recommend me a good Sebastian x reader story, please send it or tag me. :)

You should have known better than to work through a storm.

But Finny had made a mess again and someone had to fix it. That someone, as always when Sebastian was busy, was you. Rain-soaked, wind-chilled, and stubborn, you'd cleaned up after the chaos until your body gave out.

Now you were in bed, buried under too many blankets, skin clammy and too warm to be comfortable. Your head throbbed, and your thoughts wavered like candlelight in a draft.

A cool cloth dabbed gently at your forehead.

“You truly are incorrigible,” a familiar voice murmured near your ear, smooth and deep. “Throwing yourself into work until your body protests—how very... human of you.”

You cracked your eyes open. The world was a blur of flickering shadows and wavering candlelight. But even in your fever-dazed state, you recognized him.

Sebastian.

He sat beside you on the bed, gloves off, sleeves rolled slightly. His red eyes watched you with an intensity that made your heart flutter unreasonably though that might’ve been the fever.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper. You squinted your eyes together not exactly sure what you were seeing. “You’ve got... shadows crawling behind you.”

His lips quirked at the corners. “Do I?”

You blinked again, and for a moment, you swore something twitched in the dark behind him—something not human. Long. Twisted. Something you have never seen before.

He tilted his head slightly, following your gaze, then turned back to you. “Afraid of the dark, little one?”

You shook your head slowly, though it took effort. “Not afraid. Just...”

“Seeing things,” he finished for you. There was no mockery in his voice only quiet amusement. “The fever plays tricks. Or perhaps you simply see what others don't.”

He dipped the cloth again, wringing it out gently before brushing it across your forehead once... twice... a third time. The motion was rhythmic, soothing in its simplicity. His hand brushed your temple, coaxing your eyes to close. “Rest now. Sleep.” And as you exhaled, sleep pulled you under once again.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you woke again. The room was dim, and the candle had burned lower. Your body still ached, but the fever had dulled to a simmer.

Sebastian was still there.

You stared at him, sluggishly blinking the sleep from your eyes. “I saw horns,” you mumbled. “Before I fell asleep. I think they were yours.” He chuckled lowly, brushing a few strands of sweat-matted hair from your forehead. “Perhaps your fever has granted you a new sort of sight or made you more delusional than usual."

You blinked slowly. A faint smile curved your lips. “Aren't you worried you'll catch something?”

“There is no need for you to concern yourself with my well-being,” he replied, tone smooth and calm. “A mere fever and cold cannot afflict me.”

You nodded a little, your gaze unfocused. “That’s good... You’re too warm to be sick. Like... like a furnace that talks.”

Sebastian arched a brow but said nothing. He reached for the cloth again, refreshing it with water, then dabbed your forehead with slow care.

“Do you glow in the dark?” you asked after a beat. “I think you do... I saw it.”

“Did you?” he mused, not denying, not confirming. Just watching you with that strange softness that rarely graced his features.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of your ragged, fevered breaths. The warmth in the room felt heavier somehow, close and intimate.

His hand brushed down your arm, tucking the blanket a little tighter around you. “Sleep,” he said again, quieter this time.

Your eyes fluttered shut, though you were still vaguely aware of him beside you. Just before sleep took you entirely, you heard him whisper something—low, almost inaudible.

You couldn’t make out the words. But the tone was soft. Possessive. Like a promise wrapped in silk.

You slept. And he stayed.

[never-mind-09]

meyrin deserves more love and maybe a break from dishes

As always, you thought to yourself as a sigh escaped your lips while you continued to observe Meyr-Rin. You were supposed to be mopping the upper floors and cleaning windows, but you had nearly completed your work. Instead, you stood at the upper railing of the staircase, occasionally wiping here and there, while your full attention was on Mey-Rin.

She was currently balancing a stack of plates as she moved toward the kitchen. You rolled your eyes slightly. You liked Mey-Rin—a lot. She was sweet, clumsy, and simply lovable. But now and then, you wondered what was going on in her head.

Of course, you knew exactly what the redhead was thinking, and you absolutely didn't want to acknowledge it. A loud scream and an even louder crash jolted you from your thoughts. The fool had once again managed to crash-land with the plates. You quickly went to her and extended your hand to help her up. She looked at your hand in surprise and then at you. A radiant smile flashed across her face as she gratefully took your hand.

