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velouriaris · 4 days ago

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𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑆𝑖𝑛

Warnings: Explicit smut, captivity and soft isolation, possessive/controlling behavior, psychological manipulation, emotional dependency, slow-burn attachment, power imbalance, elements of dubious consent (dub-con), non-romantic and twisted affection, fluff mixed with dark dynamics, mature themes, reader has stockholm syndrome

Part 3 of Silk Chains & Crimson Bones

Part 1 Part 2

Taglist: @rafacoralova @akawalli15 @gumboug @valiantrebeloafpeach @mysterybutterfly-14 @ladyhelona

Note: The idea of Sebastian's true form slightly revealing during sex, with claws and an echoing growl-like sound, came from when I heard his demonic growl when he was killing the Bizarre Dolls in Book of Atlantic … that was hot

You lie on your back in the bed, thin sheets tangled around your legs, sweat-damp hair stuck to your forehead. Your body aches—not the blinding agony of shattered bones, but the deep, lingering soreness of limbs that were once broken and are now stitched together by time and unnatural care. The cabin is quiet. Outside, the woods are still. The only sound is the relentless ticking of the old clock on the mantle, echoing in the hush.

You stare at the ceiling, your eyes burning with unshed tears. Your limbs work again, mostly. The pain comes and goes, a dull reminder that you survived something you wish you could forget.

You roll to your side, pulling the blanket tighter, pressing your knees to your chest. The room is both too small and too vast—every shadow feels like it’s waiting to swallow you. The emptiness presses in, a weight in your chest, squeezing until you can’t breathe.

You don’t remember how long it’s been since Sebastian left with his master, Ciel Phantomhive. Hours? Days? The food he prepared before leaving sits on the small table by the bed, untouched and cold.

You haven’t moved except to shift between this miserable position and the edge of the mattress, where you once tried to peer out the window, only to be met with a view of thick, unwelcoming trees. It doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere to go. You know this now.

You cry, quietly at first, then harder. Your shoulders shake as you hug yourself. Tears soak the pillow, run down your cheeks, dampen your hair. You want to scream, but there’s no one to hear you. You want to be held, but no one will come. You want Sebastian—God, you want him to come back, even though you know you shouldn’t. You want him to fill the silence, to make it all go away, to tell you what to do, to punish you if it means you’re not alone.

It disgusts you, this craving. You remember the hunter—the man who tried to help you. You remember his blood, the terror in his eyes, the way Sebastian snapped his neck as easily as breaking a twig. You remember your own bones breaking, the screams that clawed out of your throat, the begging, the shame. Sometimes you see the hunter’s face in your dreams. Sometimes you wake up gasping, guilt and fear mingling until you’re nauseous. But now… now the memory feels distant, hazy, muffled by exhaustion and loneliness.

You want to hate Sebastian. You know you should. But you can’t seem to summon the energy anymore. Your mind is too tired, your heart too empty. It’s easier to forget, to let the hours pass and pretend nothing ever happened. If you think about it—really think—you’ll shatter again, and you’re not sure you’ll survive a second time.

So you wait. You count the minutes, the hours, the eternities until the door creaks and Sebastian returns—impeccable, composed, with his calm eyes and gloved hands. You tell yourself you’ll scream at him, demand answers, beg for freedom. But you know you won’t. You know you’ll look at him, and your resolve will crumble, and you’ll do anything to keep him from leaving again.

You curl up tighter, squeezing your eyes shut. You want to disappear, but there’s nowhere left to go—not in this cabin, not in your mind. You press your hand to your chest, feeling the frantic beat of your heart, the only proof you’re still alive. You whisper his name, voice cracked and broken, pleading with the shadows.

“Sebastian… please… come back. Please. I can’t—”

Your voice chokes off into another sob. You bury your face in the pillow, shaking, waiting, hoping, hating yourself for it.

And the cabin remains silent, except for the sound of your own misery—small and insignificant in a world that has long since stopped caring.

You’re still curled on the bed when you hear the key slide into the lock. The sound is impossibly loud after the endless hours of silence—a jolt that rips you from your misery. The door swings open with a familiar, effortless grace. For a moment you just stare, unable to breathe. Then you see him: tall, composed, every detail immaculate as always—Sebastian.

All your fear, frustration, and loneliness rushes to the surface at once. You fling yourself off the bed, crossing the floor on trembling legs before you can think better of it. You don’t care how desperate you look. You grab fistfuls of his jacket and press yourself against him, clinging to him as if you’ll drown if you let go. Tears pour down your face, your whole body shuddering.

“Sebastian—” you choke, voice nearly lost in a sob, “w-where were you? *hic* Why did you take so long? Why did you leave me alone? I—I thought—” You can barely breathe, gasping against his chest, your fingers curled into his coat like a lifeline. “Don’t leave me again, please, please, please…”

You don’t see his eyes, but you feel him tense—just for an instant. Then, to your shock, you hear him laugh—low and rich, almost amused. It vibrates through his chest.

“My, my… such a greeting.” His hand settles between your shoulder blades, palm warm even through the fabric. “Calm yourself, my dear. Was it truly so unbearable without me?”

