Please can I get Prince Soma x gn or male reader that’s a Phantomhive servant? ^^
I’ve been craving Prince soma stuff but he’s so underrated </3
❝ Prince Soma x PHANTOMHIVE SERVANT!READER ❞
⸻
The first time Prince Soma notices you, it is not because you speak. It is because you don’t.
The Phantomhive Manor is never truly quiet. There is always movement, always something being done, servants passing through rooms with purpose, voices kept low, footsteps careful and controlled. And yet, somehow, you move through it all without being heard at all. You are simply there, completing your tasks with quiet efficiency, blending into the rhythm of the manor as if you are part of it.
Soma is not used to that. He is used to attention, to being greeted, spoken to, surrounded by presence. So when he realizes you have been in the room with him for several minutes without announcing yourself, he turns quickly, eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh!” he says brightly. “You were here this whole time?”
You pause mid-task, glancing at him briefly. “Yes, your highness.”
There is nothing remarkable in your tone, nothing that suggests you think this moment is important.
To him, it is.
“That’s amazing,” he says, completely sincere. “You’re like a ninja.”
You don’t quite know how to respond to that, so you don’t. You simply return to your work, leaving him to watch you with open fascination.
After that, he starts noticing you everywhere. At first, it feels like coincidence. Passing glimpses in hallways, brief moments where you appear exactly when something needs to be done. A door opened before he reaches it, tea prepared without being requested, small details handled before they become problems.
Then it stops feeling like coincidence.
Because he starts looking for you.
“You again!” he says one afternoon, spotting you across the room like he’s found something exciting. “Do you follow me around, or is this fate?”
“I’m working,” you reply simply, not even pausing.
He beams like that’s the best answer you could have given him. “Then I will simply work where you are.”
From that point on, wherever you go, he tends to follow.
Soma is not subtle about it either. He talks to you while you work, asking questions without much regard for timing or relevance.
“What’s your favorite food? Do you like music? Have you ever been to India? You should come, it’s beautiful, I would show you everything.”
You answer what you can and ignore what you can’t. He doesn’t seem to mind either way. If anything, he seems to like your quietness.
“You listen well,” he tells you one day, sitting far too comfortably nearby while you continue working. “Most people just talk over me.”
You glance at him. “You talk a lot, your highness.”
There is a brief pause before he laughs, loud and bright and completely unoffended.
“That’s true!”
Somewhere along the way, something shifts. He stops treating you like a curiosity and starts treating you like someone important. He asks for you specifically, even when other servants are available. He lingers in rooms longer than necessary if you are there. He finds reasons, small and unnecessary, just to be near you.
It confuses the others.
It confuses you more.
“You work too much,” he says one evening, watching you move from one task to the next without stopping. “Do you ever rest?”
“When my duties are done.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It’s my job.”
He frowns slightly at that, not dramatically, just thoughtfully, as if he doesn’t like the answer but doesn’t know how to argue with it.
One day, he finds you outside in the garden. It is unusual. You are not moving, not working, just standing there in the quiet with nothing in your hands.
“You’re not working,” he says, softer this time.
“I finished early.”
“And you chose to come here?”
You nod.
He looks around the garden like he’s seeing it properly for the first time. “It’s nice.”
You don’t respond, but you don’t leave either.
So he stays.
After that, he becomes gentler with you. Still bright, still talkative, still full of energy, but more aware. He notices when you’re tired, when your movements slow, when your answers become shorter.
“You should sit,” he tells you one day, already pulling out a chair.
“I’m fine.”
“You say that a lot,” he replies, not moving it away.
You hesitate before finally sitting. The look on his face is immediate, like he’s just accomplished something important.
He starts bringing you things after that. Not grand gifts, not anything excessive. Just small things. Food he insists you try, flowers he thinks you might like, little trinkets that reminded him of you for reasons he cannot quite explain.
“For you,” he says every time, placing them carefully into your hands.
You never quite know what to do with them.
But you keep them anyway.
One evening, as the sun begins to set, he finds you again.
“You’re hard to understand,” he says, leaning a little closer than usual.
You glance at him. “So are you.”
He laughs softly this time, quieter than before. “That’s fair.”
There is a pause, and then, more quietly, “I like you.”
It is so simple that it takes a moment to register. No teasing, no exaggeration, no performance. Just honesty.
You don’t answer right away.
And for once, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence.
He just waits.
Being with Soma is different. He does not expect you to change, does not push you to be louder or softer or anything else. He meets you where you are. If you are quiet, he fills the silence without overwhelming it. If you are tired, he slows down. If you are busy, he stays nearby without interfering.
And slowly, without realizing when it began, you start doing the same for him.
One day, he takes your hand without thinking. It is easy, natural, like it was always meant to happen.
Then he pauses, looking down at your hands, then back at you.
“Is this okay?” he asks, softer than you have ever heard him.
You nod.
His smile returns instantly, brighter than before.
In a manor full of noise and constant movement, you become something steady for him.
And somehow, he becomes something warm for you.