"Mey-Rin! How many times have I told you not to carry all the plates at once? I've told you countless times; better to make two trips!" came Sebastian's voice, who had just appeared out of nowhere. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. You didn't actually have a problem with Sebastian. You liked him too. But he annoyed you terribly when it came to Mey-Rin. You knew he had no interest in her or anyone at all. But when it came to her, that was a different story.

As always, whenever Sebastian was in her presence, a reddish hue spread across Mey-Rin's cheeks. As always, her gaze lowered to the floor, and as always, she began to stutter. You were tired of it. You wanted to be the one who made her blush. You wanted to be the reason for these reactions, not Sebastian.

"(Y/N), are you already done with your tasks? Or why are you standing here?" Sebastian asked, addressing you. You could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. "No, not yet. I heard Mey-Rin's scream and came to her. I will finish my tasks immediately." With quick steps, you walked away to attend to your remaining work, not noticing how Mey-Rin watched you as you left. As always, when you were there for her.

[never-mind-09]

Never been more happy to be German. Sebastian speaking German? *Chefkiss*. Sebastian lives rent-free 24/7 in my mind. Can't wait to watch the next episode.

The village was quiet at dusk. Too quiet, really. A silence that crept between the timbered houses like a shadow, stitched with the distant howl of wolves and the wind brushing against wood and stone.

You never liked strangers. Especially not English strangers with perfectly pressed coats, unreadable smiles, and eyes like he had.

He had introduced himself with a slight bow and a smooth voice. "Sebastian Michaelis. A humble servant." That accent alone made your skin itch. Too elegant for this place. Too clean for Wolfsschlucht. You’d ignored him the first time he tried to speak to you. And the second. And the third.

But he didn’t seem offended. If anything, he looked... amused. Like you were a puzzle he’d already solved but chose to enjoy slowly.

You hated that.

You were in the garden again, sleeves rolled and hands buried in stubborn earth. The day was quiet, overcast. The kind of sky that couldn’t decide whether to rain or just hover there, gray and heavy. The footsteps came, as they always did light, deliberate, unmistakable.

You didn’t look up.

“Still digging,” he said lightly.

You muttered something under your breath that wasn’t exactly polite.

He took it as encouragement.

“I find it fascinating,” he continued, stepping to the edge of the garden. “You always manage to look terribly busy when I’m near.”

“That’s not hard,” you said. “Existing is work when you’re around.”

Sebastian chuckled. Actually chuckled. You hadn’t heard that before.

He crouched near the fence, not close, but closer than usual. “You know,” he said conversationally, brushing a speck of dust from his glove, “I’ve been told I can be… distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

You weren’t sure what irritated you more...that he kept showing up, or that you’d started to notice when he didn’t. There was something unsettling about him, too smooth, too graceful. Like he didn’t belong here. Like he was humoring the world around him.

He didn’t speak again right away. Just… looked. And for once, it wasn’t calculated or teasing, it was quiet, steady, like he was trying to figure something out. You frowned and glanced up.

“What?” He held your gaze a second too long, and when he spoke, his voice was lower. A little too honest.

„Dein Anblick ist fast genug, um die Hölle vergessen zu lassen.“ (Your appearance is almost enough to forget Hell)

You blinked.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The words hung there between you, not quite heavy but strange. Weighted.

Your brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “A compliment, naturally.”

You stared at him. “A weird one.”

"I’ve been told I have an old-fashioned way with words,” he said mildly, already straightening to leave.

You shook your head, pretending not to notice the warmth crawling up your neck.

“Try flowers next time.”

“But you’d dig those up, too.”

And with that, he was gone like he always was, leaving behind nothing but questions and the echo of something that wasn’t just a flirtation.

[never-mind-09]

A Dream of him (Sebastian x reader)

⚠️ mild dubious reality, slight sensual content, mdni

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing away the remnants of your exhausting day. The weight of your responsibilities clung to you like a second skin, muscles aching from the endless hours spent at work. The dim glow of the apartment's lighting cast long shadows as you kicked off your shoes and exhaled deeply.

The apartment was a mess—a consequence of days spent prioritizing everything but yourself. With a sigh, you forced yourself to tidy up, putting away scattered papers and abandoned coffee cups. By the time you collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion wrapped around you like a thick blanket, lulling you into slumber before you could even process the comfort of the cushions beneath you.

____

A soft voice stirred you from the edges of unconsciousness.

"You've had quite the day, my dear."

The warmth of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, as if each syllable caressed your skin. Blinking slowly, you found yourself in a different place—one far removed from your tiny apartment. The room was dimly lit, bathed in the golden flicker of candlelight. The air carried a rich scent, a mix of something spicy and deep, interwoven with an intoxicating familiarity.