You can only sob harder, clutching him, face buried against his chest. You don’t care how pitiful you must seem. You just need to feel him, to know he’s real.

Sebastian lets you cling to him for a long, drawn-out moment, letting your tears soak his perfectly pressed shirt. Then, with practiced ease, he slides his hands under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weigh nothing at all. You yelp softly, automatically wrapping your arms around his neck, legs curling up. He carries you to the bed—and sits, keeping you in his lap.

“Shhh. That’s enough tears, little one. I’ve only been gone for a few hours.” His voice is warm, but there’s an edge of mockery to it, a gentle teasing lilt that cuts through your panic. He presses his nose to your hair, breathing in as if committing your scent to memory. “I hadn’t realized you’d become so… attached.”

His words sting, but the relief of being in his arms is stronger. You cling tighter, soaking in the sensation of his hands on your back, the rise and fall of his chest.

He strokes your hair, fingers threading slowly, almost indulgently. “Were you truly so afraid I wouldn’t return?” he murmurs, mouth close to your ear.

Your breath hitches. You feel his gloved hand drift down, tracing the length of your spine with an almost clinical detachment, but there’s something possessive in the way he holds you—an ownership that sends a tremor through your stomach.

You whimper, half in protest, half in longing. Your body presses closer to his, your skin desperate for contact.

He hums, pleased, then shifts, guiding you gently down onto the bed. He moves over you with feline grace, pinning you beneath his weight—but he’s careful, always careful now, not to touch your still-tender limbs too roughly. His hand comes to your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. His eyes catch the light, red flickering in the gloom, so inhuman and yet so familiar.

“There, there, my dear. I'm here. Please calm down.” he purrs, voice velvet and steel all at once.

He leans in, brushing your hair aside, and presses his lips to the delicate skin of your throat—soft at first, then firmer, teeth scraping lightly. You gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. His other hand slides under your nightgown, stroking your waist, his touch both soothing and electric.

his touch is gentle as he traces your hip, then up, palm warm against your ribcage.

You’re trembling, caught between tears and something else—something darker, needier. He laughs again, softly this time, the sound curling in your belly.

“Poor little thing,” he mocks, but there’s a note of real affection underneath it. He kisses your jaw, then your cheek, collecting your tears with his tongue. “There's no need to be worry, my dear. I would never leave you”

You shudder, arching up to meet his touch. His hands roam, slow and possessive, memorizing every inch of you as if reassuring himself you’re still whole. You let out a soft, needy sound, almost a mewl. He chuckles, savoring your desperation.

“So needy,” he whispers, and you feel his smile against your skin.

He slides his hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. There is an amused smirk on his face.

Ssniffling, your lips trembling. “I—Sebastian, I… I need you.”

His eyes soften, just a fraction. He kisses you again, slower this time, lips lingering on your neck. His fingers explore, gentle but insistent, soothing you and stoking the fire inside you in equal measure.

Then, his voice, low and velvety, brushes against your ear like silk and steel intertwined:

“My my, Is that so?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk, “How… delightfully human of you.”

He brushes his lips to your ear, voice low and conspiratorial. “…then allow me to give you exactly what you’ve asked for.”

His touch grows bolder, sliding under the thin fabric, finding bare skin, tracing every scar and bruise as if cataloguing your suffering. He soothes the pain with kisses, with words, with heat.

Your fear fades, replaced by something dangerously close to comfort. You arch up into his touch, desperate for more, your body betraying you with every gasp and whimper.

He laughs softly, almost tender, mocking and pleased. “That’s right. Just like that, my dear. Let yourself feel. There’s no shame in wanting your darling.”

You cling to him, your cries softer now, half-sobs, half-pleas. You don’t care if he laughs, if he mocks. All that matters is the way he holds you—the only thing that keeps you from slipping away completely.

He gathers you up, cradling you to his chest as if you’re something precious, irreplaceable. “Shhh,” he soothes, mouth brushing your ear,

His hand moves in slow, hypnotic circles over your back, soothing, possessive. You relax in his arms, the panic ebbing, replaced by a warm, terrible contentment.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, voice small and raw, “please… don’t leave me again.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I have no intention of letting you go, my lady. Not now. Not ever.”

He shifts, settling more comfortably on top of you, his body a cage, his warmth an anchor. His hand finds your thigh, stroking, squeezing gently. His lips travel down your neck, over your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You moan, a soft, desperate sound. Your body arches, seeking more, needing more. His touch is everywhere, relentless and gentle, a contradiction you can’t untangle.

He laughs again, a soft, wicked sound. “My, my. You have become quite eager, haven’t you? How charming.”

You cling to him, breathless, lost. The world narrows to the bed, the heat of his skin, the sound of his voice. Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not afraid.

You lie pinned beneath him, trembling, your breaths coming out in shallow, shaky little gasps. Sebastian watches you, eyes half-lidded and dark, his gloved hand sliding down the curve of your thigh. He doesn’t bother with endless words; there’s no need. He’s always said more with his touch.

His lips brush over your throat, then lower still, tracing a line of fire down your chest, over the delicate fabric of your nightgown. His fingers hook into the hem and with a practiced flick, he pulls it up—exposing your bare hips, your thighs, all of you. The cold air makes you shiver, but the way his gaze lingers, hungry and appreciative, is hotter than any flame.

You squirm, a little embarrassed, a little eager, instinctively pressing your legs together. Sebastian tuts softly, a gloved hand sliding between your knees, pushing them gently but firmly apart.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and rich, the words rolling over you like silk.

Your thighs tremble against the sheets, slick and parted, your breath stuttering in your throat. Sebastian is knelt between your legs, his hands firm on your hips as if to remind you: You are not allowed to run. Not that you want to. Not now. Not with the heat building between your legs, not with the way his eyes study you—sharp, unreadable, glowing faintly red when you gasp and let out another soft, helpless sound.

“Sebas–Sebastian—” you whimper, voice breathy, uncertain, but so needy it makes him smirk.

That smile. That damn smile.

You bite your lip as he lowers his head again, his breath brushing over your folds. You try to stay still, but when his tongue flicks out and strokes along your wetness, slow and deliberate, a trembling moan slips from your mouth.

“Hnnn… mm–nghh…”

Sebastian hums against your cunt, satisfied. The vibration pulls another little sound from your lips, higher this time, sweeter, and his gaze lifts to watch you from beneath his lashes. His pupils dilate. The faint red glow in his irises pulses slightly brighter—just a flicker, but enough.

“You’re more vocal than I expected,” he murmurs, voice like rich velvet, as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue along the sensitive flesh again—this time slower, with cruel, teasing intent.

“Ah…!” you whisper, your hips lift without permission, chasing his mouth.

He presses a kiss directly to your clit. You let out a sharp little cry, and his lips curl.

“Ah—ngh…!”

You can’t hold them back now—your moans come in waves, stifled only by the way you cover your mouth with your hands. But it’s no use. Your whole body betrays you, hips twitching, legs trembling.

Sebastian’s eyes gleam. Your sounds, your scent, the way your cunt pulses around nothing but air—it’s enough to stir something ravenous in him. His tongue flattens against you, licking a slow, upward stripe. His fingers—two of them—slide lower and part you with gentle precision.

And then he pushes them inside.

“Ahh—!” Your body arches, your cry sharp and open. “S–Sebastian, w–wait—!”

He doesn’t. His fingers curl immediately, dragging along your slick walls as if searching for that one spot that will shatter you completely. And he finds it. Of course he does.

“There,” he breathes, low and warm against your cunt. “Right there.”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, legs tensing around his shoulders.

“Y-Yes…! R-right… ngh—there…!”

He hums again—approving, entertained—and resumes lapping at your clit while his fingers thrust inside you, slow and deliberate. The pressure builds fast—too fast—until you're trembling, tears brimming in your eyes.

Your moans are soft but urgent now.

“Ahh… nghh… mm–more… more please…!”

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating straight through your core. “You’ll beg so sweetly,” he says, “and you don’t even realize how loud you’re being.”

His tongue circles your clit, his fingers plunging deeper. You sob with pleasure.

“Mnn—! S–Sebastian… ohh… I-I’m…”

He glances up again. Your chest heaves, your cheeks burn, and when your back arches with another trembling gasp, his eyes glow brighter—gleaming red with hunger and something far darker.

“My, my…” he murmurs as he watches you fall apart, utterly devoured by sensation. “So fragile… so easy to ruin…”

Your cunt clenches around his fingers, slick and messy, wet sounds filling the room now with every thrust. You cry out louder, the coil snapping inside you with a desperate whimper:

“Ah—hahh—S-Sebastian, I—I’m c–coming!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He drives you straight through it, watching your mouth fall open in another soft moan.

“Ah…! mmnh…!”

When you collapse against the mattress, shivering and breathless, he finally withdraws. His fingers slide from your wet heat with a wet sound, your slick clinging to his gloves. He licks them clean with a flick of his tongue—elegant, precise, unbothered.

Your body is still trembling when he rises above you, his gloves now discarded, his shirt open, baring the pale, chiseled lines of his chest. His eyes, ever calculating, never leave yours. They burn faintly red, glowing in the low light, and there’s something possessive—dangerously so—glimmering within them.

He looms over you, one hand on either side of your head, his hips sliding between your still-parted thighs. You feel the hard, deliberate press of him against your entrance—hot, thick, and pulsing with restrained need. His voice, when he speaks, is low and almost too calm.

“Are you ready, my lady?” he asks, though the answer is obvious.

You nod, too breathless to speak.

“Good,” he murmurs.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes in.

You whimper—a soft, high-pitched sound—as your body stretches around him. The sensation burns at first; you’re so small, so tight, and he is undeniably large. He pauses only a moment, allowing your walls to adjust, his hands sliding down to your waist to hold you still.

“Ah—nngh… Sebastian…” you gasp, clutching his shoulders.

“Shhh,” he coos, not mockingly this time, but something colder. “Take your time. You’ll fit.”

He starts to move—so slow at first, inch by inch, every motion measured. You feel every detail of him, every ridge, every throb. He fills you completely, stretching your cunt wide open around him. It’s overwhelming, painful and euphoric all at once.

“Oh… oh—Sebastian, it’s—too much—ah!”

He lets out a low chuckle near your ear, his voice like smoke.

“You’ll take all of it. You can handle it, can’t you?”

You nod, tears gathering in your eyes from the stretch, the fullness. He begins to thrust—still slow, still controlled—but his grip on your hips tightens. His movements grow deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing softly through the room.

Your moans grow louder.

“Ahh—ngh—hah…! Sebastian—ahh!”

The glow in his eyes intensifies as he watches your face contort in pleasure. The little gasps, the way your lips tremble, the helpless noises from your throat—it fuels him. He grits his teeth and rolls his hips harder, deeper, burying himself fully inside you with each thrust.

Then something in him snaps.

His next thrust slams into you.

You cry out—loud and broken.

“Aahh—S-Sebastian!”

“Shhh. Quiet, little one,” he growls, his voice deep and clipped. “I haven’t even started.”

He pulls out halfway, then drives back in with brutal precision. You scream into his chest, clutching him, overwhelmed by the rough rhythm suddenly overtaking you.

He fucks you now—no gentleness, no hesitation. Your cunt stretches around him with every harsh thrust, slick and messy, dripping down your thighs. His hands hold your waist in place like a vice, forcing you to take every inch.

Your moans are cries now, sobs of pleasure.

“Hhnn—ah! Too deep! T-too much!”

He snarls against your throat, biting down gently. “You’ll take it,” he hisses. “Every. Single. Inch.”

He angles his hips and hits that spot again—hard.

You scream.

Your body clenches around him, the pain and pleasure twisting into something blinding. Your nails dig into his shoulders. You’re so wet, your slick coating his length with each thrust, making a lewd, obscene sound every time he buries himself inside you again.

He pounds into you, relentless now.

“Say it,” he commands, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I—I’m yours!” you cry. “I’m yours, I’m yours—Sebastian—ahhh—!”

He growls in approval and thrusts even harder, one hand sliding under your back, arching you up into him. You feel every inch of him driving into your trembling, overstimulated body.

Your orgasm hits you like lightning—violent, blinding, shaking your entire body.

You scream his name.

“Sebastian!!”

And he fucks you through it—his rhythm never slowing, chasing his own release. His red eyes narrow, breath ragged, control slipping.

Then, with one final thrust, deep and shattering, he buries himself inside you to the hilt.

He groans low, his body trembling slightly as he fills you.

You feel it—every pulse of heat flooding deep inside, your walls still spasming around him. He lowers himself slowly over you, mouth brushing your ear.

“Mine,” he whispers.

Your body is still trembling from the last orgasm, your chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps. Sebastian remains above you for a moment, his weight comforting in a twisted way, the heat of his release still seeping inside your aching, fluttering cunt.

You barely have time to breathe before his hands slide beneath you—one under your belly, the other curling around your throat. Without a word, he lifts your limp form and flips you onto your stomach like a ragdoll. You gasp, cheek pressed against the pillow now, arms weak beneath you.

“S–Sebastian…?”

He doesn’t answer with words—only with a low sound, one that begins in his chest but grows into something else entirely. A rumble, deep and ancient, vibrating through the floorboards and into your bones.

You freeze.

That voice isn’t human anymore.

A second later, you feel his hands again—no longer gloved, no longer smooth.

Claws.

You feel them as they drag slowly down your back, not cutting, just threatening—trailing up your sides, then down again, until one sharp talon brushes the soft flesh of your ass.

You shudder violently.

Behind you, Sebastian exhales a long, deliberate breath.

“My… such tender skin,” he murmurs. His voice splits, layered now—his usual silky tone beneath something distorted, something demonic, echoing unnaturally in the room. “So easy to bruise… so eager to be marked.”

His hand—if you can still call it that—spreads across your lower back, holding you down. You feel his cock harden again against the back of your thigh, slick and hot, rubbing slowly against your entrance.

Your legs spread instinctively, wantonly, your hips tilting up. You’re too wet to think, too desperate to resist.

“Ah… please…”

The demon behind you chuckles, low and knowing. He leans down, mouth near your ear—his breath is colder now, unnatural.

“You’ve forgotten what I am, haven’t you?” he whispers.

His clawed hand traces down your spine, then along the swell of your rear. He drags the tip gently across your skin, leaving a faint red line along your soft curve.

You gasp, but not in fear.

It excites you. You totally lost the last mental pieces of yours.

He growls—pleased—and grips your delicate hips with both clawed hands, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His large demon cock nudges your entrance again, slick with both your juices and his earlier release.

And then, with a slow, unforgiving push, he slides back inside.

You moan—loud, desperate, shaking.

“Ahh—S–Sebastian…!”

He moves slowly at first, hips grinding forward, burying himself to the hilt again. The angle is deeper now, sharper, and your cunt clenches around him instantly. His claws dig into your hips, not enough to break skin—but enough to remind you he could.

His pace builds fast this time—deep, hard thrusts, each one slapping against your ass, filling the room with the lewd, wet sounds of your soaked cunt being used again.

Your moans grow louder.

“F–fuck—yes—ahh—please, Sebastian—more!”

Your voice is ragged, ruined, but you don’t care. You’re drooling into the pillow, your body twitching with every deep thrust, lost in a haze of raw, carnal need.

You don’t notice his horns beginning to show, curling from his head in elegant black arcs.

You don’t feel the faint shimmer of heat that radiates off him now, demonic power slipping through the cracks of his human disguise.

All you feel is him.

All you want is him.

And Sebastian knows it.

He snarls—truly snarls—as he slams into you, over and over. One clawed hand slides from your hip to your lower back, raking lightly down your ass, scoring thin red lines that make you sob from the sting and pleasure.

“Mine,” he growls, that layered voice echoing against the walls.

“Yours!” you cry out, gasping. “I’m yours—ah! S-Sebastian!”

You’re shaking, your body too sensitive, too overstimulated—but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

Your cunt squeezes him tight, wetness gushing as he fucks you harder, his cock dragging perfectly against every nerve inside you. Your thighs tremble. Your arms give out. You collapse forward, sobbing into the sheets as another orgasm explodes inside you, stronger than before.

“Sebastian—Sebastian I’m coming—!”

“Good girl,” he hisses through fanged teeth, slamming into you one final time, deep and brutal.

You scream.

You barely feel it when he comes again—just the heat, the stretch, the fullness—but you feel his claws, dragging up your sides, trembling slightly.

He stills over you, both of you gasping, covered in sweat and your own slick. His breath is harsh now, his demon form slowly withdrawing as his control returns.

He leans down, tongue dragging up your spine.

Then, softly, mockingly, his voice returns to that cool, velvety calm:

“Well… that was quite the welcome home, wasn’t it?”

Your body is shaking beneath him, your breath ragged, your thighs slick and trembling. Every nerve is still lit up, your cunt aching, oversensitive, stretched and leaking his warmth.

You can barely move.

You don’t even notice the way your hands are curled into the sheets, or the quiet, broken noises still falling from your lips.

“Ahh… h-hah… Sebastian…”

You’re vaguely aware of his presence behind you—still close, still inside for a moment longer. Then you feel him slide out, slow and deliberate, and you whimper at the emptiness. The mess between your thighs is warm and obscene.

You collapse, chest rising and falling, cheek pressed to the pillow.

He brushes your sweat-soaked hair back, gently smoothing it away from your sticky forehead. His fingers comb through the strands, then tuck them carefully behind your ear. His touch is warm now—not heated with lust, but something quieter.

“Breathe,” he says softly, but not unkindly. “You did quite well.”

You try to speak, but your voice is gone. You only manage a shaky little exhale as your lashes flutter.

Sebastian watches your flushed, dazed expression for another moment—his red eyes dimmed now to a soft glow—and then, with a sigh as if this is a task he alone is burdened with, he scoops you into his arms.

You barely react. You melt into his chest, letting your head fall limply against his shoulder. He carries you with ease, as if you weigh nothing—his perfect posture unaffected, even with your spent, dripping body in his arms.

The bathroom is already warm—he prepared it earlier, of course. The clawfoot tub is filled with steaming water, scented faintly with lavender. The room is softly lit, and quiet except for the occasional splash of water lapping at the porcelain.

Sebastian lowers you into the tub like you’re made of porcelain yourself. You shiver as the hot water meets your skin, but then sink in deeper with a soft, broken sound.

You can feel the mess between your thighs being washed away already. It’s embarrassing.

He doesn’t give you time to feel ashamed.

He rolls up his sleeves and kneels beside the bath, scooping water with his hand and pouring it gently over your chest, your arms, your belly. His fingers are delicate now—composed. He lifts your leg slowly, drags a warm cloth along the inside of your thigh, wiping away the slick and his release.

You whimper, instinctively trying to close your legs.

He clicks his tongue. “None of that. Let me finish.”

His voice is calm again. Perfectly collected. As if he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago.

He continues washing you in silence. Your skin is soft under his hands, and he takes his time—gently dragging the cloth along your collarbone, over your breasts, down your hips. Every motion is efficient, but there's something careful in his hands… something close to reverence.

He washes between your legs last. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers slide along your still-sensitive folds, parting you slightly just to clean you properly. You tremble, a broken little whimper slipping from your lips.

“Still sensitive?” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “How fragile you are…”

When he finishes, he cups warm water and pours it over your head, soaking your hair. He massages your scalp gently with his claws retracted, careful not to scratch. You melt under the attention, too weak to resist.

By the time he rinses the last of the soap from your skin, your eyes are half-lidded. Your body floats limply in the bath, clean and warm and aching. He leans in close again, brushing his lips against your damp temple.

After the bath, your skin is flushed from heat and exhaustion, damp hair clinging to your cheeks. Your eyes barely stay open, your breathing shallow and soft. You hardly notice when Sebastian lifts you from the water again, your naked body pressed against his chest.

You’re too weak, too tired.

He sets you down on a nearby stool—padded, velvet, perfectly placed—and reaches for a thick towel. The moment it touches your skin, warm and dry, you sigh.

Sebastian chuckles softly under his breath.

“My, my… So docile now,” he muses as he wraps the towel around your shoulders and begins to gently dry your arms. “I daresay you might even behave without threats.”

He dries your chest next, slowly—his touch reverent. Then your stomach, your legs, each finger, each toe. He moves without hurry, as if caring for a priceless doll. You squirm slightly when he kneels and carefully parts your legs again to pat you dry there.

“Still shy?” he smirks, “How sweet.”

You whimper, but stay still.

Once you’re fully dry, he stands and walks to the wardrobe. From it, he selects something simple—a soft, long cotton nightdress. Ivory white. Innocent. It brushes the floor when he holds it up.

“Arms up, my dear,” he says calmly.

You obey, lifting your arms with what little strength you have left. He slips it over your head and lets it fall, smoothing the fabric down over your body. Then he kneels once more and begins to fasten the small buttons near your chest, his hands moving with ease.

“There,” good girl. he murmurs, adjusting the collar.

You blink up at him, eyes heavy with sleep, but you still reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt weakly.

“Sebastian… are you going to leave again?” you whisper.

He pauses.

Then, with a sigh, he scoops you into his arms for the third time that night and carries you to the bed. The sheets are already fresh—of course they are. He lays you down, gently, then sits beside you, one knee drawn up, the other foot planted neatly on the ground.

“No,” he says simply. “You’ll not be alone tonight.”

You reach for him again, like a kitten begging for warmth.

He brushes your damp hair away from your face and begins to stroke your scalp slowly, fingers curling behind your ear, then dragging down through the strands in rhythmic motions.

“I have something to show you,” he murmurs. His tone is lower now, quieter. You can feel the smirk hidden behind the velvet. “A surprise.”

You blink, lips parting. “What is it…?”

He chuckles softly, and the sound is warm, amused—but unrevealing.

“If I told you,” he says, “it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”

You frown softly, and he leans down, brushing a kiss to your forehead.

“But not tonight,” he adds. “Tonight, you have to rest.”

His fingers trail over your cheek. “You’ve been through quite a bit, haven’t you? You’ve must sleep. Humans do require sleep.”

“Can’t you tell me just a little?” you plead quietly, blinking up at him, exhausted but curious.

He hums. “I could… but I won’t.”

You pout—just a little—and he smiles.

“I’ll take you there at first light,” he promises. “You’ll like it. I’ve had it prepared for weeks… but I was waiting for the right moment. And now…” His hand glides down your arm, wrapping gently around your wrist. “Now, you are ready.”

You shiver, his words striking something deep in your chest—fear and excitement and a dangerous kind of hope.

“Sleep, little one,” he says, voice soft now, brushing the hair away from your neck. “I will be right here. Just like this.”

You sigh, sinking into the mattress, too tired to think.

He continues stroking your hair, humming a tune you don't recognize—something old, something foreign, something almost soothing. His red eyes watch you closely, even as your own begin to close.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers against your ear, “you’ll see what I’ve made… just for you.”

Morning arrives quietly.

The faint light through the window falls gently across your face, turning the edge of the sheets a soft gold. You stir, blinking against the brightness, your body still sore, heavy with sleep and something else—something warm lingering in your belly.

Your limbs ache in a dull, stretched way. Between your legs, you’re tender, sticky with dried desire, but you’re clean. Sebastian had made sure of that.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. The bed beside you is empty—still warm, but empty.

Your heart jumps.

“Sebastian…?”

Before your voice can shake, the door opens.

He steps in with silent elegance, carrying a silver tray in one gloved hand. On it: a delicate breakfast—steamed milk, soft bread with clotted cream and fresh preserves, perfectly folded eggs, and a bowl of sweet sliced fruit. Everything arranged just so.

He glances at you without slowing, as if he’d known the exact second your eyes would open.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says smoothly, his tone wrapped in polite warmth. “Ah… you’re awake. Excellent timing.”

You blink at him, cheeks flushed. “You—made that?”

He places the tray on the small table by the bed, then turns to you with a slight bow.

“I did,” he replies. “You need energy.”

You can’t help it—your eyes drift down his form. He’s already dressed, of course. Perfectly buttoned vest, tie sharp, not a hair out of place. But you notice his sleeves are faintly rolled up today, his white shirt subtly wrinkled at the cuffs.

He cooked it himself.

Just for you.

“Come,” he says, sitting at the edge of the bed and gently patting your thigh. “Eat while it’s warm.”

You move slowly, crawling into his lap rather than reaching for the tray.

He raises an eyebrow.

“My… are we skipping cutlery this morning?”

You bury your face into his chest for a moment, hiding your smile. He smells faintly of cinnamon, steel, and something dark—like burned sugar. Familiar. Comforting.

“I just wanted to be close,” you mumble.

He exhales softly—somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.

“Very well.”

He lifts the tray and sets it across both your laps, one arm around your waist to steady you as he picks up a small piece of bread with a dollop of cream and strawberry preserve.

He lifts it to your lips.

You open your mouth and take it gently, cheeks pink.

“Mmm… it’s really good.”

“Of course it is,” he replies calmly, slicing a pear for you next. “You didn’t think I’d serve you something mediocre, did you?”

You shake your head, chewing slowly. “No. Just… thank you.”

His red eyes narrow slightly—not in disapproval, but in quiet thought.

“You’ve thanked me more in the last twenty-four hours than in all the weeks prior,” he says. “It suits you.”

He feeds you another bite—eggs this time, warm and fluffy. His gloved fingers brush your bottom lip as he pulls away. You gasp softly.

“What happened?” he asks, but the teasing is subtle today, barely there.

You glance up at him, then down again shyly.

“N… Nothing...”

His voice lowers, smooth as honey: “I understand.”

He continues to feed you slowly, carefully—wiping the corner of your mouth with a cloth when you get a smear of cream on your lip. His hand lingers at your chin a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently under it.

Then he sets the tray aside, his free hand resting on your thigh.

“Today… I will show you.”

Your breath catches.

He only smiles, stroking your hair behind your ear.

You swallow the last bite of fruit as he gently lifts you from his lap.

“Let’s get you ready,” he says softly.

“Your surprise awaits.”

After the meal, he dresses you in silence—methodically, gently.

You sit still on the edge of the bed, letting his hands guide your limbs through delicate layers. The dress is soft—white, lacy, bridal. Long sleeves, pearl buttons, a ribbon around your waist that he ties himself.

“Where are we going…?” you ask again, voice laced with nervous laughter.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches behind him and reveals a long silk blindfold. Crimson red.

You blink.

“W-What’s that for…?”

He steps forward and lifts it between his hands, his gloved fingers precise. You’re breathless as he leans down, pressing his lips once against your forehead.

“For the surprise,” he says with a soft purr.

You nod, swallowing. Slowly, obediently, you allow him to tie it around your eyes.

It’s warm where it wraps around your skin. Darkness swallows you, and your world narrows to the sound of his voice, the faint rustle of his coat, the scent of him—faint spice and ash.

You barely have time to draw a breath before you feel his arms wrap around you.

He lifts you gently and effortlessly.

Your arms automatically cling around his neck, your face tucking beneath his jaw. His chest is warm. The rhythm of his steps is smooth, deliberate. You feel the wind brush your cheeks, the scent of trees, morning dew, something open and fresh. It’s not the woods. Not the suffocating thicket of the forest cabin.

After walking for a while, you feel him shift you slightly in his arms.

And then, softly, the blindfold is untied.

The moment the blindfold is removed, light floods your vision. For a heartbeat, you’re stunned—speechless.

You blink rapidly, your eyes adjusting, and then the world blooms before you.

A house.

Far more beautiful than that small, eerie cabin.

Stone walls, ivy curling delicately across them like lace. A green-painted door framed by white roses. Soft light glows from the windows. There are flowers—real ones—dancing gently in the breeze.

You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

“Sebastian…”

You can hardly find your voice.

He watches you in silence, arms still wrapped around you as he holds you bridal-style. His expression is unreadable—but his eyes, those crimson eyes, study every flicker of your face.

You press your hands to his chest.

“W-Where… where are we?” you ask breathlessly. “What is this place?”

He gives a small, elegant smile.

“This,” he says softly, “is home.”

You freeze, eyes wide.

“Home…?”

He nods once.

You stare, lips parting—but not in confusion. Not in disbelief. You look around again, eyes drinking in the flowerbeds, the lantern beside the door, the wrought-iron fence framing the garden.

And then you smile.

Big.

Your whole face lights up—your eyes shimmer, your lips part in joy.

“Home,” you repeat, this time with wonder, almost giggling. “I—this is ours?!”

He tilts his head slightly. “It is where you will live. With me. Permanently.”

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, laughing softly, tears brimming in your eyes—not from sadness this time, but from sheer, childlike happiness.

“Sebastian!” you squeal, your voice breathy with excitement. “It’s beautiful! It’s perfect!”

He blinks. Just once.

Then you snuggle against him, small arms locked tight around his neck.

“Thank you…” you whisper, voice full of affection and awe. “Thank you, thank you—thank you!”

He remains silent.

But something subtle shifts in his expression.

He walks forward with you still in his arms, past the little gate, up the stone steps, into the house. Your head turns eagerly, taking in every detail as he carries you through.

The interior is bright. Warm. Floral wallpaper. Honeyed wood. A sitting room with a lace-draped table and a small stack of books by the fireplace. You giggle again and nuzzle his shoulder, looking up at him with eyes full of shining, innocent joy.

“Can we see the bedroom next? And—and the kitchen? Is there a bathtub?! Sebastian—!”

He chuckles under his breath.

“My, how energetic,” he murmurs.

You squeal softly and wriggle in his arms. “Let me walk! I want to explore!”

But he tightens his grip.

“No.”

You pout. “But—!”

“I said no, my dear.” he repeats calmly. “ Let me carry you for a while, you will have the whole time to explore this house by yourself.”

You huff—but lean your head against his collar, content.

He carries you toward the stairs. His steps are steady, soundless.

You’re so distracted by the decor—the velvet runner on the staircase, the mirror at the landing, the lace curtain fluttering in the breeze—you don’t notice how long he’s been watching you.

She’s smiling.

Laughing.

This little bird… this fragile thing that once trembled with fear at my approach now clings to me like I’m her shelter.

How simple. How predictable. And yet…

Sebastian’s fingers twitch around your thigh slightly as he carries you.

You press a kiss to his neck, soft and sweet.

“Sebastian… I love it here.”

His lips curl faintly.

“Do you?”

You nod, grinning. “I do! So much!”

He says nothing for a beat.

“When my contract ends with the young master,” he murmurs, “this place will be ours without interruption. I intend to keep you here often… and for long stretches of time.”

You smile, eyes dreamy. “Just the two of us?”

“Yes.”

He opens the bedroom door.

Light pours in. Pale curtains. A canopy bed. White linens. Roses on the windowsill. Your hand flies to your mouth.

You look up at him again, shining.

“Sebastian…”

He sets you gently onto the bed. You immediately sit up on your knees and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

He blinks.

You squeeze tighter.

“I love it,” you breathe. “I love you. I love this.”

He slowly lifts his hand and strokes your back, his palm warm over your spine.

He smiles

“I'm so glad that you liked our new home.”

And then, his voice turns cold, but filled with amusement. He's still smiling.

“However, do remember, little one…”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Disobey me even once, like trying to run away again or something” he whispers, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers, “and everything I’ve given you… I’ll take it all away. There will be severe consequences than your past punishments.”

Your lips part, stunned. he kisses your forehead before you can speak.

You freeze, wide-eyed, as his cold warning echoes in your ears. The happiness in your chest trembles, but doesn’t die; instead, you lift your head, eyes clear and unwavering as you meet his gaze.

“No,” you whisper, small but firm. “I don’t want to lose any of this, Sebastian. I’ll be good. I promise.” Your fingers tighten in his shirt, and you press your cheek to his chest, hugging him fiercely. “I’ll be a good girl. I’ll do everything you say.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, suddenly, Sebastian laughs—a deep, amused sound, echoing through the cozy new room.

“My, my…” he teases, stroking your back with those elegant, impossibly strong hands. “You don’t need to be so frightened, dear. I believe you. You’ve become such a very good girl.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your hair, inhaling deeply. “It was just a little warning.”

He lowers you gently onto the soft bed, sitting beside you, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. His lips brush your forehead, your temple, your hairline—gentle, almost reverent.

“See?” he whispers, voice velvet and iron. “Isn’t this better than the cold, empty woods? The dark little cabin? You don’t need to be afraid anymore. Not of the night, not of the silence.”

You nod eagerly, nuzzling his collar, fingers winding into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I’m not afraid,” you murmur. “Not anymore.”

He laughs again, softer this time, and slides his hand up to cradle the back of your head. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You sink into his arms, letting yourself relax against him, surrounded by the clean scent of linen, the faint sweetness of the wildflowers blooming outside, and the rich, dark spice of Sebastian himself. He shifts, pulling you onto his lap, your back pressed to his chest, his arms winding around your waist.

You can feel his breath stir your hair, his lips pressing small, idle kisses to your crown.

I am really happy, you think, eyes fluttering shut. He really means it, he really loves me…

Sebastian buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in—your scent, your warmth, the salt of your skin. His lips linger against your scalp, then the curve of your neck.

“My little mate…” he murmurs, voice so low only you can hear. “You fit so perfectly here, you know. This is where you belong. In my arms, in my home, under my care…”

You sigh in contentment, eyes closing fully. “Sebastian…”

His hand trails up and down your arm, calming, soothing. You melt under his touch, all tension draining away.

Sebastian’s thoughts, cold and clear, unspoken—

How far she’s come, he muses. How many months ago did she cower and tremble, always looking at me like a cornered rabbit? She would flinch from a single step, whimper when I reached for her. That first night—so fragile, so pathetically hopeful that anyone else might save her…

Now look at her. Wrapped around me, desperate for my touch, terrified not of what I might do, but of being without me. That look in her eyes—broken, yet hungry for approval. She clings like ivy, not because I commanded it, but because the world outside was colder, crueler, emptier than my arms could ever be. In the end, it was her loneliness that tamed her, not just my discipline.

No, not just discipline… She needed something to hold onto. And so she reached for the hand that broke her.

His hand drifts over your soft hair, stroking the soft strands back from your cheek as you sigh and settle in his lap.

It is… beautiful, this feeling... he thinks, and the word is dangerous on his tongue.

His crimson eyes flicker. He presses another kiss to your temple.

I will not let a single soul take you from me—not God, not demon, not death itself. This house, this life, this delicate creature in my arms… All mine.

He smiles, almost fond.

I will keep her here forever. I will make her happy—

He glances down at you, still snuggled close, your breathing slow, peaceful, trusting.

You sigh, content and exhausted, head cradled beneath his jaw. You don’t speak again—there is nothing left to say. Everything you need is here: him.

You'll never be alone. You aren't at that cabin anymore. You're not alone.

And in the quiet of your new home, you let yourself fall asleep in his arms, for once dreaming not of fear, but of something dangerously close to happiness.

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