Strong hands cradled your own, pulling you up with a gentleness that contradicted their strength. You knew this man. You had felt his touch before, heard his voice in whispers that faded with the morning sun.

"You work too hard," he murmured, leading you toward a grand bathroom where a steaming bath awaited. "Allow me."

Before you could protest, nimble fingers undid the buttons of your blouse, brushing against overheated skin. His movements were deliberate, unhurried—each touch igniting a fire that burned beneath your skin. Your breath hitched as he slid the fabric from your shoulders, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

"Relax," he coaxed, guiding you into the water. The heat seeped into your muscles, melting away the tension that had long overstayed its welcome. Yet, even as you surrendered to the warmth, your body hummed with anticipation.

He did not leave. Instead, he kneeled at the edge of the tub, rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. The sight of his elegant fingers swirling the water sent a delicious shudder through you.

"Such stress..." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly before reaching forward. The first touch of his hands against your shoulders sent you reeling. Slow, firm strokes unraveled every knot, but his ministrations were anything but innocent. His thumbs pressed circles into your tense muscles, his grip teasing yet possessive.

A sigh slipped from your lips as he leaned in, breath ghosting over your damp skin. "You should let me take care of you more often, my dear."

His lips brushed the curve of your neck—feather-light, teasing. Another press, firmer this time. A trail of lingering kisses followed, each one setting your nerves alight. Your fingers gripped the porcelain edge of the tub, nails biting into the surface as heat pooled deep within you.

"Shhh... just feel."

His voice was silk, coaxing, commanding. His hands wandered lower, fingertips grazing sensitive skin. A moan threatened to escape, swallowed only by the way he chuckled against your throat, amused by your reaction.

Time blurred in his presence. You felt weightless, intoxicated by his touch, his scent, the way he molded your body with effortless dominance. When he finally lifted you from the water, wrapping you in a plush towel, your head lolled against his chest, utterly spent.

He carried you with ease, laying you upon silken sheets. The bed dipped as he hovered above, eyes heavy with something unreadable. His fingers traced your cheek, down your jawline, before tilting your chin up.

"Sleep," he commanded, though there was a promise laced within the single word. "I'll be here."

And you believed him.

The room was dark when your eyes fluttered open. Your heart pounded as you sucked in a sharp breath, the sensation of his hands, his lips, still lingering on your skin.

But something was wrong.

The couch. You had fallen asleep on the couch. So why were you in bed?

Your hands fisted the blankets as confusion swirled in your foggy mind. Had you moved in your sleep? Or...

[never-mind-09]

Alastor x child!reader

Alastor's laughter echoed through the hotel as he continued to perfect his radio broadcast. The sound of Nifty and you cleaning in the background was drowned out by the cackle of the mischievous demon.

As the day turned into night, Alastor finally grew tired and dozed off, his head resting on a pile of papers. Nifty, needed by Charlie, quickly scurried over to her, eager to help with a little project.

Left alone, you continued to clean, your thoughts drifting as you scrubbed away at the grime. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you decided to take advantage of Alastor's slumber.

"Oh, this is too good to pass up," you murmured, eyeing his sleeping form.

With gentle, yet skilled hands, you began to apply makeup to the sleeping demon. Eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick were all meticulously applied, transforming Alastor's appearance into something more akin to a glam rock star.

Alastor awoke with a start, shaking the remnants of sleep from his head. He quickly checked his work, making sure everything was in order for his broadcast. Satisfied, he gathered his things and prepared to leave his room.

As he strode through the halls of the hotel, he thought about his upcoming broadcast. Upon entering the bar, Alastor's eyes locked onto Husk and Angel Dust, who were sitting at the counter. They looked up, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight of Alastor's new, made-up appearance.

Husk was the first to react, snorting into his drink. "Pfft—what the hell happened to you?"

Angel Dust blinked, then burst into laughter. "Oh my GOD, Al! You look fabulous! Who knew you had such a taste for drama?"

Alastor's smile never wavered as he demanded, "What's so funny?"

Still giggling, Angel Dust pulled out a small mirror and handed it to Alastor. The demon’s eyes widened slightly as he beheld his new appearance.

The room darkened as shadows slithered from the walls, creeping toward Husk and Angel Dust. Their amusement faded as an eerie chill filled the air.

"Oh... oh no," Angel Dust whispered. "He's pissed."

Alastor's ever-present grin remained, but his voice dripped with saccharine menace. "Now, now, dear friends, I do appreciate a good joke... but I do believe I should have a little chat with the artist responsible for this masterpiece."

With dangerous slowness, Alastor stalked through the halls of the hotel. His gaze locked onto your figure. You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, his crimson eyes gleaming.

"Ah, my dear," he drawled, his tone unsettlingly sweet. "I do believe we need to talk."

Before you could utter a single word, his fingers wrapped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to make his displeasure clear.

"Would you care to explain your little... project?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I—uh, well, you looked so peaceful," you stammered. "And I thought, why not add a little flair? You know, enhance the charm!"

Alastor chuckled darkly. "Oh, what a delightful little troublemaker you are. But, my dear, you’ve crossed a line."

With a flick of his wrist, he let go of you, the radio static around you growing louder.

"If you’re so eager to test your skills, perhaps I should find you some... willing volunteers," he mused, his grin sharp. "After all, if it pleases you, it pleases me."

You swallowed hard, unsure if he was joking or not.

"B-but it was all in good fun!" you blurted. "You have to admit, the glam rock look suits you."

Alastor let out a hum, tapping his chin. "Hmm... debatable. But let’s make one thing clear—do not ever pull a stunt like this again. Understood?"

Nodding quickly, you exhaled in relief as he turned and exited the room, his usual grin returning.

Back at the bar, Angel Dust leaned toward Husk. "Think Smiles hurt ‘em?"

Husk sipped his drink. "Hell if I know. I still don't get why (Y/N) likes that creepy bastard."

Alastor’s grin faltered for a brief moment before he spoke, his voice cool and unwavering. "Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions. I may have been... irked, but I would never harm one of my own. I merely ensured a lesson was learned."

The demons exchanged glances, clearly skeptical, but none dared to push further.

Not wanting to dwell on their nonsense, Alastor made his way back to the Radio Tower, his mind lingering on you. When he couldn't find you, a flicker of concern passed through him.

Finally, he found you on the balcony, gazing at the city below.

He approached, his voice softer than before. "Ah, there you are."

You turned, clearly ready to apologize, but before you could, Alastor reached out and gently patted your head.

"Come, let’s go enjoy some jambalaya," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "We’ll talk about everything over dinner, and perhaps find a way to keep you entertained in a more... productive manner."

[never-mind-09]

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange hue over the Hazbin Hotel, you found yourself engaged in a spirited conversation with Angel Dust, exchanging stories and laughter in the lobby. Angel Dust, a master of innuendos, couldn't help but pepper your chat with an abundance of suggestive jokes, making it a wildly entertaining exchange.

"You'll never believe this one," Angel Dust said with a cheeky grin. "Two deer walk out of a gay bar. One says to the other, 'I can't believe I blew fifty bucks in there.'"

You were caught off guard by the crude humor, chuckling sheepishly, your face turning a delightful shade of pink.

The laughter carried through the room, each joke more groan-worthy than the last. Alastor chuckled to himself, savoring the ridiculousness of the moment. It seemed that despite your enjoyment of humor, you were far too innocent for this level of banter.

"You know, I've always wondered if you two were just bluffing or if you'd actually follow through with those jokes," Alastor teased, his voice smooth and enigmatic. His ever-present smirk widened as he took a calculated step forward. With a casual but deliberate motion, he reached out—not only to graze your arm but to delicately trace the curve of your cheek. His piercing gaze met yours, holding you captive in his intoxicating eyes. With deliberate slowness, Alastor bent his head to whisper into your ear, the warm breath of his words sending a shiver down your spine. The atmosphere crackled with an unspoken tension, and your blush deepened, barely visible in the dim lighting.

Alastor, savoring your flustered reaction, let out a boisterous laugh that echoed through the very halls of the hotel. "Ha ha! Did you seriously think I'd succumb to such lowly desires?" He pulled back, his grin sharp as ever, while his charm and bold confidence left you feeling dazed, your thoughts a jumbled mess.

Your heart raced as you stood there, stunned and flustered. Angel Dust, on the other hand, couldn't contain his amusement, erupting into a fit of laughter. "Damn, Al, I think you just short-circuited them!" he taunted, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly smile.

Alastor, however, was quick to recover, adjusting his jacket and grabbing his cane. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. I was merely demonstrating the absurdity of your assumptions. Besides, I'm far more entertained by the chaos of sinners' struggles than by their trivial temptations," he said, his voice regaining its usual, static tone.

Angel Dust winked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart."