#kuroshitsuji smut
Text
sebastian michaelis + fem bimbo s/o smut hcs ; 18+
requested by ; anonymous (01/09/23)
fandom(s) ; black butler
fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific
character(s) ; sebastian michaelis
outline ; “would you write sebastian michaelis x bimbo reader? maybe she's smart when doing her duties, but when she knows she can relax she's just a thought-free girl sebastian can use. (maybe their contract mark is over her womb or smth; im 19)”
warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, bimbo!reader, dumbification kink, dom!sebastian, sadist!sebastian, overstimulation, oral sex (male and female receiving), marking kink, slight ownership kink, degradation kink, praise kink, free use kink, vaginal sex, fingering, cream pies, public / semi-public sex acts
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked
sebastian michaelis is, above anything else, the perfect butler and is willing to do anything and everything in order to keep his masters safe and satisfied — whether that’s by cleaning and cooking for them or, in the case of your very unusual contract, fucking the thoughts out of them after a pressing day of work
you weren’t stupid by any means — quite the opposite, in fact, as he’s seen you masterfully manipulate peers and inferiors alike with a wit so sharp it could cut glass, and perform the duties assigned to you with such ease that he’d once questioned why you’d even formed a contract with him in the first place — but it was that same intellect that brought you the strife you’d asked him to relieve you of
after all, one can’t overthink or stress about work when their thoughts are drowned out by the feeling of being stretched out on a long, thick cock — if you’re still even able to think after he’s worked your clit so hard with those long fingers of his that you’re seeing stars and squirting so hard you’ve stained his uniform
of course during work hours he tends to you at all times, waiting on you hand and foot: waking you up in the morning with the day’s paper and fresh breakfast in bed, engaging in light banter and productive conversation with you, bringing you freshly ironed clothes suited to the day’s weather, fetching you documents and books for work, and doing other odd jobs related to the upkeep of your home — he is still a servant, after all
but when you’re ready to wind down and want nothing more than to be used and thoughtless — well, then he’s happy to indulge you there too
happy to force you to your knees (or have you lay on your back with your head hanging over the edge of your bed) and shove his cock down your throat — burying his hands in your hair and fucking your face until your cheeks and lips are covered in spit and your mascara is streaming down your face
happy to kneel between your legs as you sit at your desk or in your lounge room, massaging your thighs and waist and stomach as he uses that talented tongue and those long, slender fingers to bring you to climax over and over again — not stopping until you’re limp and gasping and sobbing, until even his eyelashes are damp with your juices, until your fingers are so tightly wound in his hair that it’s even starting to hurt him and your hands are trembling, until he’s had his fill of you
happy to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until your legs and arms give out beneath you — legs spread as far as they can go whilst his hands roughly paw at your waist and ass and breasts (greedy and harsh and possessive), not stopping until your pussy is spent and dripping with his seed and his teeth marks are imprinted on your shoulder
happy to pick you up and fuck, finger, or lick the thoughts from your mind at any moment — you had given him free reign, after all
happy to sit you on his lap with his dick buried in your cunt, strong grip keeping you in place as he forces you to look at your reflection in the mirror — one hand gripping your chin and making you stare at the point where the two of you become one, stare at your contract mark as it flashes and pulses in time with the pulsing of your inner walls around him, not moving until you’re teary eyed and begging him to please touch you
happy to play with and tease you even in front of others: whispering absolute filth into your ear before walking away completely unaffected, giving you suggestive looks across the room whenever others can’t see him, sliding his hand a bit too far up your thigh (when sat side by side) or low down your back (when walking together) for it to be completely innocent, and even making remarks referencing things he knows you enjoy in the bedroom that to others seem completely innocent
happy to leave an array of marks all over your body as a trail of evidence showing just how much of a good girl you are for him — deep bite marks on your thighs, fingerprint bruises on your hips, scratches along your sides, nips along your throat, and deep hickeys all over your breasts (he’s very generous with how much he claims you and he seems to get off on it even after the fact, whenever he notices them on you during the day when you’re working)
happy to call you pretty and perfect and his ‘good girl’ in the same breath that he mocks you for being ‘desperate’ and ‘needy’ and ‘slutty’ — praising you for your obedience and receptiveness and reactiveness to his touch and voice and yet teasing you for being ‘so wet already’ when he hasn’t even touched you yet, even playfully spanking your clit and chuckling against your throat when you yelped and flinched away from his touch
(he is a demon, after all, so it’s only natural that he’d be at least somewhat sadistic in the bedroom — and you have plenty of bite marks, bruises, and scratches all over your body to prove it)
(and he’s at his roughest when you show off your contract in one way or another — such as when you call him ‘my demon’ or wear something that intentionally shows off your contract mark, which will lead to much more possessive behaviour when you’re alone)
he’s also not at all opposed to fucking or playing with you in public or semi public areas — at most he might suggest finding somewhere a bit more private in order to preserve your reputation amongst your peers, but if you’re insistent then your demon is hardly going to refuse you (just know that he’s not going to go gentle on you just because you decided to proposition him where others might hear or see you, he’s still a demon after all)
but, of course, sebastian is still your loyal servant and once the fun has been had he’s there to take care of you in the aftermath: running you a warm bath, tending to any injuries so they don’t get infected, wiping away all of the blood and cum and saliva without complaint, reassuring and praising you for being so good for him, putting you in fresh bed clothes, and even bringing you some food and water to help you completely recover
you still have work to do and no butler worth his salt would let his mistress risk her career over something so minor
#sleepingdeath#minors dni#minors fuck off#minors don’t touch#ageless blogs dni#ageless blogs will be blocked#female reader#female reader smut#bimbo reader#smut#smut hcs#black butler smut#black butler x female reader#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji x female reader#sebastian michaelis smut#sebastian michaelis x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Master’s Whore
Pairing: Vincent Phantomhive x Fem! Maid! Reader.
Warning: NSFW, Smut, Master x Servant (possible power dynamic), Cheating, Pet Names, Creampie, Unprotected sex (please wrap it and stay safe everyone!), Intercourse (P in V), Breeding kink?
Summary: Vincent fucks his maid just a room over from his entire family.
Word Count: 806.
Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 1
A/N:
Welcome to Kinktober! My first fic, posted on time. Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the month. Hope you like the first edition to Stitched's first Kinktober!I did try to keep this gender neutral in the beginning, but it's a little hard to with smut so you can see when I stopped trying to be GN and just made the reader female. I suppose you can say the reader's gender is still ambiguous despite their female body (and though Vincent calls them 'Princess').I tried to make a McDonald's joke at the end but I don't think it landed at all (I can't fucking believe I made a McDonald's joke in a smut fic)
If you think this fic is good, just wait for Day 2...
Here is the masterlist for all of my Kinktober 2023 works.
—-///—
Your eyes slowly rolled back as the master fucked himself into you.
"Shh, baby, I know you can be quiet..." He whispered into your ear.
You whimpered against your master's hand. It was becoming harder and harder not to scream in ecstasy from his thin fingers and thick cock. Two fingers were pressed against your clit, rubbing in slow sensational motions whilst his dick eased in and out of you at nearly the same pace.
You were trying so hard not make a noise. The consequences of being caught in such a scandalous position with Earl Vincent Phantomhive could be devastating. Not only was Vincent's happy family was at risk, but most importantly your reputation and job was at risk.
Imagine what people would think of you, the Phantomhive mistress whore.
But the thought of the dangerous consequences thrilled the both of you. Made you both all hot and bothered.
"Oh Master!" You moaned out.
Vincent squeezed your jaw tightly, a warning to quiet down.
"Oh princess, you know my family are just outside that door. Are you trying to get us caught?" Vincent tutted.
You whined and lowered your head slightly. You stood facing the door with the Earl right you behind you and inside you, watching and almost daring someone to walk in and catch you in the act.
Vincent suddenly picked up the pace, moving faster in and out of your desperate hole. You placed your hands over Vincent's, the one still squeezing your face, as an attempt to hide your moans and cries better. Vincent groaned behind you, feeling himself grow closer to his climax.
"Oh God, I'm going to fill you up so good my little maid." He huffed into your ear.
"Please Sir!" You cried, the sound muffled behind both your hands and Vincent's over your mouth. You were just as close.
It wasn't long before you and your lover made it to your long needed orgasms. As promised, Vincent spilled his seed far into your awaiting hole. Whilst your cum spilled onto the carpet under you. You'd have fun trying to get that stain out later, seeing as you couldn't possibly leave it for your co workers to deal with.
You sighed and went to stand up straight, but Vincent stopped you with a kind hand on your back.
"Wait Darling, we can't let all this cum go to waste." Vincent chuckled.
He pulled up your panties nice and tight and lovingly tapped your pussy through your panties before letting you stand up and turn to face him.
Vincent tutted again and sighed as you looked down at your cum on the carpet, he was stingy with cum, always insisting both your fluids be properly taken by the other. Vincent liked getting his and yours cum worth. Oh well, he'd just have to make up for it later. He pulled himself back into his trousers and smiled at you while stretching a bit.
He walked over to the door but before opening it, he turned back to you and grinned, "I'll want you again before the day is over, so I'll need you stay later than usual. You don't have a problem with that, do you Princess?"
You stood in front of your master, skirt still pulled up, cum sticking to your thighs and filling your cunt also covering the carpet under you whilst your legs shook. His words had your pussy clenching around nothing, again.
So obviously you smiled and slowly shook you head, "Not at all. Master..."
#stitched#stitched talks#stitched’s kinktober#kinktober 2023#vincent phantomhive#vincent phantomhive x reader#black butler#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji smut#vincent phantomhive smut#stitched writes
691 notes
·
View notes
Text
DEFLOWER — S. MICHAELIS
✰ 10: 04 - [virginity kink] ✰
Synopsis: It's your first time and Sebastian is delighted to lend a helping hand
Run time (wc): 489
Rating: R (18+ mdni)
⚠︎ CW: virginity kink, corruption, unprotected sex, creampie, verrry slight dub-con
kinktober '23 m.list
A sacred thing virginity is. Whether or not it is treated as such, since one can think of this subjectively, there’s something to be said about how the very first time opens the door to a myriad of possibilities and electrifies curiosity.
Perhaps it was because it was in his nature to corrupt, but the idea of taking your innocence lit Sebastian ablaze with sexual desire. He knew you were apprehensive. In fact, you trembled and reached for his pale, slender hands each time his fingers grazed below your belly button. You tensed and he soothed you with warm kisses along your collarbone and down the valley of your breasts, smirking to himself whenever your chest rose suddenly with a hitched breath. Clearly, whatever he was doing was working. Arousal pooled at the entrance of your aching cunt, the aroma reaching Sebastian and driving him wild.
“I believe you're ready,” Sebastian groaned. This was no question, he was certain, however he looked at you expectantly with glowing eyes. Then with a soft, keen whimper you obliged.
Sebastian was growing impatient, each moment he went without being balls deep inside you was tortuous. So, he took no time unfurling his erection and swiping a bead of pre cum over your sensitive clit. You mewled and bucked your hips forward chasing the feeling. And finally, you felt it. The tip of his cock stretching past your hymen and entering your sodden cunt with a squelch.
“Wait–” Your eyebrows furrowed in discomfort. But Sebastian only acknowledged it with a faint hum and rolling of his hips. It wasn’t that he did not care, indubitably he knew that if he stopped now, the next time he began he’d take you in a brutish way. Ungentleman-like, and above all like a beast–the beast he was.
He gritted his teeth and slowly rocked forward again, then again, until he felt you clench around him and watched your head lull back onto the soft duvet.
As he continued, your body shook, and you bit your lip staring up at him with blown pupils. This was something he could get used to and the thought made him thrust faster into your fluttering walls.
“I feel–oh!” you gasped and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Weird like I might pee.”
Instead of responding, Sebastian chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours and fucked you deeper, more intimately. The pressure grew and you squirmed underneath him, legs thrown loosely over his waist and panting. This type of yearning was foreign to you. The coil grew tighter and tighter before snapping suddenly, leaving you a moaning mess.
His cum leaked out of you like sweet vanilla pudding in an eclair, and he licked his lips eagerly. Sebastian was proud, but not yet satisfied.
“I’m impressed, my love,” Sebastian said, pulling you forward by the plush of your thighs. “You take me so well… how about another go?”
#not sfw#sebastian michaelis x reader#sebastian michaelis smut#black butler sebastian#black butler fandom#black butler imagines#black butler x reader#black butler scenarios#black butler x y/n#black butler fanfiction#black butler smut#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji sebastian#kuroshitsuji x reader#sebastian x reader#sebastian michaelis#kintober 2023#kinktober
996 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blindfolding The Snake
Pairing: Servant! Snake x Master! Phantomhive! GN! Reader.
Summary: What would blindfolding Snake during sex include…
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Blindfolded sex, Tied up/ Handcuffed sex, Oral sex (male receiving), Master x Servant (toxic power dynamic), Established relationship, Reader is Ciel’s older sister, Mention of edging, Mention of Mommy/Daddy kink, Mention of cumming on the face.
Writing Time: 15 minutes.
Word Count: 444.
Format: Kinktober Headcannons, Day 26.
A/N:
Love writing for Snake! Enjoy!
• Snake is a virgin, that’s obvious.
• So you have to take things slow with him.
• You two started dating after Ciel brought Snake in as his servant.
• And you, Ciel’s older sister, immediately took a liking to the white haired boy. Ciel was more than willing to make Snake your personal butler after some training from Sebastian.
• And you was rather fast and making Snake yours.
• He was your personal butler now and all your needs was his responsibility, especially your sexual needs.
• Snake is very loving during sex and that doesn’t change no matter how many times you do it or how comfortable he becomes with it.
• Nor does his shyness around the topic change.
• When the time is right, which is after Snake successfully made you dinner and it didn’t make you sick, you suggest trying something more kinky.
• Snake almost dies/cums.
• Death by orgasm FROM WORDS.
• He’d be absolutely up for it.
• You would tie your cute boyfriend up, blindfold him and get to work.
• Honestly you just wanted to suck him off, like the most of us do, but you also wanted to see if Snake would become more sensitive or cum harder if he couldn’t see you sucking him off.
• He absolutely does.
• Snake doesn’t last long usually but when he’s blindfolded, he can create a record time for fastest orgasm.
• Even if you edge him also.
• And he’s desperate to touch you afterwards.
• I don’t think Snake is crazy about being blindfolded, he only down because he loves to make you happy.
• So you’ll need to constantly remind him you’re still there.
• And even then, he still needing reminding when the blindfold is off.
• Which is why he’s so desperate to touch you afterwards, to know you’re still there.
• Snake is definitely a bottom sub and has a Mommy/Daddy kink.
• And sex is the only way to make him talk himself, without his snakes.
• He loves coming on your face, it’s like marking you which he’s very into.
• You must mark him too.
#stitched#stitched talks#stitched writes#black butler#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji x reader#black butler smut#kuroshitsuji smut#snake x reader#snake smut#black butler snake#kuroshitsuji snake x reader#kinktober#kinktober 2023#stitched’s kinktober
623 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sebastian Michaelis
— : [nsfw] unprotected sex, slight teasing
— : kink :: sensory deprivation (blind folding)
sebastian loved your blind faith in him. he’s never had anyone or anything trust him quite like you do and it’s jarring as it is empowering.
he takes pride in knowing you’d gladly let him do as he pleases and he tends to take advantage of that but only because you’re more than okay with it. more than happy to let him take the lead sometimes.
“there’s no need to be so nervous darling” he chuckles, watching you careful as he ties the blindfold over your eyes.
the soft silk is comfortable and not too tight but it’s secured and you can’t see anything even if you tried to open your eyes underneath.
“i’m not nervous” you lie and he sees right through you but instead of teasing, he kisses you, wrapping a gloved hand around your throat to keep you in place.
his kisses are always sweet and addicting, tasting like the tea he often likes to drink.
you feel goosebumps all over your naked skin when he presses his chest against yours. he’s still dressed while you’re completely naked but it doesn’t make you feel any less aroused, as embarrassing as it might seem.
“do you remember your word love?” he asks, turning you onto your hands and knees. he admires how beautiful you look like this and he resists the urge to take a picture. that could be for a different time, when he wasn’t in such a rush to take you.
“yes” you say, “butler”
he smirks as he unties his own shirt, leaving it open instead of fully undressing. he knows you like the feeling of his pants against the back your thighs when he fucks you.
you can only rely on your hearing to figure out what he’s doing. this isn’t the first time you’ve used a blindfold but it still makes you feel shy.
you moan, biting your lip when he slaps your ass once and then twice. he couldn’t help himself when you presented yourself to him like this, a meal all for him and he was very greedy after all.
he runs his fingers up your spine and you shiver, suppressing a whine when you hear his deep chuckle right next to your ear.
he slides into you slowly, stretching you out around his cock. despite how many times you’ve done this, it burns and you bite into the pillow as he takes his time filling you up.
he knows you’d beg if you weren’t so hyper focused on everything happening around you. he can only imagine how intense everything feels.
“feels good darling?” he whispers, biting your earlobe.
you whimper, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. it does feel good, better than you thought it would and you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are by the way he groans softly and thrusts a little faster.
he wants to savour it, the feeling of you wrapped up all around him and he knows there’s plenty of time to try this again in future but in the moment, all he can think about is you and how much you trust him and how good it feels to be inside you.
“such a good girl” he sighs, “you’re always so good for me”
you nod, kissing his jaw and any place you can reach without being able to see anything.
he easily indulges you as he speeds up his pace, kissing you hard and fucking you deeper. it’s just the way you always like it and he’s always been the one to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.
#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes#[ 🌶️ ] xfg’s thirsts#[ 😈 ] xifeng’s kinktober#sebastian michaelis#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji smut#black butler smut#sebastian michaelis smut#sebastian michaelis x you#sebestian michaelis x reader#sebastian michaelis x y/n#black butler sebastian#black butler sebastian smut#kuroshitsuji sebastian smut
457 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Epitaph"
Undertaker x Female Reader
word count: 15,900+
(requested by @anxious-chick // After running into the mysterious guest known as “Undertaker” at several of Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive’s weekly parties, the two of you eventually take an interest in one another, even if your part in that begins as somewhat reluctant. However, over time, as you grow more comfortable around one another, you find perhaps there's a reason you two were destined to meet, starting with the fact that he's the first one to show you physical touch isn't something to be afraid of.)
disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! plot heavy in the beginning (sort of slow burn) with smut at the end, loss of virginity, best way i can describe this is like a one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers lol, bittersweet ending, some mentions of drinking/alcohol.
*ao3 mirror*
***
The cemetery beyond the mortuary was empty at this time of night, the small, early morning hours just beginning to creep over the horizon, staining the dark velvets of night with a fine veil of ghostly greys, the moonlight breaking through the thick shield of clouds overhead. Through the latticed windows of the kitchenette, silver beams slipped through the glass to lay on the cool tile floor, the table by the sill where you used to sit and read your mystery novels now overgrown with houseplants.
It was all he had left of you— ferns and pothos and calatheas.
Houseplants, and the loop of your hair that was preserved behind the glass of his mourning lockets.
Out of the countless bodies he’d seen through death, tended to and prepared to be placed perfectly in their eternal resting place, you had been the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking.
It had been years since he’d shed even a single tear over one of the deceased— decades— maybe even over a century— but for you, after all this time, he guessed he still had a few lingering shreds of humanity left in his crypt of a heart after all. No matter how far he tried to bury his grief, his mourning, your passing had finally been the thing to unearth it.
Standing before your headstone beneath the kitchen window, facing the direction of the setting sun, your favorite time of day, tracing the letters of your name with his sullen chartreuse gaze, slivers of emerald slipping through the gaps of his curtain of silver bags, he just let the tears fall. If anyone else had been around to see, they would’ve never believed the funeral director was actually crying over one of his corpses.
But you had been so much more than just a body, once upon a time. It haunted him to think one day he might be the only soul left to remember you’d even existed at all. But then again, those were all memories he still held dear. He could recall them as if they’d occurred only yesterday, could see the curve of your profile from across the room, feel the way the dip of your waist fit perfectly into his palm, hear the lilt of your laugh, able to amuse you with anything he said if he really wanted to once he’d finally deciphered your sense of humor.
Those days were over for you now, but he could still relive pieces of them, their echo reverberating through his mind as soon as he plucked the first string on one. No matter how melancholy the tune, the melody was still just as sweet.
Strolling away from your resting place, venturing further into the garden of graves that lay beyond, he began to hum a quiet song to himself, one he’d heard time and time again back when you two had first fallen into each other’s orbit. Despite the sadness, it made him smile. He wished he would’ve asked to dance with you sooner, danced with you more, once he’d finally gotten the chance.
He could almost feel the waltz welling within him, doing a turn and imagining your hands clasped with his, twirling you gracefully, allowing you to unravel just far enough to give the illusion of breaking away only to return to him, wearing that mischievous smile he so adored.
How he longed to revisit those nights in more than just his memories— the mysterious gatherings, the lavish parties, no matter what menagerie of wealthy, well-bred guests were in attendance, his interest always locking in on you.
But even he couldn’t have guessed, back then, that he would’ve ever grown so attached as to weep for you once you were dead…
***
It had all began at one of the Phantomhive’s illustrious, notorious nighttime banquets, each and every guest hand picked and carefully curated, placed strategically within the mansion’s hosting perimeter, down to the seating arrangements at dinner and the order in which the carriages arrived to deliver you all home at the end of the event.
The first few times you’d been invited, you hadn’t a clue why you were there. Because what could Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive possibly want to do with a local news column writer such as yourself? They’d barely spoken to you upon your arrival, too busy mingling with the more important guests, but as you’d awkwardly skirted the corners of the room, the neglect had given you the opportunity to do what it was you were best at.
Survey the crowd.
People watch.
Discover the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow party-goers all while remaining anonymous and tucked away into the shadows.
It was how you’d quickly began to rise through the ranks of the journalists at your press department, sniffing out mysterious stories and the savage truths behind them before anyone else even had the chance to pick a direction to start in.
To yourself, you thought it just made you a good journalist. To others, it made you dangerous.
And if anyone besides the hosts of the evening knew just exactly how lethal you could become with a pen and notepad in your hand, they’d all be anxiously vying to convince you they weren’t like other arms dealers and black market traders or any other less-than-ethical variety of underworld rat skittering through London’s secret mazes.
But that had all been a part of Vincent and Rachel’s plan. Have you stir things up just enough to have the vermin scatter, then all they’d need to do would be to divert them towards the trap.
By the fifth time you’d accepted their ominous invitation— why you kept returning despite the uneasiness it all gave you, you weren’t sure, other than your innate curiosity and just so happening to have most nights free from your busy work schedule— your hosts had finally found it appropriate to introduce themselves to you personally.
Even before you’d begun attending the parties, seen the infamous Phantomhive’s with your own eyes, you’d heard the rumors— not just of their wealth, but of their beauty as well.
Rachel and Vincent both bore striking appearances. They had this air about them, something you just couldn’t put your finger on, that made you both weary and trusting of them on sight. Like a siren singing from a rock near the shore, they lured you in with their elegant charms, but get too close and you’d find yourself drowning.
“Ah, there she is,” Vincent had said as he and his wife gracefully approached you. “The woman of the hour. Welcome, welcome.” You gave them a respectful courtesy, bowing your head and clutching your skirts, hoping to hide how your hands had begun to shake, your nerves getting the better of you.
“Thank you for having me,” you replied, trying to sound actually grateful instead of skeptical. You were going to keep your confusion to yourself, just let it go and enjoy being able to attend while it lasted, but then something inside you decided against it and you asked, “But— and excuse me if this is out of turn— why, exactly, have I been invited…?”
Rachel and Vincent both laughed and, for a moment, all air of intimidation seemed to disappear from them. Until they’d looked at each other, then looked back at you, smiling like cats who’d just caught a mouse and intended on teasing the poor creature for a bit before sinking its fangs down into the rodent’s throat.
Vincent leaned in, close enough to make you flinch, close enough to raise a slight heat into your cheeks. “Because, my dear journalist…” he’d whispered, “Rachel and I have a very important favor to ask of you.”
The favor in question, as it turned out, was more so a job. The Phantomhive’s couldn’t be discovered as double agents or else their entire cover operation would be blown, so naturally they sought out second hand services. But your willingness to spy on their guests for them didn’t come for free. They’d never even dream of inferring that you work without compensation of some kind. So, in exchange for your services, they were willing to put in a good word for you at the top newspaper in all of London.
“Just take your pick of the columns,” Rachel had said with a sly wink. “Any one your heart desires, do this for us and it shall be yours.”
At first, it almost seemed, and felt, too good to be true. But you were tired of getting stuck with the inane, mundane, and oftentimes completely domestic stories handed off to you by the other men at the office. If you came in with a headline worthy story, it was always one of them who got to claim it, making you do all the work only to sign it off with their name, as if any one of them could ever even hope to be half the writer— half the detective— you’d been with half the time in the game.
It was tempting, though, what was it they said about temptation again? Something about surrending to it in case it never came your way again?
Perhaps that was the reason you’d been so inclined to accept their offer in the end. Because, if they really were the sirens you suspected them to be, this opportunity felt like a liferaft tossed out to sea. You’d already made the mistake of drawing too close to the beast. Now all you could do was grasp onto the first thing that could help you escape the icy waters unscathed.
So, from there on out, every event of theirs that you attended you made sure to stay diligent, deceptively demure as you shied away from the thickest crowds, wearing clothes that looked nice enough to blend in but not so extravagant as to be the center of attention, your hair fixed into an elegant, albeit modest updo, always seeming to be holding a glass of whatever alcohol was being served that night that never found itself empty. Although, unlike most of the other guests, that wasn’t because the servants kept coming around to refill it. You had to stay focused, so, raising the rim of the crystal to your lips, you merely pretended to drink, yet another way to blend in.
However, despite the fact your eye for booking someone as shady or salacious was a very sharp, very skilled one, there had been one guest that, no matter how hard you studied him, how carefully you watched, gave nothing— absolutely nothing— away as to why he belonged in the room among the rest of the guests.
You were supposed to be the secret outlier, you thought, and the man’s presence haunted you from one week into the next. By your second soiree as a spy, you’d already gathered ample information on the ones you’d deemed guilty, still keeping a watch on the others out of the corner of your eye while you continued trying to dig a deeper hole for the rats to fall in, but at the end of that night drifting around the manor like your own kind of phantom, you still came up empty on your mystery man.
Until the very end, just as you were about to head out to the carriage arranged to take you home.
“I must say, Vincent,” his gravelly voice sounded from a little further into the main foyer, the remnants of a laugh fading off the end of his words, “If the Queen knew her watchdog had such a sense of humor, I think she’d prefer to take you on as her personal entertainer instead.”
You stopped, pretending to search your purse for something as you listened in.
The Earl let out a devious chuckle of his own, going on to reply, “Yes, but if I did that, then who would be around to entertain you, Undertaker?”
You clasped your purse shut with a muted click and continued towards the carriage. For tonight, you had all you needed. And though it was just a title, barely even a name to know him by, the moment you got home and scribbled down the ten letters of Undertaker onto your growing web of information gathered from these parties, you could already sense that he was the key to the biggest mystery you’d been faced with yet.
***
Though you couldn’t see his eyes through the thick silver curtain of his hair, from across the room you knew— could practically feel it as a fresh wave of chills spiked up your spine— that Undertaker was staring straight at you. You stared back, lips slightly parted as your next breath caught halfway up your throat, his silent acknowledgment of you making you feel suddenly naked, vulnerable under his recognition.
He offered you a mischievous crack of a smile, all teeth, and a playful, waggling wave of his black-nailed fingers. You felt your cheeks heat, feeling startlingly self-conscious, though not entirely sure why, and turned to excuse yourself to the nearest washroom to collect yourself.
Staring down your reflection in the mirror, you reminded yourself why you were here. To investigate. To uncover. To expose. Not just for the promotion that had been generously promised to you, but for the sake of the common good as well. Or, at least, that’s one of the stories you’d started telling yourself to make your duplicity to all the people who you’d pretended to enjoy the company of a little less guilt-tripping.
Besides, the Phantomhive’s also knew you couldn’t resist a cause where injustice was being done, and while it sort of made you sick to watch this group of miscreants chatting and laughing like they’d never harmed the orphaned or the sick or the poor week after week, you knew, in the end, their evil would not prevail.
Resolute in your mission here once again, you exited the washroom, intending to migrate back into the lion’s den, when all of a sudden that familiar, bone-chilling voice sounded from behind you, making you flinch.
“You know…” Undertaker began, who’d been leaning against the nearest wall before pushing off with one shoulder to lessen the gap between you, the layers of black fabric he wore lightly billowing behind him with each heel-to-toe step. His arms were crossed, and his shadow began to creep over you, seeming as if it could swallow you up at any moment. But still he wore an amused grin like he was about to tell a charming joke and was simply awaiting the perfect moment to deliver the punchline. He continued, “The guest list of these parties changes every week, yet, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are only ever two who get invited every single time…”
You had noticed that actually, keeping the little tidbit of information close to your chest, sometimes purposely acting like it was your first time attending such a gathering if you noticed the roster was entirely fresh, but he was right.
The only other person besides yourself who graced the Phantomhive manor on a weekly basis, other than the Phantomhives themselves, of course, was the silver shadow known as Undertaker. The man had been nearly as elusive and calculating as you had thus far, but now, it seemed, he wished to show part of his hand.
Undertaker cocked his head to one side, seeming to study you through the shaggy fringe concealing half his face like a mask, and said, “Sort of odd, don’t you think?”
And it really wasn’t his sudden and unexpected presence that had caught you so off guard. You were used to potential targets confronting you, whether to try and scare you off from a possible story they were at the root of or convince you there was nothing to see here. This, however, was different. Because the increased pounding of your heart and the sudden loss for words didn’t seem to be out of fear, but, perhaps, out of the kind of flustered intrigue that comes with finding a stranger very, very attractive.
“I, uh…” was all you had time to say before Vincent Phantomhive was approaching from down the hall, seemingly with something urgent to discuss with Undertaker, giving you a smile and a nod as if to say keep up the good work before he and his guest continued down the hall and disappeared around the next corner, all that black fabric fluttering in his wake.
You spent the remainder of the night distracted, off your game, growing frustrated with yourself and with him for having your thoughts interrupted by that shining scar that cut diagonally across his pale face, the lilting hum to his tone that had indicated something you didn’t even dare explore, even within the confines of your own imagination, and all those long strands of silver that looked like threads spun from moonlight.
Needless to say, you didn’t gather much intel that night, and you were honestly just counting down the hours until it would be time for you to go home. But as each guest departed, one after another, their carriages formally announced to be awaiting them, something else strange and rather off-script happened to you.
Normally, you were among the middle group to say your thank yous and goodbyes to the hosts before exiting through the grand entrance, heading down the curved double staircase before being whisked away back into the grey-toned city. But tonight, after watching the last of the guests thank the Phantomhives for their glittering hospitality and departing the manor, you found you were the final guest that remained.
You, and, much to your dismay, surprise, and general curiosity, Undertaker as well.
You were sure your carriage would be pulling up any moment now, and so you hung close to the doors to search out the horse pulling it through the dark. You hoped this served as an indicator you wished to be left alone with your own thoughts, but, alas, that looming shadow of a man who’d suddenly and quite unexplainably taken an interest in you was hovering by your side again like a crow waiting for you to drop some crumbs.
“Do you think it’s true?” he unceremoniously prompted, voice hushed to a low, sultry whisper, making the thin hairs on the back of your neck rise with suspense.
You cast him a glance over your shoulder, trying to act indifferent and completely unbothered. “Do I think what’s true?” you asked, an edge of irritation splicing through your forced boredom.
Undertaker breathed out a knowing chuckle, something from beneath his wide sleeves clinking and chiming together lightly before he applied more pressure to silence it. He then cleared his throat and said, “This place, they say it’s haunted, you know.”
“And?” you pressed, and though you were trying to make it seem like you couldn’t have cared less, your skin was crawling with the anticipation to know more, more, more.
“And,” he mimicked, leaning in a little closer to you, testing to see how far you’d let him invade your personal space, “do you think it’s true?”
You turned to face him, scrutinizing him now, a crooked mask to hide your true intrigue, wanting nothing more than to reach up and gently push his bangs away from his eyes just to discover what color they were beneath the curtain that so carefully protected that information. You wanted to trace the lines of his scars, especially the one wrapped around his neck like a collar, a chain, a reminder of something horrific he’d once endured, and learn the story behind every single mark.
You wanted to learn his name, his true one, not just his job description or whatever morbid title Vincent had given him as part of some kind of inside joke they shared.
You opened your mouth to say something— what, you weren’t entirely sure— but just then, the feeling in the air seemed to change, an energy charged in the small space between your bodies, the scent of a storm carrying on a breeze, an invisible electricity sparking through you, lacing through your bones and frizzling your brain.
“They say sometimes you can feel them touch you,” Undertaker continued, and for a moment, just a mere hair of a second, you swore you could see a glint of light shimmering from behind his bangs, a flash of emerald here and then gone again before your eyes could even register the color. “They say it’s heavy, and cold as ice, like a stone lifted from a freezing sea, the sensation coming and going as quick as a breath in a winter’s breeze…”
The first time his pale, cold hand had brushed against the dip of your waist it had already been too late. His long, lithe fingers had lingered there for but a moment, just long enough to allow the shape of his touch to drape itself upon your body, the memory of it a thrilling, frightening thing. But when you’d flinched away, drawn in a sudden, sharp gasp under your breath, he retracted. Still, despite the new distance put between you two, he wore that mischievous smile, his broad shoulders shivering with the containment of some kind of mean laughter.
It was then that your carriage arrived, the Phantomhives’ butler announcing this to you, but just before you could turn and leave, Undertaker said, “Remember, miss journalist, sometimes the answers to our biggest questions are found in the things we can’t see…” as he slinked back off into the dark, leaving you standing in the center of the foyer alone.
If you hadn’t seen Vincent interact directly with him just earlier that evening, you would’ve deduced that he was the very spirit he’d warned you of, but then, about halfway home as the carriage traveled over the country’s uneven terrain, you realized something even more terrifying.
You’d never told him you were a journalist. The Phantomhives had assured you that no one besides themselves were to know, lest your cover and this whole operation they’d gotten you involved with be blown.
It kept you up at night, his words, his scars, his touch. But now you had an entirely new mission, one that was all your own.
And that was to discover just exactly who, or perhaps, what, this man called Undertaker truly was.
***
Some time passed before there was another party, what with the celebration of the Phantomhives’ sons’ birthdays and the Christmas holiday falling a little under two weeks apart. But, with the arrival of the New Year of 1885 quickly approaching, you weren’t surprised when you received yet another one of the crisp, cream and gold colored invitation cards in the mail announcing a grand celebration event at the manor.
This would be the biggest crowd you’d hidden amongst thus far, though, surely, you thought, the Phantomhives didn’t intend for you to be working too hard on such an occasion? Besides, you’d already turned in the extent of information you’d been able to gather on their people of interest. As far as you were concerned, this case, or at least your part in it, was closed. They’d already assured you they’d hold up their end of the deal as soon as you chose your desired position at the new press company you’d be working at come the new year too. Now, all you had to do was sit back and relax as the hours ticked down until midnight.
At least, that’s what you would’ve been able to do if not for the incessant appearance of him.
All night, Undertaker seemed to trail you like a shadow. No matter how many times you tried to slip out of one room and into another unnoticed, tuck yourself within a new crowd, folded between different nobles, it was only a matter of minutes until you looked over and saw his pale figure swathed in layers of black. A few times, he even dared to give you one of those cheeky grins and teasing waves, as if tormenting you was his most favorite game, and every time you met the gesture with a huff of a frustrated sigh and a swift turning on your heel, heading off to pick at the many food options set up around the different rooms or grab another drink as a servant carrying a tray of them passed by, not pretending to sip this time but actually allowing yourself to indulge.
But you should’ve really known by now that showing your back and trying to ignore him was probably your worst bet at actually being left alone. He was like a naughty child, continuously doing that which would get him the most reaction or attention, despite the consequences. And, like the tired parent who would do just about anything to get the child to behave, you eventually caved in and gave him exactly what he wanted.
“What?” you asked, walking right up to him where he was leaning against a wall, your arms crossed and attempting to wrestle your features into a look of grim displeasure rather than fluster-fueled nervousness. It was like a spell had suddenly been released into the air once you two were standing face to face, your prior agitation slowly but surely melting away until all you could focus on was the way his silver hair caught the dim light and those scars that just barely peeked out from his collar and curtain of bangs as if too shy to properly say hello.
“Good evening to you too, miss journalist,” he sarcastically greeted, though you detected no hint of malice, merely an air of teasing charm. Instead of irking you that time, the sentiment made your cheeks heat. You pretended to cough and look away, hoping it wasn’t showing too clearly on your face. He gestured to the party encircling you both, an endless, overlapping barrage of laughter and conversation filling the room, and asked with a slight raise to his voice, “What a wonderful way to ring in the new year, don’t you agree?”
Frankly, you realized you were still far too sober to be in this situation right now, but when you searched the room for any more of those silver trays holding flutes of bubbling liquid, you found, for once, there were none in sight.
“Listen,” you said, lowering your voice despite the loud chatter that tried to drown it out, clearly still in the investigation mindset despite your earlier resolution to enjoy a night away from work, “let’s just stop with the smalltalk. Off the record, why don’t you just tell me what it is you want and why I have to be a part of it?”
When he found it appropriate to laugh at this notion, one of which you were sincerely serious about, you found yourself flaring more towards anger than intrigue. “What’s so funny?” you hissed, suddenly wanting nothing more than your own shadow to hide inside of when you glanced around and noticed a few other party-goers trying to listen in on your conversation. You were used to coveting and collecting gossip, not being the source of it.
But Undertaker seemed largely undisturbed by the growing sets of eyes landing upon your shared corner of the ballroom, flicking one black-nailed finger beneath the hem of his fringe to wipe away a tear of amusement before replying through a chuckle-laced breath, “You are, my dear. Simply hilarious.”
Wanting to turn and stalk away from him again, you resisted the urge, now determined to beat him at his own game, the rules of which you still weren’t entirely clear on. “Oh, so you like jokes then?” you baited, a smirk beginning to curve up on your lips now. “Well why didn’t you just say so? How about you and I make a deal then?” At this, Undertaker’s expression turned comically inquisitive, regarding you with a new kind of focus, his silence prompting you to continue. “If I can tell you something funny enough to make you laugh before the end of the night, you leave me alone after that.”
“And if you lose?” he posed, beginning to circle you until it was your back towards the wall instead, a hunter closing in on its prey. “What do I get if I win?”
You took a moment to think about that. You didn’t have much to give, if you were being honest. So you made the mistake of asking him, “What do you want?”
The smile that carved across his pale features then sent another one of those cold, electric shivers down your spine, and instantly you regretted allowing him so much freedom in choosing his prize. Tapping his chin with a finger as he pretended to sort through his options, he quickly and proudly settled on, “How about you have dinner with me?”
Aghast, you truly didn’t know what to say. Wanting to play it cool, not show how ridiculous the idea seemed to you when stated so shamelessly out of the blue, your throat bobbed with a particularly hard swallow and your voice shook slightly as you began to say, “That’s really what you want?”
Undertaker nodded, his smile not faltering. “That’s what I want.”
Not happy with the consequences but still clearly up for the challenge, you steeled your expression and agreed with a semi-confident, “Alright then. All I have to do is make you laugh before the clock strikes twelve,” and then I’ll never have to be bothered by you again. Should be easy, if he thought you were so hilarious without even trying.
However, as you searched the far corners of your mind for a joke or anecdote you thought would knock him out on the first try, you suddenly found your temporary confidence dying like an ember fading out in its hearth. You resided in the world of logic and facts, not entertainment and tomfoolery. You had a sense of humor, sure. Someone in your line of work had to, once in a while, lest they go mad when constantly being reintroduced to the bleakest parts of humanity.
Finally, you recalled a particular story that you’d nearly cried at upon hearing the first time, you’d laughed so hard. Surely, this was the one. You remembered it perfectly too, only, the further you ventured into telling it without so much as a twitch of a smirk appearing at the corner of Undertaker’s lips, the more you began to sense that you’d been lured right into a trap.
“Amusing,” he stated, monotone and mocking you. “But if you want to win, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
You stood there, staring at him, seething, knowing this had all been according to his plan all along. You figured you could always just find a moment to slip away from the party and into one of the carriages already lined up outside before the new year rang in, perhaps voiding this odd and informal little contract you two had entered into together, but a part of you also knew that, whether a week or a month or a year from now, you’d find yourself faced with him again some way or another. Perhaps it was better to just keep trying even if only to prove to yourself you’d fought instead of running away.
“Oh, don’t worry,” you taunted, some of your indignance slipping through the vengeful grin spreading across your lips, “I’m just warming up.”
Undertaker tapped his wrist, miming where a watch would be, if he wore one, and said, “Tick tock… Only five more hours till midnight.”
And thus the game began.
***
Every hour that passed, with every attempted joke that was told without the desired reaction, the more dejected you began to feel.
And now, with less than half an hour to go, you’d already accepted your imminent defeat.
There had been a few times you could tell he was seriously having to hold back, the promise of a chuckle choked out behind his teeth or a burst of a laugh strangled somewhere deep in his chest before it had time to rise from his lungs. He had a lot more self control than you would’ve originally given him credit for, that much you couldn’t deny, but it almost seemed the brunt of his amusement came from how each attempt you made became more desperate, some of the words leaving your mouth shameful enough to make your mother faint had she been around to hear you say them, digging up the darkest, most shocking lines you’d ever uttered in your entire life.
You were a few drinks over the limit of caring if any of the other ladies in attendance that night heard you saying such depraved things in public, and to a man you barely even knew on top of it all, but one thing was for certain.
Undertaker was cracking.
You’d nearly gotten him on a few of the last ones, suddenly grateful for all the horrid things you’d heard the men exchanging and laughing about in the press office— another place you were used to acting like a shadow within. Though, even if you felt like you were maybe getting closer to winning, your dignity would lose regardless. You felt as if you were stooping to some unacceptable level you’d normally turn your nose up at, behaving in such an undignified way, yet the itch to prove him wrong and reclaim your pride was hard not to scratch, and right now there was only one way to do so.
“You know,” Undertaker said, only fifteen minutes to midnight, “I will admit, you’re really starting to make me regret entering the mortuary field and wishing I’d gone into journalism instead. Do your colleagues truly say such audacious things?” Just then he nearly made himself laugh, though you figured that wouldn’t count.
By now, you had a few cards left to play, having saved your best ones for the final hour, just in case, though that bank had nearly run dry. You had one last ridiculous tale left up your sleeve before you’d truly have to hang your head and admit defeat, and for a moment, you let hope get the better of you. It truly seemed this would be the one to best him, and as you loudly and, thanks to the several glasses of champagne flowing through your veins, very confidently delivered the perfect punchline, you counted the seconds until he’d inevitably burst with laughter and be forced to forgo his mission to unexplainably irritate you.
But he swallowed it down, dousing it with his next and final gulp of champagne, having drank nearly as much as you throughout the night, probably more, yet somehow unaffected, and as he sighed out a satisfied exhale, sans the expected howl of laughter, your expression of victory crumbled down to forlorn.
“Are you kidding me?” you confronted, clearly fed up— with him, mostly, but also with yourself— before you began stammering out a mess of jumbled syllables proclaiming how this entire thing had been rigged in the first place.
“Technically there’s still a few minutes,” Undertaker reminded you, nodding towards the grand clock adorning the mansion’s foyer. “Though if I were you…” he leaned in, so close his lips were practically pressed against your ear, his breath tickling the side of your exposed neck, “I’d just count myself lucky you didn’t wager a kiss at midnight in the case of your defeat.”
Between the warmth of the alcohol and the dizziness those words had just washed over you, you feared for a moment you might faint, your posture suddenly swaying before Undertaker instinctively reached out to help steady you, both his palms pressed firmly to your waist, reminding you of the night he’d tried to spook you with ghost stories and gotten a little too close for your comfort.
Only this time, you didn’t flinch away instantly. Instead, you allowed his hands to stay there for a moment, staring up at him with perhaps the softest expression you’d worn all night. You felt your mouth opening, though again found yourself unsure what you would say, when suddenly, faster than you were ready for, the chorus of counting down the seconds until the new year filled the room and startled you back to reality.
You pulled away from his orbit, smoothing down your skirts with your sweaty palms, and turned your gaze to the smallest hand on the clock, barely mouthing the numbers of the countdown until it was only ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…
“Happy New Year!” Undertaker chanted, shouting out with the crowd but looking straight at you, as if the celebratory words were meant for only one person in the room. He raised his empty glass your way, wearing one of those sinfully sly smiles, and said, now only loud enough for you to hear, “How’s next Friday at seven sound, hm?”
You could barely understand what he was talking about. You were already too far gone. All you could remember at that point was the sinking feeling of dread laced with a familiar sense of excitement, as if you’d just been the key witness to a very important event and now had the chance to give the first testimony of the case.
But isn’t this what you’d wanted all along? A way to get closer to him and uncover whatever it was he was hiding— because you knew he was hiding something.
Your initial intrigue had never really faded, no matter how much you’d tried to convince yourself you loathed him, that he was insufferable, more trouble than he was worth. But, then again, if it was answers you wanted, it should be easy for you to get them.
You’d always been good at solving mysterious events. How would solving a mysterious person really be any different?
***
You’d upheld your end of the bargain and joined Undertaker for dinner, which had been stranger than fiction but a rather good story to file away for your personal collection. Much to your surprise— and perhaps slightly to your disappointment— things had started and ended with dinner. Just dinner. You’d tried to pry, tried to get him to open up, learn more about him, but somehow he always found a way to seamlessly direct the topic of conversation back around to you.
You’d decided he maybe wasn’t so bad afterall, had even agreed to do it all again sometime.
But now, a year later, there were no more parties.
All that had been left in the wake of the once pristine and lively Phantomhive manor was ash and the crumbing, scorched remains that had outlasted the fire. Not even the children had survived, and though you’d only seen them a handful of times as their nanny had led them up the grand staircase by the hand to put them to bed just as the first batch of guests were beginning to arrive, it still made your heart twist with the tragedy of it all.
At least they’re together, you tried to console yourself as you stood before Rachel and Vincent’s graves, your previous hosts reduced to nothing but a matching set of stones sticking out from the cold earth. You wouldn’t exactly have considered them friends, per se, more so something closer to employers, but you couldn’t help it. You’d grown more attached to them than you’d originally intended.
“Do you think it’s true?” a familiar voice suddenly asked from right behind you, making you jolt and turn to face him. You’d already known it was Undertaker, yet, as you tried to meet the glimpse of green you’d once caught shielded behind all that silver, you still found a part of you was surprised to find him standing in the same graveyard, as if having completely forgotten he was, after all, a mortician.
“Do I think what’s true?” you asked, a slow wave of deja vu rolling through your mind.
“That humans really go to a better place after they die…?” The way he said it, gazing almost longingly down at the tombstones as they lay still and heavy on the frost-laced grass, made you start to see him in a new light. He was holding a shovel in one hand. You realized he’d probably been the one to dig the ditches and then bury the couple six feet deep.
Instead of giving him an answer though, you instead turned your view back to the graves, reading their names, their dates of birth and death, and then, carved beneath the proof that there were indeed people sleeping beneath the slabs, the matching epitaphs marking the smooth stones.
“Potentia Regere…” you repeated, more to yourself than anyone else. “What does it mean?”
Stabbing the shovel’s sharp tip down into the ground, Undertaker simply stated, “Power to rule…” It was the Phantomhive’s motto, in a sense, the latin words appearing on the family’s coat of arms. You were just about to make a comment about how surreal it all seemed, the fact that something that quickly had become so commonplace in your weekly schedule was now no more, but then the gentle clinking of a mysterious sound you’d heard before interrupted your reminiscence.
“What is that?” you asked, searching for the source. When Undertaker gave you a confused look, you clarified, “That sound? I’ve heard it around you before…”
“Ah…” he answered, a small, sad grin cracking on his lips. Then he pulled a brassy strand of several lockets from beneath his coat, the mementos chiming together more aggressively as he dangled them before you. “That would be these.”
As if requesting permission to take a closer look, you shyly cupped your hands out before you, allowing him to settle the chain into your palms for further investigation.
“They’re beautiful…” you sighed, inspecting each one individually, reading the names spelled out in neat cursive scrawl, the different shades of the hair tied into simple loops and pressed beneath the glass. Some of the dates engraved went back far before you were born, and, though his age often presented itself as ambiguous, definitely far before Undertaker could’ve been in this business. Though, instead of inquiring about this curious detail, the journalist part of you always hungry for answers, for the truth, you just swallowed and said, “There’s so many…”
In reply, Undertaker offered, “Well, I’ve known the Phantomhive family for a very long time.”
You handed the lockets back to him, watching as they disappeared back between the many folds of black fabric, and then the two of you stood in silence before the graves for what felt like a long time, the only sound the quiet whisper of the winter breeze.
Without even realizing, you found yourself crying, crystalline tears welling in your eyes, sparkling on the edge of your lashes, and then rolling down your cheeks in pairs. You tried to stay quiet, as if that alone could hide the emotion from the man standing directly beside you. And he wanted to reach out the moment he’d seen the tears welling, toss his shovel to the side and pull you into his chest, just let you cry into all his dark clothing until you had no more tears left.
But he remembered how you’d flinched the first time he’d tried to touch you, withdrawing from his proximity as if it were a plague. So instead, he settled for reaching for your hand, which was clenched into a fist and trembling by your side. That time, you didn’t pull away. Just shot him a sort of terror-struck look before your gaze softened and you used your free hand to cover your mouth, catching the first sobs that escaped through your lips, even giving his hand a squeeze as if to help ease your own pain.
Sensing that, perhaps this time, his touch was actually offering you some comfort, he decided to chance gently pulling you into his side, one long, slender arm snaking across your shoulders and back, hand rubbing up and down your arm as your body continued to shake with sorrow.
“I don’t even know—” you began, voice cracked and broken as you sucked in panicked, gasping breaths, “why I’m crying. I mean— they were— I was— it’s just—”
I know, he wanted to say, giving your shoulder a light squeeze, hoping the message was still delivered despite being unspoken. I know, you’re in pain right now.
And I’m sorry.
Human lives were so fragile. The only thing more delicate were their emotions.
Once you were finally able to catch your breath and calm down a little, you seemed to register his touch and quickly, albeit much more elegantly than before, distance yourself from it, clearing your throat as you settled your stance across from him, unable to meet his eyes— or at least the space that they should’ve been— that time around.
“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other quite as often anymore,” you noted, trying to force a smile, but it just came out crooked and sad. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot but…” You paused, feeling yourself wanting to hold the rest of your sentiment back but then forcing yourself to say it anyway. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m glad we both skirted the edges of those parties before.”
Now you allowed yourself to look up and offer him a new kind of smile, this one bittersweet and almost apologetic. And he could feel you already trying to sever the invisible tie that loosely stretched between you two, the purpose of your shared proximity suddenly gone and therefore pointless.
You were just about to turn and bid him farewell when he spoke, more urgent than you’d heard him yet. He said, “Would you like to join me for some tea?”
You considered him, as if this were another one of his games, a riddle to solve. “Wha— Now?” you asked, as if it were the most preposterous proposition anyone had ever presented you with.
“If now suits you,” he said, trying to regain some of his composure, pulling his coat tighter over his shoulders as the wind picked up. “I can’t say it’s as grand as the Phantomhive manor, but where I live isn’t too far from here.” He smiled again, soft and soothing, as he continued, “Though, I can promise the quality of the tea is just as refined.”
It was his last ditch attempt at making a joke in the current situation and, over the more personal time you’d spent with him, you’d come to gain a new appreciation for his dark sense of humor, so you gave a timid nod and said, “Alright then. Lead the way.”
He dropped the shovel and started walking, you trailing beside him over the stone spotted hills.
***
Undertaker’s living space was indeed a far cry from the luxurious, spanning halls of the Phantomhive manor. It couldn’t even really be considered a house, as far as you could tell. It was, in all honesty, a mortuary practice that just happened to have a small kitchenette and an even tinier bedroom hidden behind a curtain in the back. You supposed it made sense when he’d said he didn’t live far from the cemetery, when that was his workplace. But you didn’t care right now. The tea in the mug between your palms was hot, the aroma sweet as the steam rose from the surface of the liquid, Undertaker generously leaving the small jar of sugar cubes on the table before you to scoop in to your preference.
He was sitting across from you, your legs nearly intertwined under the cramped table, Undertaker more relaxed while you just tried to stay within your own personal space. Again it occurred to him, your aversion to physical touch, and he took a moment to study you, as if tracing the features of your face beneath the thin black netting of the mourning veil or the intricate lace detailing of the collar of your dress— black, to match him for once— could uncover your truth to him, your past.
“Been to a lot of funerals in your time, I imagine…” you commented, suddenly overwhelmed by the pressing silence, the steady ticking of the wall clock unbearably awkward. “If I may ask, what made you choose this line of work to begin with?”
Undertaker took a sip of his own tea, which tonight was bitter and black. It would’ve surprised you to learn he usually stirred several cubes of sugar into his tea, no matter the strength or blend of it. Looks could be misleading, this you knew first hand from all the undercover work you’d done, as well as the many apparently innocent faces that had turned out to be gruesomely guilty. But also, on the opposite hand, some people really did show you exactly who they were right from the start.
You were starting to think maybe he was nestled somewhere in between.
“It’s a solitary kind of life…” Undertaker replied, masking loneliness under a grin. “I suppose, at the time, I was suited to it.” He gave a shrug as he raised the cup to his lips again, like that answer didn’t pave way for a hundred more questions.
“At the time…” you repeated. “Meaning, not any longer?”
You weren’t even sure what the purpose of that inquiry was. Normally, every question you posed was carefully chosen, hand-picked in order to serve a specific purpose that would paint a broader picture of the overall story.
Undertaker’s picture had so far just been one big canvas filled in with black, a few streaks of silver, and a flicker of green. There was no clear shape, no clear narrative, but suddenly, by slipping into something a little more specific, something to fulfill your own personal curiosities rather than that of straightforward facts, it was like you’d decided to take your own brush to an artwork you’d only ever been an observer of.
You were not a painter, but sometimes even an inexperienced hand could craft a masterpiece.
Undertaker’s smile didn’t falter, but something in the lines of his figure tensed, as if you’d shone a light into all that darkness expecting a gruesome beast, only to find there was something vulnerable living inside after all. Something genuine. Something lonely. Something you could relate to.
“How about you answer me something…” he began, pitching his weight slightly forward to lean closer to you over the table, his chin now resting in his palm. “You don’t like being touched…” At first, he said it more as an observation than a question. Then, after allowing discomfort to fill you during the pause, he concluded with a curious and perhaps even slightly sympathetic, “Why?”
At this statement, you felt yourself stiffen. Undertaker didn’t so much as flinch, just continued to consider you as if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, working through every angle before making his first move. After a while, with you offering no answer or comment to this, he added, “If you’d rather not talk about it—”
Your throat bobbed with a thick, dry swallow, as if you’d just been caught for a crime you’d tried desperately to cover up, like the word GUILTY was branded into your forehead. Your mouth opened and closed and opened again, some excuse or alibi withering and dying on the tip of your tongue. Then you said, “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” You were absentmindedly toying with a piece of frayed lace off the hem of your sleeve, searching for a believable story to tell him that wasn’t a complete lie, but also wasn’t the entire truth either. But then you sighed, defeated, and looked him in the eyes, that glint of emerald peeking through, and admitted, “It’s just hard for me. I’m not used to it, it’s… complicated.”
The legs of his chair scraped softly against the uneven hardwood as he leaned in even closer, his arm draped over the surface, palm facing upwards, beckoning you to reach into it, to give him a chance. You glanced from his hand, a scar crossing over the love line etched into his alabaster skin, then back to his face, wishing you felt brave enough to take his invitation, wanting to, but finding the fear of physical contact swelling inside of you like a balloon that was one breath away from bursting.
It was so hard for you to trust. It always had been. Had only gotten harder since you’d entered into your current line of work, all of humanity’s ugliest sides revealed to you on a weekly, sometimes even daily basis. But what did you do when you got scared while chasing a story?
You felt the fear and you did it anyway.
So, hesitantly inching your hand closer to his open-faced palm, merely hovering there for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether this was some kind of trap or not, you finally allowed yourself to make contact, fighting the urge to pull back upon the first flinch of his fingers beginning to curl around your own.
Once his hand had completely closed around yours, it was as if all the tension gathered within your frame burst like a firework, the glittering embers giving way to something uncharted. Something new, and slightly nerve-wracking, but pleasant all the same, once you actually allowed yourself to enjoy it.
Undertaker stroked his thumb along the top of your hand, his long, cool fingers brushing delicately against your soft skin, and you felt your next exhale stutter, eyes threatening to well with tears for an entirely different reason now.
“Perhaps I can show you…” he said, the words merely a whisper on his pale lips, “that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
When you met his gaze then, it was like seeing him for the first time, both of his emerald eyes on full display, as if he’d just decided you were worthy of his trust, to know and keep his secrets the same as he seemed so intent on knowing and keeping yours.
There was still a small part of you that wanted to protest, that had the urge to pull away and put as much distance between you and him as possible. But that voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well now, distant and unintelligible. What took over was a voice you’d never heard before, one you didn’t even think you had, and all it was telling you was to allow yourself to fall. That he would be there to catch you when you did.
***
Your breath hitched before his fingers even made contact with your skin, eyes fluttering closed, like you thought not seeing would make accepting what was about to happen any easier.
“I’ve got you…” Undertaker murmured, the cold press of his palm finally reaching your cheek. He gave you a moment, patient with you while you allowed yourself to relax against his touch, your gaze slowly opening and glancing up to meet his eyes. Being this close, you came to realize they weren’t just green, like you’d originally thought, but laced through with a webbing of ambers and golds, a thin ring of teal rimming the edge of each iris. You’d never seen eyes like that before, dangerously entrancing, enticing, and it once again resurfaced the notion that the question wasn’t necessarily who he was, but what.
“See?” he smiled, not a hint of malice or mischief tucked into the corners of his mouth that time, only gentle reassurance. “I’ve got you.”
You placed your hand around his wrist, grip light, just to let him know you wanted a little more time to let this sink in. He was right. There was really nothing to be afraid of. Only, your quick-fire heartbeat still seemed to want to convince you otherwise.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, you kept repeating in your mind, nothing to be afraid of.
You let your view of him slip shut again as he slowly moved his fingers further back to lightly comb through your hair, finding the pin that had been holding it in place and pulling it free, your locks spilling down from the tightly wound coil of a bun that had been perched at the back of your head.
He’d never seen you with your hair completely down, every Phantomhive party that you’d attended making sure to tie it back, keep it out of your way, so you could stay focused on your job and not find yourself fiddling with it. He gently combed his fingers through it, disturbing a few loose knots, smoothing it down and laying it over your shoulders after removing the veiled hat from its place on your head.
“Such a shame…” he remarked, voice still low and soothing. “You’ve been hiding such beautiful hair all this time.” You remembered his mourning lockets, the different shades of strands that had been encapsulated behind the glass. You wondered if anyone would ever grow to love you so much as to always keep a lock of yours on their person. The notion made your lonely heart pulse with a dull ache.
Letting out a stuttering exhale, you now set your view upon the cascade of silver that framed all those black clothes of his, the strands almost sparkling under the low light as they shifted from white to grey and back again depending on how he moved. What you wouldn’t give to be able to carry a strand of it around, secured in a locket and resting against your heart, like capturing a sprinkle of stardust to call your own.
“Can I…” you began to ask, trying to swallow down the slight tremble in your voice as you gingerly reached one shaky hand forward. “Can I touch your hair as well?”
At this, Undertaker let out a silky hum of a chuckle, his long fingers finding the nape of your neck and resting there as he replied, “But of course.”
You let your fingertips brush against the silky silver, threading your fingers through and lightly dragging them down, not a single tangle or knot to be found. You wondered how long it had taken him to grow this much hair, how often he must have to brush it to keep it so pristine, how many others had admired or envied it the very same way you were now.
“Would you like to come closer?” he asked next, catching you a little off guard. You let your hand fall back to your lap, his returning to rest on his knee, and your eyes filled with uncertainty. Then he added, “Only if you’d like, of course.”
You scanned his form, unsure exactly what he meant by come closer, though, based on the way he was sitting, you could only really think of one possibility and the mere suggestion alone was enough to make your cheeks heat and your head spin.
The embarrassment must’ve shown on your face, because a quiet laugh trailed after his next exhale as he assured you, “If that’s too much for you you’re still welcome to sit by my side…” And then, knowing you had a habit of accepting challenges, he added on, voice sultry and only slightly sinister, “Though, if you’re worried about your skirts getting in the way, I’d gladly assist you in removing them and—”
“Oh, just hush for once, will you?” you cut him off, growing a little indignant and far more flustered than before. Even so, you still found yourself standing, eying his lap wearily as you approached, both hands curled into tight fists around your skirts, lifting them a little as you went to settle over the tops of his thighs, having to take purchase on his shoulders for balance halfway through assuming this position.
You’d never been this intimately close with another body before, not since you were very small and your mother had scooped you up in her arms and carried you off to bed, your little legs lightly wrapping around her waist and not wanting to let go, wishing she’d let you sleep in her bed to help keep the nightmares away.
But now, being at this age, in this body, and feeling the press of him as you relaxed with your legs straddling his hips, things were much, much different.
His hands brushed against your waist, hovering there before finally settling, giving you time to adjust to the foreign touch. “Is this alright?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “If you need more time, I can—”
“No,” you interrupted, your voice also quiet, forcing your gaze back up to his, as if to defy your hesitance. “No, this is fine. I’m fine.”
“You know,” he murmured, his lips pressed close to your ear, his breath fanning featherlight over the shell of it, and you could practically hear the way he was suppressing a smirk, “I must say, it really is a surprise how a woman as striking as yourself has gone this long without being spoken for. So which is it? Too particular to find the right partner or too spoiled by being overwhelmed with choice?”
You coughed out an abashed chuckle. “No, nothing like that…” you said. Then, falling more somber, “It’s more like… Being alone has just always been so much easier. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I don’t have to pretend. I get to do as a please whenever I please and…” You flashed him a guilty look. “I guess I never saw myself as the marrying type, so…”
Undertaker stared at you, all that chartreuse alight as if finally seeming to uncover what he’d long been looking for. Then his expression softened and he said, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Before you had time to think up some kind of rebuttal or rebuke, his fingertips were tracing the hem running up the side of your funeral dress, the dulled touch registering on your hips, then your waist, through your clothes, sending a gentle, ebbing wave of chills over your flesh, a delicate ghost of a gasp just barely sighed through your lips. His other hand came up to caress your neck, thumb brushing tenderly across your jaw, your cheek, allowing you time to decide you enjoyed it and sink deeper into his palm, the cool touch of his skin helping to soothe you.
And then, before you knew it, he was kissing you, taking the rest of your breath away as the hand that had found your waist began to roam, the careful path of his contact curving around to the small of your back, up towards your shoulder blades, your collar bones, down your arm to find the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, brushing against the faint thumping of your wild pulse just to feel the life humming from inside of you.
What surprised you even more was that you were kissing him back, leaning into the warmth of his mouth, chasing his tongue when he playfully tried to pull away, testing to see if you’d follow, if you’d try to seek him out once you got a taste. He let out a low chuckle, putting only enough space between your lips to look you in the eyes, see the way your pupils had blown wide with lust all from some simple touching and kissing alone.
“I wonder…” he murmured, that lilt of mischief stitched back into his tone, “if the other men who attended those parties ever fantasized about having you like this…” He then lightly took your chin between his lithe grip, slowly turning your view to face an old, dusty mirror perched against the wall, exposing the reflection of you straddling his lap, his hands touching you in a way you’d never let another man touch you before, and you felt your entire body catch flame, molten embarrassment welling from within the pit of your stomach and flooding up towards your head, the sudden, stifling heat making you dizzy with desire.
Undertaker sighed a puff of a laugh against the side of your neck before his lips found your throat, sucking a light bruise there, making something within you flutter, arousal flaring to life before settling to a slow, steady roll. And despite wanting to look away, shame halfway to choking you, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the view of your two bodies intertwined like this.
All this time, you’d thought it would be scary, being this vulnerable with someone, giving up that kind of control, but it wasn’t. It was like floating, rising from your body and leaving all the worry behind, allowing your world to become merely yourself, him, and the small, dimly lit room.
It was simple.
It was nice.
And, for once, everything just felt right.
But as his kisses became more messy, more urgent, and his hands were reaching under your skirts to knead at the bit of bare skin available on your upper thigh, his eager fingers hooking under the hem of your stockings, you felt yourself tensing, slipping from the moment as the fear of moving too fast flashed across your thoughts like a lighthouse beacon— just quick enough to warn of the oncoming danger that would befall you if you ventured too close to the rocky shore.
“Is this alright?” he asked, slowing down a little then, and you swore you heard something almost insecure flicker in his voice.
You took in a deep, grounding breath, nodded, and said, “It’s alright… I’ll tell you if it’s not,” and that was all the validation he needed to continue, his cool palms a relief against your heating skin, hands continuing to knead at the plush of your upper thigh, though a little more gently this time, fingertips nearly brushing against where you ran most hot and needy for him, causing a broken whine to escape your throat. Undertaker wondered if you’d ever heard yourself make those kinds of involuntary, beautifully obscene sounds before, if you’d ever pleasured yourself late at night once you finally found yourself alone, or if even the idea of that had been too much for you to bear.
He intended to introduce you to each and every one of your lovely, lustful notes tonight, wanting to discover just exactly what he could do to elicit specific moans or whines. You’d be upset with him if he told you his plan, surely, yet still, he couldn’t help himself.
Similar to how you couldn’t deny yourself a challenge, he had a habit of overindulging himself with his games.
“Wait…” you murmured, pulling away from the cradle of his chest just a fraction. “I want you to…” You swallowed, finding a lump in your throat that stuck like a dry pill, afraid to say what rested on the tip of your tongue. You looked at him through your thick curtain of lashes, almost feeling like you could cry again, so many intense emotions to face in a single day mixing together in your head. “I want you to take my clothes off…” The last half of your request all but withered and died into a pathetic whisper by the time it left your mouth, averting your gaze then.
Part of you expected Undertaker to tease you for your request, to try and rile you just to see the adorable look your face made whenever you were mad at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he hummed out a satisfied note, beginning to strip you of the many layers of your funeral attire one by one until all you were left wearing was your silky underclothes and stockings. He went to remove those as well, but you stopped him before he could, growing bolder in asking for what you wanted when you suggested he let you undress him first.
Unlike you, this was not Undertaker’s first experience with sex. It was, however, the first time he’d allowed someone to see all his scars in the fading daylight, usually preferring to hide them behind the shadows herded in by nightfall and the dimly candle lit rooms of London’s most high-end pleasure houses.
But he supposed this put you both on more equal ground, so he didn’t mind. Plus, he hardly thought you’d find them newsworthy enough to go around sharing to anyone who might ask. He also supposed, like you, he had some things that were complicated to explain too…
“Kiss me…” you sighed, your hands lightly settling back on his shoulders as you now stood mere inches apart, breathing in each other’s oxygen like the thick opium smoke that wastfed though the East End.
That time, neither of you seemed to hesitate. Hitching one of your legs up, a big palm splayed under the back of your thigh to keep it in place over his hip, Undertaker had your back pressed to the wall, the hard length of him that seemed to be growing more impatient by the minute nudging further into you until he couldn’t help but grind against your lace-clad core, pulling one of those delicate, delicious whines from your throat, swallowing it down into his own mouth and trading it for one of his choked-out groans as he pressed his erection even harder against you, both of you hungry— starving— for one another’s bodies by now.
You hadn’t even realized your hand had migrated down between his legs, just barely beginning to cup the bulge of him in your inexperienced little palm, until you felt him twitch beneath his underwear, suddenly gasping and going a little rigid with uncertainty again.
He was kissing you deep, the fervor of it all dying down a little once he sensed your hesitation. “Go ahead,” he panted, holding your chin between his fingers, searching your gaze, pleading with it. “Touch me. It’s ok…”
So you did.
You attempted to stroke what strained through the thin fabric until he just couldn’t take it anymore and reached under the waistband himself to free his cock from its confines, hissing through clenched teeth once it was in his hand, soon passed off into yours.
Truthfully, you were only half sure of what you were supposed to do. You’d heard some of the few ladies you’d grown close to occasionally share— or perhaps overshare— some of the details of their marriages, sex lives included, and whether they were bragging or complaining or just making a comment in jest, you’d picked up bits and pieces here and there throughout the years.
Whatever you were doing though, you seemed to be doing it right, because before long, Undertaker seemed to be losing any composure or control he had left. He braced himself against the wall with his forearm, hunched over you as a thin sheen of sweat began to break out over his pale skin like glazed alabaster, grunts and growls and groans slipping from his lips while you gripped him in your palm, hand sliding easily along his velvety length as more and more of his pearly pre-cum gathered and began to drip down the shaft.
“Fuck—” he swore, and for a moment, you feared you’d hurt him in some way, pausing and looking up at him with an apologetic worry tugging at your features. But then he was smiling at you, chest still heaving with labored breaths, but wearing a glow of pride. He’d meant it earlier when he’d said you kept finding ways to surprise him, but this was on an entirely different level. If he hadn’t already known what you did for a living, he would’ve guessed you hailed from one of London’s aforementioned brothels, the ones that only served the elite or those tied to them.
Though he was sure you still had some things to learn, he was glad he was laying claim to you first.
He’d be lying if he said he’d ever be willing to share you with anyone else after this.
“Don’t look so afraid, my dear,” he cooed, slowly beginning to guide you towards his tiny bedroom nook, your eyes locked on him, trusting he wouldn’t let you trip as you walked backwards, holding his hands to help steady you. “We’re only just getting started…”
Before you knew it, the backs of your knees were hitting the edge of the bed, you collapsing back to the mattress as Undertaker climbed atop you, all that silky silver hair creating a canopy around you as he admired the way you looked splayed out beneath him. It was too bad you were a fragile human, your years so numbered when compared to the countless ones he’d already lived and the countless more he’d experience long after you were gone. He wished there were a way he could keep you like this forever— so beautiful, so his— but he knew that living souls weren’t as easily frozen in time as things like mementos and photographs.
If only he’d met you a few decades from now. Perhaps by then, he’d have found a way…
Before he could dwell on it for too long though, he became distracted with removing more of your clothes, the last shred of his lost somewhere along the short distance from the kitchen to the bed, and seeing you fully exposed to him now, presented in your rawest, ravishing state, it took his breath away.
He’d seen many bodies in his life, living and dead, only a handful of them on both sides that he’d truly considered stunning. But yours…
Yours was nothing short of divine.
He wanted to touch every inch of you, learn your figure in a way he’d never forget. He wanted to know that, even long after you were gone someday, he’d still be able to remember the exact shape of your breasts, the raise of your ribs as you drew in breath and the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your tummy and the plushness of your thighs.
He wanted to be able to rewatch this night over and over again in his head, rewinding the film reel until it frayed, each and every frame already burned into his memory.
“Hey…” you spoke, quiet and concerned as you reached up to cup your little palm to his jaw, tracing the line of the scar that cut diagonally across his face by his cheek. “Is something…?”
Before you could utter the word “wrong”, Undertaker cradled his hand over your own, sinking closer into your touch now, soaking in its human warmth, and smiled for a moment, attempting to mask the melancholy behind amusement. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asked you, and it was then that any and all lingering uncertainty you had went out like candle flame swallowed by a strong breeze. You nodded, told him you were sure.
A part of you was still scared, but not of him. Just of the unknown.
Feel the fear and do it anyway.
You were choosing to trust him, but once you’d made up your mind about it, there was no going back. That’s just the kind of person you were, the kind of person he’d discovered you to be.
So, trying to help you further relax, he continued to reintroduce you to his touch, discovering the places you liked best and paying special attention there, earning more of those sweet, lilting mewls and whimpers that he’d quickly become so addicted to, until it came time for him to explore the most intimate parts of you, preparing you for what was to come.
“You’re beautiful…” you swore you heard him sigh, your pounding heartbeat drumming in your ears and drowning out the quieter sounds. As soon as he so much as brushed a teasing finger through your soaked folds, still careful to be gentle with you, you let out a choked cry, gripping his biceps for support, needing something— anything— to anchor yourself to.
“Just relax…” he said, voice low and soothing as he applied a little more pressure, spreading your growing slick further around, marveling at the way your sensitive little bud was already pulsing in pleasure, tight hole fluttering in anticipation. But you took a deep breath and tried to follow his instruction, allowing your body to sink further into the mattress. Praising you as he began to massage slow, skillful circles onto your clit, he said, “Just like that… So good, my beautiful girl…”
And then that thick, sticky heat was filling you from the inside again, threatening to spill out. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you didn’t want it to stop. For a moment, you wondered if this was all somehow some sort of very vivid dream, a fantasy, fearing you’d wake up to find you’d never even gone to visit the graves at all. But the way the sensation gripped you, body and mind and soul, was telling you otherwise, every nerve alight with the intensity of it all.
Warning you what he was about to do next might be a little uncomfortable at first, Undertaker slipped one of his slender fingers inside of you, causing you to wince at the slight soreness the sensation provided, but as he slowly pumped it in and out of you, helping you get used to the feeling, eventually you were wet enough that he could insert two, the stretch from his fingers alone causing a small squeak of pain to escape your throat, but still you didn’t want him to stop.
As he began to carefully scissor his digits inside your tight cunt he continued working on stimulating your clit to distract you from the discomfort. The mix of pleasure and pain was almost enough to put you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your neck craning as you felt the coil winding tight within your core threatening to snap. Gasping out a curse, legs trembling as the crescendo crashed over every nerve in your body, you came undone for the first time that night, the high that filled your veins mixed with the fading adrenaline making your brain melt into a hazy, sated state.
He was whispering something to you then, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead, your temples, your nose, your jaw, as his sweet sentiments were lost amidst the thumping of your pulse between your ears. You exhaled a shuddering sigh, eyes fluttering closed, feeling as if you could drift right off to sleep. But there would be plenty of time for rest later.
Undertaker still wasn’t done with you yet.
Sliding his thick cock between the dewy petals of your folds, he guided you back to the waking world, being the most tender he had with you yet. “Are you still doing alright?” he murmured, brushing a few stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. He was gazing down at you like he couldn’t even believe you were there, with him, like this, the angel he’d lured into his underworld.
You gave a feeble nod, gasping when you felt the tip of his cock catch on your fluttering little hole. In all truth, you weren’t sure how he was going to fit. You just hoped he’d prepared you well enough, though knew the first time would be the most trying.
“Just breathe…” he instructed, interlocking his fingers with yours, your hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. “Take as much time as you need. Just relax…”
As the first inch or two fought its way into your tight entrance, your body reflexively tensed to combat the pain. The stretch of him took your breath away, fragile, sensitive skin feeling as if it were about to tear to allow him more room, teetering on a razor’s edge of arousal and agony. But he was talking you through it, whispering reassuring praises into your ear, waiting until he felt your body adjust to him, rigidity melting away as he continued to pepper featherlight kisses across your skin, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to until the sensation subsided.
Inch by inch, he worked his way deeper, and when you needed him closer, needed his chest pressed to yours to feel the stuttering beat of his heart, he obliged, scooping you up to straddle him again, both of you upright, face to face, him helping you begin to bounce lightly on his cock.
As the pace began to pick up speed, nearly every thrust into you had one of those melodic moans or lilting whines clawing their way up your throat, mouth remaining agape with silent cries as you felt yourself once again approaching that steep edge. With your head thrown back, neck exposed to him, Undertaker took the opportunity to suck a few more bruises into the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse, choking on his next growl as your cunt clenched around him painfully tight.
He gave one more harsh thrust upward into your wet heat, feeling you come undone, glistening arousal staining you both, before forcing himself to pull out, finishing no more than two seconds later as his warm, sticky seed spilled over your stomach and thighs, mingling with the sheen of your pleasure as it mixed between both your bodies.
Both of you were panting, shallow, ragged huffs fanning against each other’s skin as you slumped over him, completely spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close, never wanting to let you go.
He’d have to, eventually, but for now, he allowed himself to pretend you couldn’t be touched by things like disease or disaster or death, erasing your mortality from his mind, even if it were just for the duration he’d have you in his arms.
Suddenly, he was speaking your name, a gentle breeze of syllables leaving his lips as he rubbed soothing circles against your spine, coaxing you back to consciousness. Without lifting your head from his shoulder, all your limbs heavy, blood flowing slow and sweet as if your veins had been filled with honey, you nuzzled further into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent.
His question barely registered to you, causing you to mutter out a sleepy, “What…?” which caused him to quietly chuckle, feeling the light mirth rumble through his scarred chest.
“I said,” he repeated, “Are you feeling alright?”
You felt more than alright. You felt fantastic, but not in the loud, excited, energetic kind of way.
More like waking up after a long, much-needed sleep, still floating off the edge of your dreams, feeling tired but fulfilled.
Once the high faded, you were sure you’d feel the soreness, a dull ache already beginning to pulse between your legs, but you didn’t necessarily mind.
It would just be another reminder of him and the time you’d spent together.
And, truthfully, there was so much you wanted to say then. Like how you’d never thought you’d be able to connect with someone in this way, feel completely safe in their hands, even feel— dare you say it— loved.
But instead, all you managed in reply was, “I’m ok…” before you felt sleep swooping back in to claim you.
As you drifted off that time, you briefly wondered what a life with him would be like. If you’d eventually have to learn to call this curious place home, a cemetery sprawled across your backyard, a closet full of funeral clothing. Or if perhaps he’d be willing to trade some of his darkness for the pale light of your apartment, if he’d remember to water your flowers while you were at work and leave scraps out for the stray cats that came begging by your front door.
And if those within your circle— the ones who were always badgering you about when you were getting married or if anyone was currently courting you— would be surprised if you told them that, yes, you’d started seeing someone despite the numerous occasions you’d written off such partnerships as just not for you…
They’d surely have some opinions on the matter, and that would even be before they saw him standing at your side.
But let them gossip, let them talk, you figured.
You didn’t care what people said, what they thought. You just wanted to be able to see him again, to be with him again, and for a little while, at least, discover all the things fear had once convinced you that you’d never get to experience for yourself.
***
A few years after your first night spent with him, having had many more in all the time between, fate had called you away, choosing to relocate further up north once your mother grew ill, spending her remaining days by her side. Once she was gone and you found yourself back in funeral blacks, for some reason, you’d decided to stay. You’d written Undertaker, of course, and for that first year apart the back and forth correspondence had been quite regular.
You awaited his letters with a childlike giddiness, excitement unfurling its wings within your heart whenever a black envelope sealed with shining silver wax appeared among your mail, already beginning to tear it open before you’d even gone back inside from retrieving that day’s delivery from the mailbox down the hill from your late mother’s home, the house you now called your own.
You’d sit down to write him back the moment you finished reading the last word of his looping cursive scrawl, elegance and sharpness somehow occupying the same space.
But then, after so much time away from London, away from the life you’d grown so accustomed to, you’d found yourself growing lonely. Only, this time, instead of the dull ache your former solitary life had nurtured within you, the pain was now a knife’s stabbing edge, carving a hole out in your heart until it nearly became too much to bear.
Until you’d eventually met someone. Another man whose hair was just beginning to grey at the temples, yet nothing like Undertaker’s silver shine, and whose eyes were a deep forest green, not the startling chartreuse of your former lover’s gaze.
Six months later, you wrote back to London to inform Undertaker of the wedding that would be held in the spring. He’d congratulated you, though was glad it was only on paper— if he’d been forced to fake a smile and sweeten his words to you in person you would’ve known it was a lie, seen the heartbreak etched onto his face as obviously as one of those jagged, shining scars— and after that, the flow of the letters slowly came to a halt.
You had ten beautiful years with your husband until death’s kiss touched him, leaving you a widow and, once again, alone.
By then, the north had become so small, its claws closing around you until it began to resemble a prison, a cage.
You fled, returning to London, unsure whether you were running from things you wanted to forget or towards a flame you thought you might rekindle.
But in all that time away, you’d gotten married. Perhaps it was unfair to assume Undertaker hadn’t done the same.
However, once you found him, grateful the funeral parlor was still right where you’d left it nearly fifteen years ago, you entered the shop, expecting to be greeted by a man who was all at once familiar to you and also not, surprised to find him just as you’d left him like an image out of an old photograph.
You’d expected time to have touched him, run its fingers through his hair, turning silver to ivory, leaving the first signs of laugh lines cupping his smile and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, similar to the ways it had begun to touch you. The sight should’ve brought you comfort but instead you found yourself feeling…
Uneasy.
The years had passed for Undertaker as quickly as the season’s had changed for you. But as you inched, slowly but surely, towards the winter of your life, there wasn’t even so much as a veil of frost creeping in to cover him.
Somehow, he had remained exactly the same, no matter how many days, weeks, months, or years went by.
You’d planned to smile and say something like, “It’s been a while, so I understand if you don’t recognize me,” but what came out of your mouth instead was a gasp and, “You’re—” before Undertaker stopped you.
“—Just about to sit down for some afternoon tea,” he filled in, his grin widening as if he’d been expecting you. And then, before you even had a chance to process the theories that were beginning to blossom in your brain, each one more ridiculous and paranormal than the last, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”
Your mouth hung open, any and all remaining questions dying on your tongue, a few sputtering squeaks catching in your throat before you closed your lips, cleared your throat and said, “Alright then.”
The time you spent sitting at that little table, legs nearly intertwined once more as you sipped at your cup of Earl Grey, two cubes of sugar stirred in, made you feel like no time— not years or over a decade— had passed at all since you’d seen him last.
Nothing had changed— truly nothing. Not his looks or his humor or the way being around him just made you feel calm.
He’d been in the middle of regaling some amusing tale to you from while you’d been away when all of a sudden you realized your eyes were welling with tears. His bout of laughter died down to a stark stoicism once he noticed, leaning forward, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, the familiarity of his cool touch only making more tears race down your cheeks in shimmering pairs. He asked, “My love, whatever is the matter?”
You choked on a sob, gave his hand a squeeze. “I just missed you…” you admitted, trying to smile, though it just came out crooked and sad.
With his other hand, fingers partially warmed from holding his cup of tea, he lightly brushed away your tears, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, soothing you until your sobbing subsided.
Then he said, “I’ve missed you, too… In more ways than you can even imagine.”
You felt a new wave of sorrow threaten to wrack through you. Something akin to guilt. To shame. To mourning the life you could’ve had if only you’d come back sooner. If only you’d stayed.
“But please,” he continued, gazing upon you with concern now. “If you’re weeping on my behalf, don’t. Now that you’re here, we can just pick up where we left off… A human life is only so long, after all…”
You looked at him, half confused, half afraid, and he almost told you then. Told you that he wasn’t like you, wasn’t burdened with the fragile shortness of a mortal life. But he didn’t.
He wanted you to ask first. Wanted to hear you say the words you’d been wondering since the very first night you met.
And you would, eventually.
But for now you just wanted him to hold you while you finished your tea and try and make up for so much lost time.
***
Twenty years later, you were unmarried, plagued by the illness that had claimed your mother, and had long given up tracking down shocking stories to fuel your own morbid curiosities.
But you were not alone.
You’d remained in the funeral shop, though made several more cozy additions to its decor over the years— a couple little houseplants dotting the windowsills, your mother’s cookbook placed up in the cabinets of the little kitchenette, lace hems and embroidery on the pillowcases fluffed upon the freshly made bed.
This place had become home before you’d ever even made the decision to stay, though perhaps that was more due to Undertaker’s proximity than anything else.
Even as your joints grew stiff and your movement became sluggish, your hair greying and your eyesight failing, Undertaker still remembered to remind you how beautiful he thought you were, how much he loved you, how you’d always be his most favorite girl. He’d dance with you by the light of the moon, leading you in a lulling waltz as he hummed out a melancholy tune. He’d carry you to bed when he found you sleeping in a chair, whatever mystery novel you were reading open face-down on your lap.
To experience love in this way was the greatest gift either of you had ever received, the devotion binding at times, yet there was still one last secret you had to uncover before you didn’t have the chance to anymore.
It wasn’t until you were nearing your life’s end that you finally asked him, “What are you?” and he actually gave you the truth.
“So you’re the dark cloaked figure who comes to guide souls into the afterlife, are you?” you joked after he’d given a surprisingly detailed explanation of what he was— what he’d been, before he’d defected— and what he’d continue to be no matter how long he tried to hide behind the mask of the eccentric funeral director. You coughed out a weak chuckle from where you lay tucked into bed, reaching out to run your rigid, wrinkled fingers through his long silver locks. Dreamily, quietly, as if only to yourself, you muttered, “I should’ve known…”
“I wanted to tell you…” he admitted, “Before, I mean…”
“No,” you said, “it’s better you didn’t. I don’t think I would’ve understood back then. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”
Now, with your death so imminent, learning his identity actually made the thought of your final breaths more comforting. Because you now knew dying would feel like falling asleep in the arms of a lover, gentle and safe. Protected. Cared for.
And when that fateful day finally came to pass, it was Undertaker who claimed your soul, wanting to be the first and last person to lay their hands on it, not intent on allowing any of those dispatch drones to touch it with their sharp tools and sterile indifference.
He dressed your body, laid you in your coffin, and dug your grave. Though it wasn’t in the cemetery among all the other headstones. It was right outside the kitchen window, where your houseplants continued to grow, the sun rising to shed its soft golden light upon the room through the eastern window and bathing the place in deep amber as it lowered below the horizon in the west, your favorite place to sit and drink your morning tea and read in evenings.
Losing you was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but whenever he was feeling lonely, he’d wander out and look down at your name etched into the smooth, pale stone, read your dates to himself, reciting them like a prayer.
You had been so much more than just an epitaph, once upon a time, but at least now Undertaker could come visit you as often as he liked, and tucked beneath his coat, pressed safe behind the glass of his lockets, was a strand of your hair, a piece of you he could carry with him for the rest of his days.
***
(A big thank you to @anxious-chick for your request! I hope it’s ok I sort of took your concept and ran a marathon with it lol, but once I started developing some plot I just got really into it and couldn’t help myself haha. Thank you for being so patient with me as well, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait.
Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading. I’ve been wanting to write for Undertaker again for a long time and I’m glad this opportunity presented itself. Hope everyone has a good day and remembers to be kind to themselves. See you next time <3)
#kodis requests#undertaker#undertaker x reader#undertaker x you#undertaker x y/n#kuroshitsuji undertaker#undertaker black butler#black butler undertaker#black butler#black butler fanfiction#black butler x reader#black butler x you#black butler x y/n#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji fanfic#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji x you#kuroshitsuji x y/n
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK BLACK BUTLERS COMING BACK
Say hello to my husband <3 I was tryna wait till October to do Black Butler shit but now I gotta....
Reminder, how I interpret these characters may be different to how YOU interpret them, don’t jump me if you dislike what I say. X fem and X gn reader
This is more on the Undertaker before his ass takes off the hat side, so the jokey cheeky Undertaker. ALSO MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE LETTER W!!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
He’s probably giggling to himself and mocking the noises and phrases you said during sex LMAOOOOO. Really tho he’ll defo pull the blankets over you and feed you one of them dog bone biscuits, kisses in abundance, nothing too crazy as he will probably leave while you sleep do to fuck knows what.
B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He loves our whole body, he examines it like crazy and he says it’s so “he can fit us for a coffin one day”...... I feel like he loves our throat though 100%
On him, he loves his hands and he takes VERY good care of them, fresh set n everything we all saw that shit
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Enjoys doing it on your entire front, all of it, top to bottom
Also loves it down your throat, you can never take it all at once so watching it trickle down the corners of your mouth alongside your spit and tears is everything to him
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Enjoys doing stuff while he has customers present, if you make a noise or people get suspicious he’ll laugh or do something stupid to get people off it
He has shamelessly got off to the thought of you, maybe even your underwear
He begs and he enjoys doing it
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He is quite experienced I’ll be honest
F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)
Riding in all ways possible, he wants you on him, grinding up against him whilst he helps you. Watching your needy face try to take everything in has him grinning like a crazy man
Missionary where your legs are over your head pretty much. You pushing his hair to the side as he’s panting and whimpering slightly, you know he’s close but he won’t stop
Any position where you are half hanging out a coffin, kinda like stuck in a wall but your stuck half out a coffin? He probably made a custom one JUST for this. Hearing your moans echo off the walls of the coffin keeps him going.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Very goofy, keeps the jokes going THROUGHOUT
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
It’s pretty wild down there imma be real
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He is always making jokes and sometimes being cocky but he’ll always show an intimate side straight after
“F~Fuck just like that, please please keep going” he’d choke out laughing, mocking what you had just moaned out. “Don’t give me that face, I want to hear more of it” he’d laugh once more at your pout, pulling you into a kiss whilst pushing deeper into you.
Sum like that
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
A lot and he has NO shame in it. It’s pretty shocking how often he can do it. Sometimes he’ll stay pent up just to get off when he knows you’re coming home as he knows you love when he’s a whimpering n babbling mess, maybe you’ll even decide to help him out?
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Blindfolds, he loves to mess with ALL of your senses while you can’t see
Knife kink and blood but its SUBTLE. You may or may not have seen him store away a bit of your blood though, wonder what he’s saving that for…..
Restraints, wants to tie you up around his shop
Toys for both of you, watching you desperately cry out to cum as he keeps turning off the vibe
Choking, he enjoys doing it while thrusting into you with full force, hearing you choke out moans and mumbles while he tightens his grip
Dacryphilia for sureeee, would examine your face and wipe your tears while fucking into you with no remorse. Even lets out a giggle or two while at it
“Well would you look at that, you’re crying my dear, such a pretty specimen indeed. Cmon you can hold out for me, just a bit longer and i’ll make you feel so so good”
Not sure if its a kink but pussy eating. He will sit there for as long as he can just eating you out till you're completely numb from the waist down.
"You haven't used your safeword yet you've cum 4 times in a row, is it too much for you yet hehe? Cmon, let me wipe those tears, you're too pretty to cry. Now how about I make it 6 times, or even 10 AHA, can you take all that my sweet sweet doll? Let's see shall we?" he'd smirk whilst shoving a couple digits into your already sopping core, tongue already making its way to your swollen clit. He would go on all night long if he could.
L = Location (favourite places to do they do)
Every corner of his store, if you can see it, you've done it there. Favourite would probably be on his desk though.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
YOU! JUST YOU! You are something he’s never seen before and the way you make him feel is unmatched.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Anything outside the shop or on ONE specific coffin.... Whats in there?
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He’s a munch, yes I said it
Begs to have you on his face, even if that beg is in riddles or him twisting the narrative
“Hehe cmon, you know you want to, have a seat my dear, it's all yours”
“I want to taste you just once more, cmon don’t be shy, I won’t bite, unless you want me to hehe”
He also loves receiving too though, you under his gown, even when customers are in and he’ll be giggling while starting to fuck your face on the other side of the desk
“Aha, look at you, you did brilliantly. You barely made a peep whilst they were here, such a special specimen indeed” he’d coo, pulling back his cloak to ease you off his cock, your tears mixed with his release rolling down your lower face.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He’s cheeky as fuck. Would start slow, then speed up to a perfect pace then as you are close slow all the way back down, to the point where it's technically edging and you can’t even get off. I can hear him giggling now
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He says “Come on my love, we can make it quick” then ya’ll are at it for an hour. Ultimate LIAR. It gets boring in his shop so ya’ll still do it often anyway
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Hell yeah but he knows you will never get caught. Just for entertainment you defo tried to get caught but he covered it up swiftly
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
He can go for a hot minute, like 5+ rounds. With his personality people could think otherwise but absolutely not.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
A sucker for a toy. He defo made a pocket pussy using YOURS, so when you aren’t with him he has a replica but he knows it's not exactly the same. Also has a vibe, he has sensitive nipples and we take FULL advantage of that
He loves to use toys on you too though, watching how they make your body react is quite fascinating. He can tell the difference between fake and his real thing though and he adores it, your needy face begging for the real thing is everything. Only he can make you feel certain ways
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Too much, but the orgasms he makes you reach after are always worth it
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
When he’s seriously into it he only grunts and dirty talks, otherwise it's the opposite, whimpering and cursing under his breath
“How does that feel my dear? You like it deep don’t you”
“Your body takes it so well, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep g~going much longer”
“Listen to yourself, all this dirty talk from such a sweet specimen?”
“A girl like you should be walking the streets of Soho, yet here you are taking the cock of an Undertaker. How did I get so lucky to have the dirtiest of them all stroll through my doors?”
“Aha, keep going love, i’m not finished just yet”
W = Wild card (a random dirty headcanon for the character)
Would consider making you into a puppet when you die and keeping you for…. Personal reasons
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Dude is pretty big so imma say 8/9 inches, more on the slenderish side but veiny
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Unusually high
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
He doesn’t, he’ll pretend to but go off once you’re asleep. Dudes got things….. to do.......
#the undertaker#undertaker#undertaker x reader#undertaker x you#undertaker x reader smut#undertaker x you smut#black butler#black butler smut#black butler x you#black butler x y/n#black butler x female reader#black butler x reader#black butler x reader smut#black butler x you smut#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji x reader smut#undertaker black butler#undertaker black butler smut#the undertaker black butler#meli noel work's
607 notes
·
View notes
Text
🪴~ hi, everyone! i hope you’ve all had a lovely day or night. today i give you some black butler headcanons because i haven’t written for it in a little while. enjoy, ily <33
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ fem!reader, street harassment, catcalling, language
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝- 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐢, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐚, 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥
a/n~ i am in no way romanticizing sexual harassment. most of the things i write here in these types of headcanons have happened/been said to me, so i just wanted to make that clear :) thank you <33 also, sorry these are so short, i am tired but i needed to post 😭
sebastian
you two are simply walking down the street, minding your own business as usual- maybe returning from an errand or something. because you’re outside and the weather isnt looking good, you propose that you take a shortcut through a different area. it’s a rougher part of town, but neither of you are fond of the idea of getting caught in the rain, so you take the risk.
you’re probably discussing something fairly mundane when a group of two or three guys spots you from the side of the road. they look dirty and are not at all easy on the eyes. you hear jeering and whistling from the side of the road, along with a few unsolicited comments about how sexy you apparently are. you give them a dirty look but are mostly inclined to ignore them, but Sebastian has other plans.
the butler first moves you to the opposite side of him protectively before marching straight up to the men jeering at you. they stop initially, a little confused, but when they decide Sebastian isn’t too much of a threat, they resume their antics.
“hey, what’re ya doing? you’re blocking our view, bastard.”
“what, are you her boyfriend of something? are ya mad? gonna tell us to stop? not our fault your girl’s a fine piece of ass.”
sebastian literally just stands there and waits for them to finish cackling like middle school boys. then, once they stop, a bit confused as to why Sebastian is still standing there, the butler promptly decks all three of them, knocking them all to the rough ground with three very painful-sounding thuds.
“it’s terribly impolite to verbally assault an innocent woman on the street like that, you know. i would appreciate it greatly if you’d mind your manners next time, yes?”
Sebastian simply leaves the men on the ground to moan and groan at their injuries before rejoining you, who is rendered speechless, in the road.
“this wasn’t a very good shortcut, now was it, my dear? i recommend you make your decisions more wisely next time, rain or not.”
agni
you two are probably just hanging out, on a date or something. you’re walking in the middle of the city, where there are lots of people shopping, selling, just walking, other various things. because of the crowd, you and agni get off the main street and walk behind all the shops and buildings instead for a little more privacy.
while walking behind the buildings, you accidentally stumble and drop your bag. agni politely asks if he can get that for you, but you smile and insist on getting it yourself. you bent over to get your bag and stood back up, which should have been the end of it, but unfortunately you happen to catch the eye of two guys loitering beside one of the buildings you two are in front of.
“i liked it better when you were bent over, sweetheart!”
abruptly, you whirl to face the source of the voice, shocked, your eyes wide. clenching your teeth, you clutch your bag closer and shake your head, starting to walk away in an attempt not to escalate the situation, but agni grabs your hand just before you’re out of his reach. he doesn’t want to bring you any closer to the two men, but agni wants to keep you by his side, so he grasps you around the waist and walks over to them. when he approaches them, his expression is dark, and you can tell how he’s straining to maintain his non-violent ways.
honestly, agni doesn’t really have to say anything to let the guys know that he means business. his threatening aura is overpowering- the cowards are already running for the hills.
“it is a shame that it is so acceptable for these men to treat you like that in England. however- it is clear that they are mere cowards, given that they ran as soon as i approached them. are you doing alright?”
“as long as you are with me, you will never be in harm’s way.”
soma
“hey, baby, your boyfriend don’t look like much- why don’t you come on home with me and i’ll show you a real good time.”
the remark catches you completely off guard. you and soma were on your way back from a cute first date at a quaint coffee shop, which poor soma, trying desperately not to mess up, had planned way too far ahead for just an hour-long date. luckily for him, it had gone well, and you and soma were hitting it off on the walk back to the manor. however, the cheerful little bubble you two were in after officially becoming a couple poles rather abruptly after hearing that comment.
you opted to ignore the offender, and soma simply shot him a dirty look before continuing on your way, protectively wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you closer to him. but the man doesn’t leave you alone.
“hey, babe, why don’t you wanna talk to me? i promise i can be better than that guy you’re with.”
you outright groaned this time, sick of the man hounding you, and soma instantly sensed your annoyance. although he definitely wasn’t fond of the idea of confronting the burly man- who indeed was bigger than soma- he didn’t want to look like a chicken in front of you, and he genuinely didn’t like seeing you upset and vulnerable. so, soma promptly storms up to the man and tries his best to chew him out without wavering.
“hey! you know that it is very rude to catcall a woman like that! you do not even care that she is with a gentleman? you, sir, are a very crass and immature man!”
it really looks better typed out… in reality, soma’s voice is shaky and cracks a lot, and he’s visibly very nervous. like i mentioned, this guy who catcalled you is certainly intimidating. luckily, he isn’t amused by soma and simply waves him off and goes on his way.
grell
“why didn’t he say that to me? what’s wrong with my ass?”
carefully explain to grell that catcalling is not a compliment because she will not know that. even after you explain, she still might take offense☠️☠️
#black butler#kuroshitsuji imagines#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji headcanons#kuroshitsuji x reader#agni kuroshitsuji#agni black butler#agni x reader#reader x agni#grell x reader#prince soma x reader#reader x prince soma#sebastian michaelis smut#sebastian michaelis headcanons#sebastian michaelis hcs#sebastian x reader#sebastian black butler#anime#you x agni#agni x you#you x sebastian michaelis#black butler agni#black butler manga
677 notes
·
View notes
Text
cw: fingering, afab reader, she/her pronouns (used once), womb tattoo, teasing
a/n: the lack of good black butler fics makes me sad, why can’t I have freaky hot sex with Sebastian or Claude or the Undertaker??
Making a pact with Sebastian, only later realizing that the place to chooses to display his mark is above your womb. A pretty glowing purple at makes you tremble and burn, it’s like you’re a cat in heat. Sweating and clawing at the pillows, mewling out when he doesn’t help you.
“Sebastian please,” you sob, hips twisting in the sheets as the feel the inside of your walls pulse and drip. It’s like a red-hot throbbing that makes your eyes go white and you absolutely wail when he presses his palm down on it. The skin on skin is so good, so hot, so- natural.
“My, look at you. So debauched.” He actually laughs at how you nearly cum from it. His palm smoothing over the burning hot mark over your navel, he traces it with painted nails. Watching how you quiver under him, chest heaving as you look at him with wide expecting eyes.
“You’re acting very depraved, darling.” He mocks, flashing you a pretty smile to make you flounder. And it works.
Sebastian knows it’s improper to play with his food but he can’t help it, there’s a certain air to you - he needs to see how far he can push before you tip over the edge for him. His hunger is inevitable, inescapable, rapturous.
He leers over you, looking over your trembling body. Your cunt drips and flutters around nothing, knees knocking inwards to try and relieve the pressure on your clit. His other hand grips your ankle, keeping you from squirming away. Though it’s not like you’d be able to escape him anyway.
“Please Seb-“ the words are plucked from your throat as the demon presses down on your navel again. You sob, legs kicking the bedsheets, twisting out only to be stopped by his grip on your ankle. He hasn’t even fucked you yet and it feels like too much. The mark making your insides feel lit aflame, the nerves so sensitive you think you’re going crazy.
“Ah, there we go,” he chuckles at your reaction, patting your hip as you pant and leak streams of slick onto the sheets. Oh, his eyes sparkle in profound amusement. The way you so vividly react to his hands makes him all the more ravenous.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Sebastian doesn’t slow down for a second, pushing your thighs apart. Marveling how sticky and glossy your pussy is, clit shiny and pulsing in the air. It makes him flash his fangs. He’s going to have to much fun ruining you.
He pins your legs with ease it makes you remember how strong he actually is. He could snap you apart with the flick of his wrist. You shiver under his hold.
Sebastian drags a finger up the wet slick, keeping a firm hand at your hip to keep you from bucking away. You moan, the nerves twitchy. He watches you through dark strands, circling your puffy clit with the pads of his fingers.
You choke on your saliva, hands gripping the lacy pillows above you to ground yourself. The burning above your abdomen doesn’t cease, growing and flaring with each of his small movements.
“Need more, ah,” You grind your hips onto the tips of his digits, trying to get him to push them into your cunt. He simply watches as you struggle, too amused with your torture. He waits for you to whimper, for you to grow desperate and slick under the tips of his digits.
“Of course you do,” he says, his hair falling over his ivory skin, sharp fangs poking from his lips.
“Always have been such a greedy little thing, haven’t you?” He coos, pushing three of his fingers knuckle deep into your sloppy cunt, hooking them up towards that gooey ribbed spot. You’re mortified by his gaze, pinned down by some unforeseen force.
He prods that it with precision, fingers rubbing back and forth over your velvet walls till you clamp your thighs around his wrist. Greedy walls clamp over lithe fingers, sucking them in. Drool slips from your lips, thick moans leaching from your mouth.
“You’re so sensitive.” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your puffy clit. Your thighs jump, stomach dropping in want as you feel the mark flare in need and you sob. Tears leak over the sides over your flushed face and Sebastian has half a mind not to lean over and lick them off your cheeks.
He works harder, curling his fingers up to punch the pads into your g-spot while his thumb rubs tight circles on your swollen nub.
“Sebastian, feels so good.” You feel like you’ve drank too much wine, head clouded and muddled. Your body is on fire and your muscles ache. Another slick palm climbs up your belly, resting on the curled purple mark above your womb. Your eyes widen, lashes smeared in dripping tears. You shake your head, “Wait-“
You catch the curved smile on his jaw before it’s curtained by the raven strands of hair. He doesn’t let you relax when he presses down on your navel, perfectly catching the pressure of his fingers prodding your gooey spot. You absolutely loose it, knees knocking together as you gush down his wrist.
You’re wailing, trying to kick the demon back from you as he fingers your sensitive pussy while pressing down onto your womb, but all he does is laugh and press down harder.
“There we go, there she is. Give it all to me.” It’s messy and slick with your cum, and you shake in the aftershocks. When Sebastian pulls his hand away his fingers are coated in a glossy coating of your slick, and he makes a show of pulling his fingers apart to parade the sticky webs of cum.
You pant, remnants of tears drying on your cheeks as you watch the butler take his slick fingers into his mouth. When he finishes he makes sure pull you down the bed by your thighs, leaning over with a too bright smile and saying, “Darling, did you think we were finished?”
#val.writes ❦#black butler.★#black butler smut#black butler x reader smut#Sebastian michaelis smut#Sebastian michaelis x reader#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
d e v i l’ s k i s s
SCREAMS you don’t know how much Sebastian ruined my childhood asdfjdkfl but thanks so much for requesting this sweetheart. Sorry this took 2 months way too long. Sending lots of love to you <3
f!reader x sebastian michaelis (kuroshitsuji)
tw: a little angst + slight stepcest? + possessive sebastian because it’s a demon’s nature + nsfw + breeding 18+ MINORS DNI
word count: 1.7k
a/n: For the sake of the backstory, I’ll just be using what was revealed in the anime only (which isn’t much tbh). Plus, writing this made me rewatch the manga-canon eps, and damn, do I miss how hot this demon butler is. This is honestly one of my best works for sure.
And I can’t emphasise this enough, please do not send in new requests. I will delete them immediately. Thanks!
buy me a ko-fi?
゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋
So here’s another kiss to tainted bliss
A toast to empty promise
With virtue pretending love as our ending
We fall by the light of the moon
Parties were never your scene. You didn’t like to mingle with guests and make idle chatter, knowing they were only talking to you to go after your inheritance. As a member of the Phantomhive family, despite being adopted, you had no choice but to perform your duties and entertain them until you felt sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Ciel had allowed you to retire for the night after noticing your discomfort from one of the rude noblemen making an inappropriate remark. You thanked your stepbrother with a chaste peck on his cheek before slipping away unnoticed and heading upstairs to your bedchamber. Exhausted, you collapsed on your bed, not bothering to remove your makeup or change into your nightgown. At the thought of the head butler, however, you jolted up in bed and attempted to straighten the creases on your dress. You didn’t want to deal with him nagging you for the next ten minutes on how a proper lady should behave. Who the hell was he to tell you what to do anyway? Sebastian Michaelis was just a butler, not your stepfather.
Shit. Hugging your knees to your chest, you bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from crying. You missed Vincent terribly. He was the first person to show you kindness, taking you in when you were just a frail young girl at death’s door, giving you everything and accepting nothing in return. Vincent had been such a great stepfather to you, treating you equally with Ciel and giving you all the love he could offer. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help but have a crush on Vincent. He was perfect in every way, but Sebastian… Sebastian was flawless, and you hated it. You hated how he appeared out of nowhere, standing by Ciel’s side through thick and thin, and took charge of your lives. You hated his devilish charms, the way Sebastian would look at you and treat you like his lover instead of his mistress away from prying eyes. Worst of all, you hated that he had a striking resemblance with Vincent. Had you committed such an unforgivable sin that the heavens above continued to torture you so cruelly? How could you possibly hate Sebastian all this time if you loved him too much?
With a frustrated sigh, you stood up from your bed. You might as well use the opportunity to take a long bath to clear your thoughts before heading to sleep. Stripping down to your intimates, you hadn’t heard the door to your room opening. You were startled when you suddenly felt a presence behind you, and if not for the butler pressing his finger to your lips, you would’ve screamed out loud, alerting the whole manor.
“Sebastian, what are you- Don’t look!” you scolded, immediately swatting his hand away and covering your chest with your arms. “You should’ve knocked.”
“My apologies, my lady. I did knock, but you didn’t answer, so I came in to check in on you,” he replied, bowing down to you. “The young master has ordered me to serve you for the remainder of the night.”
“There’s no need for that. You may return to your duties,” you said, unintentionally sounding harsher than you had meant, but the butler didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m afraid I cannot disobey orders. What can I do for you, my lady, to satisfy your needs?”
There it was again — the teasing words and the smirk curling up at the corner of his lips. He was doing it on purpose now. How dare he make a fool of you, knowing you weren’t the same naïve 18-year-old girl when you first met him three years ago. You slapped him hard across the face that the palm of your hand stung, unsure of what else you had to do to free yourself from his dastardly spell. You had expected him to get angry, but Sebastian only chuckled, his glowing fuchsia eyes staring back at you in amusement. You backed away, finding yourself trapped between the wall and the towering figure in front of you, with nowhere to escape.
“Oh? So my lady likes it rough. I believe I won’t need to hold back then,” he said, lowering his lips to your ear. “This is what your heart desires, no?”
“You-!”
Sebastian was quick to stop you from slapping him again. Frustration overwhelmed you, and you knew you couldn’t win against him no matter how hard you tried — you couldn’t resist him. Your other hand reached to grab his collar and pulled him down, catching him by surprise as you kissed him. Sebastian kissed you back, but it wasn’t gentleness that you wanted, not after all these years of waiting. He had sensed your hunger, of course. What kind of butler would he be if he didn’t know just how much you whined for him on those lonely nights, wishing he was satisfying you? Despite that, he needed to hear it come straight from your pretty mouth. Pulling away from the kiss, Sebastian held your burning gaze.
“Tell me, what is it that you so desperately crave for, and I will make your wish come true.”
“I want you, Sebastian. I need you to fuck me right now,” you commanded.
“Yes, my lady.”
The next instant, you were lying on the bed with Sebastian on top of you, bodies naked and lips connecting once more. You watched him in heavy anticipation as he pulled his gloves off with his teeth, a shiver running down your spine as his cold fingertips traced down your breasts to your wet, virgin cunt, then rubbed your clit in a circular motion. You started to feel embarrassed, and you wanted him to stop, but Sebastian pressed a kiss on the bridge of your nose to reassure you. He spread your legs open before sinking his fingers inside you, bit by bit, evoking a strange yet pleasurable thrill. You hurriedly covered your mouth with your hand, afraid that the vulgar sounds you’d make escape you. What if the many others, especially your little stepbrother, at the party heard you? What would they think of you, a dirty whore escaping the party to fuck her servant? But Sebastian paid no mind to your worries, continuing to work his fingers in and out. Then suddenly, you arched your back, filled with a flooding sensation that made you cry out.
“Beautiful,” Sebastian murmured, licking his fingers now drenched in your sweet slick. “I’ve never had a human so divine like you in all my years of existence.”
You barely had the chance to catch a breath, the hot tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your cunt stretched wider to accommodate his girthy cock slowly pushing inside you. It felt as though he was splitting you in half, the veins of his cock throbbing against your walls, despite him giving you a moment to adjust to his size. You wanted to say that it hurt, that he was too big and you couldn’t take him, but alas, those words never left your mouth.
“God, Sebastian!” you screamed, hands desperately clinging to him.
“God? I’m not a God, darling. But for you, I will be.”
With his fingers gripping onto your hips to steady you, he began to thrust, hitting your sweet spot every time, all while showering you with praises. At this point, you couldn’t care less how loud you were. The pain eventually dulled into pleasure, and all you could think about was how sinfully good his cock felt as you moaned his name like a prayer. Oh, how Sebastian loved the sound of your voice, so needy and all for him. But it wasn’t enough, not for a starving demon like him who just had his first taste of the forbidden fruit. Fueled by carnal desire, he quickened his pace, making you wrap your legs around his waist, needing to feel him deeper inside you. Your eyes squeezed shut when he sucked your neck, just above your collarbone. Then, without warning, he sank his teeth into your skin, roughly marking you as if claiming you, body and soul.
“Ah- Sebastian! Please!”
“What is it, my pretty angel?” he asked, feigning innocence at your little whimper. “Do you want me to come inside your tight little hole and fill you up until you’re full?”
You nodded, babbling out, “Yes, yes! Please, Sebastian! Come inside me, please!”
In a heated frenzy, your mind went blank as you came undone, your delicate body quivering uncontrollably underneath him. Sebastian buried his face in the crook of your neck as he spurted ropes of his hot cum inside you, only pulling out when you both came down from your high. Watching his cum leaking out of your hole, Sebastian sighed at the mess he had made on your bed. In no time, Sebastian had cleaned you up thoroughly, dressed you in a nightgown and replaced the bedsheets with fresh ones. He smiled at the sight of you curled up before placing a light kiss on the top of your head and wishing you goodnight.
“Stay,” you half-whispered, catching his wrist before he could leave the room. “Stay with me for tonight.”
Sebastian didn’t sleep, deeming it a luxury, yet he obliged, letting you pull him into bed next to you. Throwing the covers over your bodies, he stroked your hair adoringly while you leaned comfortably into his chest, slowly drifting off to sleep. However, a part of you didn’t want the night to end. You didn’t want to think about tomorrow, how everything, or worse, nothing would change. You didn’t care for taboo; all you knew was that you didn’t want it to go back to being mistress and butler.
Forcing yourself to suppress a yawn, you looked up at him and admitted, “I love you, Sebastian. Please don’t leave me.”
The demon butler had no slightest intent on giving up his prey- no, his mate to anyone, even if that meant sacrificing everything else for you. Devoting himself to you and only you, Sebastian wrapped his strong arms around you protectively, kissing your eyelids, and you closed them heavily.
“I promise you, darling. You’re mine for eternity.”
゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋
#princess writes#sebastian michaelis x reader#sebastian x reader#kuroshitsuji x reader#black butler x reader#sebastian michaelis smut#sebastian michaelis#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji smut#black butler smut#black butler#ciel phantomhive#requests are closed
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
between the coffins ; 18+
requested by ; anonymous (31/10/21)
word count ; 952
content ; oral sex (fem receiving), semi-public sex acts, nearly getting caught
fandom ; black butler
pairing ; undertaker x female!reader
read also on ; ao3
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked
Privacy was rare to come by when your lover was as in demand as he was — always being called away by a detective or a grieving relative or that pint sized earl or, well, the list goes on. It seemed you just never had a moment to yourselves and if it had gone on any longer you were sure you’d have just taken him in the shop, irrespective of whoever else was there so long as you got the relief you so desperately craved.
Though, thankfully, you didn’t end up needing to resort to such desperate measures.
Today had been the most quiet day you’d had in months at the parlour — not a single soul, human or otherwise, had even come by your doors since you’d flipped the sign on the front door to “open”, aside from one particularly lost traveller who was looking for a completely different establishment. It was almost as if death had taken a day off; like the world beyond your doors had stuttered to a stop, or the rapture had occurred and you two were the sole survivors left behind.
After four long hours of just sitting and waiting, eyes on the door and breath held in anticipation, your boyfriend finally spoke up and propositioned you. Urging you to hike your skirts up to your waist and sit on one of the unoccupied coffins in the most covered side-area of the main parlour — his grin rife with a mischief and lust that you had no intention of denying. So, naturally, you did exactly what he suggested, uncaringly tossing your shoes and stockings and drawers to one side and lifting yourself onto the cold, wooden surface — and grinning in antsy anticipation when he knelt between your legs and used his cold, large hands to spread your thighs wide apart.
You were finally going to get what you wanted, and you couldn’t fucking wait.
————
Your boyfriend was always happy to go down on you, to the extent that he seemed to get off on it alone. And he was damn good at it, playing your body with the same skill a professional musician would use to work their instrument: his long tongue traced the length of your slit, gathering your slick on the tip before he paused and swallowed and groaned before doing it all over again; occasionally his lips would wrap around your swollen clit and he’d suck on the sensitive bud, causing you to sigh and keen before he laughed and returned his focus elsewhere; his talented tongue would flit between your gushing hole and your sensitive clit — thrusting and swirling inside of you and circling and drawing figure eights onto your most sensitive part.
Every flick of his tongue and press of his lips against your needy pussy sent new waves of burning pleasure flowing through your veins and collecting at your core. The coil within you tightening as you were guided intentionally towards your release with a treatment that had your head spinning and your fingers entangling themselves in his long, grey hair. Twirling, twisting, pulling and tugging him forwards so he was as close as can be — so you could feel every twitch of his lips, every breath that escaped him against the surface of your cunt as he continued to eat you out with all the ferocity of a starved man presented with a feast. With all the reverence of a follower in prayer.
It wasn’t long before he had you moaning his name in a prayer of your own. Murmuring the syllables in the shape of a gasp and punctuating them with pleas and praise that morphed into moans and groans — the sort that came strongly from your core and had your head falling backwards until it hit the back wall of the parlour (or was it another coffin?). That had your grip on his hair tightening as you ground and bucked your hips into his mouth, arching your back as your pleasure began to mount.
Yes. Yes. So close, so tantalisingly close. Yes!
And then three worlds collided. Undertaker suddenly reached up, bending you damn near in half in the process, and slammed a hand over your mouth, silencing you as he stared at you through his bangs — yellow-green eyes glinting with mischief and warning. The bell above your front door clinked merrily, announcing a new guest as a familiar voice called out for your boyfriend, demanding his presence; the earl. You fell over the edge of climax and squirted your release so hard that you coated your boyfriend’s chin and your thighs in your juices.
Vision spinning and blotting with a disorienting white that bled when tears of overstimulation filled your eyes. Heart pounding violently against your rib cage, the sound deafeningly loud as it echoed in your ears, overpowering the demands of your company. Your limbs trembling and your body collapsing forwards as it all became too much and you were only held upright by the sheer strength of your lover, who skilfully guided you through your high as you mounted the peak and gradually came down — licking you just below your sensitive spot until your eyes focused again and he was sure you were okay to handle yourself.
Then, and only then, did he lick himself clean and wipe whatever he couldn’t get on the oversized sleeve of his coat. Then, and only then, did he poke his head out of your hidden nook and address your guests with his trademark grin and unnervingly giggly disposition.
Acting like nothing had happened whilst you were left a panting, sweating, fucked-out mess forced to bite down on your fist to keep quiet. What an ass — he‘s lucky you loved him…
#sleepingdeath#female reader#female reader smut#smut#smut fic#minors dni#minors fuck off#black butler smut#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji smut#undertaker x reader#black butler undertaker x reader#kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader#undertaker smut
874 notes
·
View notes
Text
Edge You To Death
Pairing: Undertaker x AFAB! Reader or Undertaker x Fem! Reader.
Summary: Undertaker loves ruining your orgasms.
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Casual sex, Undertaker and Reader have a weird ‘situationship’, Age gap relationship, Mention of pedophila (not in reference to Undertaker! UT is not a pedo!), Reader is unaware Undertaker is a reaper or of what he does for Ciel, Reader has MY personal thoughts on pedophila (I don’t think they are controversial but just in case you don’t wanna here it skip the introduction), Oral sex (fem receiving), Edging, Daddy kink.
Writing Time: 1 hour.
Word Count: 1,317.
Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 20.
A/N:
I kinda forgot wtf I was doing here.
Most of my Kinktober works were written well in advance, but this wasn’t one of them. I wrote this 2 days before it was due. My requests are pilling up but I should start prioritising these now. I doubt I’ve gotten that Matthew Patel request done yet, I planned to do that when I got the requester’s first message about it, sent the same day I got the request, but not anymore. Sounds a lot like a request got ages ago on my previous account but deleted when I started feeling harassed by the requester. This is more for the Matthew Patel requester than anyone else but yeah… don’t harass people about requests especially if it hasn’t been that long since you sent it. Everyone, harass me over a request and I’ll just delete it. You can send one reminder after a week and that’s it. Anymore and I delete. I usually have requests done in a week or two and those kinds of messages just destroy my motivation.
Anyway! Please enjoy this Undertaker smut.
Here are my other Kinktober 2023 works.
—-///—-
You had been feeling dam good since you started sleeping with the Undertaker.
You had new relationship jitters, even if it wasn’t really a relationship. He was what you had fantasied about for years. An older gentleman who was kind and treated you like a Queen, but also open about wanting to ravishing you. With his age also came along a lot of life and sexual experience, a lot more than you had. He never mocked you for knowing less than him, he was just happy you wanted to know and happily taught you a lot.
Whilst age gap relationships have always been common and considered normal prior to the Victorian era, it was slowly becoming distasteful. Something many were unhappy with but also many other who were happy. Undertaker, years ago, would have been in favour this but with you now… he was in the middle and uncomfortable with it. Surely you and his relationship was ok because you was definitely an adult.
You were pretty set in stone on the matter. To you, age gap relationships were bad, unless it was you. You were a young woman who would never say no to an older man, even when you was a girl. You knew your exes were absolutely pedos, but you didn’t care as long as it was just you they were after. And no you didn’t consider yourself a victim.
You didn’t think of Undertaker in the same way though. You was an adult when you met him therefore wasn’t bad for perusing you. Well, you perused him but it didn’t matter.
Right know you was doing some dusting in the front of Undertaker’s shop, he was in the back. The first thing you took notice of when you first met your lover… was how nasty his shop is. It’s always covered in dirt and stinked of death. Obviously it would smell of death, it’s a funeral home, but the dirt was unnecessary and you was surprised that Undertaker had tried to do something about the smell. You figured he’s probably gotten used to it now and gone nose blind.
Once you had cleaned to a satisfying amount, you heard the bell go. You looked up and saw the familiar Earl Phantomhive and his butler. The young boy always looked so dam miserable, it depressed you. You didn’t like interacting with either of them and they never seemed to want your help, so you called your bedmate.
Undertaker came into the room, happy to deal with the Phantomhive and his butler. You was aware the two engaged in a different kind of business than coffins or funeral services, but it was none of your business what their business was. So you wasn’t going to ask…
Instead you headed out of the room and upstairs to bed, it was late and you knew Undertaker would join you after he was done with his ‘business’.
—-///—-
“Sort out the Earl?” You asked.
“Yes, Dear.” Undertaker smiled as he climbed into his bed, next you.
You sat up immediately and glared at him, “How many times have I told you Undie?! No sleeping in your day clothes!”
He laughed as you pushed him out of his own bed. Yeah, Undertaker had a bad habit of sleeping in his day clothes. He didn’t own PJs until you came into his life, nearly a year ago now.
“Ok! Ok!” Undertaker walked over to his drawers to fish out his sleepwear.
Once he did, he placed them on the end of the bed and looked down at you. You gave him a small smile, suddenly remembering this was his home and his bed and who are you say anything about how he sleeps? After all, you’re not even dating.
Undertaker grinned widely at you and slowly started removing his cloak. Ah, he was trying to indicate something.
He slowly stripped completely in front of you before getting back on the bed and crawling onto you. You kissed his lip gently and took hold of his arms, but Undertaker shook your hold off his arms and grabbed your face to pull you even closer to him, deeping your kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a makeout session.
You moaned in between the kisses, you were started to feel a growing sensation in between your legs. If not dealt with quickly, it would become uncomfortable. Luckily for you, Undertaker could sense your arousal and was more than willing to help.
He let go of your lips and before you could even whine or complain, he was pulling the duvet and sleep shorts down and licking your lower regions. You made your hands comfortable, pulling on the pillow under your head and proped up your legs and planted your feet into the bed.
Undertaker ate you out like a mad mad. Sucking, licking, spitting and groaning like crazy. Your pussy and it’s sweet smell made him act unusual, way less calm and in control than usual. This was something you was proud of. You had the power (or pussy) to make Undertaker lose all composure.
You started to feel less prideful about your achievement as you started to feel yourself losing to Undertaker’s tongue. Your whimpered had become cries and moans, you begged him for release but you should of known better. It would be a long while before you got that.
Undertaker grinned evily against your cunt then looked up you, just go get a glimpse of your flustered expression. Having wait himself for release was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got to see you cry and beg him for climax. He absolutely got a weird power trip from it.
“Oh please… oh please Daddy, I need to cum now!”
“Nu uh uh! You don’t get to cum until I say so, Dearie!”
You were still staring up at the ceiling and unable to look down, but you didn’t need to look down to know Undertaker was wearing his usual evil wicked grin. He always had that look when he was planning to edge you to death.
#stitched#stitched talks#stitched mouth#stitched writes#stitched’s kinktober#kinktober 2023#kinktober#black butler#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji undertaker#black butler x reader#black butler smut#black butler undertaker#undertaker x reader#undertaker#undertaker smut
399 notes
·
View notes
Text
random sebastian x fem reader
notes/warnings: 18+ (like, seriously); fem reader; collars; Reader is super submissive; Bassy essentially considers reader his little Pet and is manipulative and dominant as hell; but he also makes Reader feel very good; Reader has a huge praise kink and has heavily absorbed period-typical gender roles; infidelity (in the context of a loveless arranged marriage)
"I should do something about that inconvenient husband of yours, my sweet pet."
You simply nodded. "Whatever you think is best, my sweet."
The Phantomhive butler loomed over you, cupping your face and making you look up at him.
Softly, he said to you, "Do you know how much it pleases me when you agree with me, when you obey me, when you set aside all your oaths and beliefs, just to make me happy? "
As you looked into his eyes, you were blissful. You were a woman: you were formed and trained for submission, and it was all you had ever wanted to do. But perfect submission--it couldn't be attained if the man was not worthy of such! On your first visit to the Manor, Sebastian had seen, had understood, and had taken pity on you.
Sebastian grasped and groped you through your linen shift, pulling you quite close to him. Your body flushed with arousal and pulsed in anticipation. The way he took what he wanted, the way he was able to pierce your soul with his eyes: he was worthy of perfect submission, and it was all you wanted to give him.
His nostrils flared as the material of your shift caught in his hands.
"I should destroy this," he snapped.
"If you think it is best, my sweet."
Effortlessly, he obliterated everything that dared to come between him and your bare body. He softly ran his glove-tipped fingers wherever he wanted, which was fitting, as you did belong to him, after all. The small hairs on your arm stood on end as he dragged a single finger down your neck and shoulders. When he circled over the nipples of your heavy, heavy breasts with the lightest, most teasing touches, you started making the most lewd noises and became unsteady on your feet.
Sebastian caught you, molding him to you like you were a toy. "My sweet pet, as ever, you are a complete delight to me. You are so helpless, so good. It makes me so sad that your perfect obedience is only rewarded when you are with me. I really do think you should be with me all the time, don't you?"
In a sort of affirmative answer, you tried to snuggle even closer to him. He responded by placing the back of his hand against your neck, causing you to whine with need. Laughing softly, he unfurled his fingers, wrapping them around your neck, gently squeezing. The control, the dominance of this gesture--your life's breath in his hand--made you shudder with pleasure.
He laughed. "I want to give you a little present, my sweet pet, and this is where you will wear it." He rubbed and squeezed your neck. Your breathing got heavier. You had--you had heard whispers of this, women who wore collars gifted to them by the men they adored. You had let yourself think of such things once or twice while lying in bed alone in your husband's home. Not in your deepest, most incomprehensible fantasies had you thought--
Before your poor little mind was able to process anything further, Sebastian had procured a delicate little gold and pearl collar with a tiny bell from his pocket and was securing it around your neck. He knew he didn't need to ask for any permission.
"Sweet pet, won't you stand there and just let me look at you so I can see your pretty little gift?" You nodded, although it physically hurt you to lose his touch.
Sebastian left you and walked over to the large chair in the corner of his room. He took off his tailcoat, loosened his tie, and partially unbuttoned his shirt before sitting down so that he could admire you as you stood in the center of his room, bare except for your new collar. Eventually, he patted his lap gently and said, "Come and sit here, my precious, darling pet."
You walked over toward him, letting your body sway so the bell on the collar would tinkle and chime. When he opened his arms and drew you into his lap, you actually began to sob a little because you were so happy.
"Shhh, shhh, my sweet, obedient pet." Sebastian stroked your body as you curled into him. "Trust you owner. He's going fix everything."
#sebastian x reader#sebastian black butler#sebastian michaelis#sebastian michaelis x reader#kuroshitsuji sebastian#black butler smut#kuroshitsuji smut
286 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking abt how snake is prob a virgin and has never in his life had sex.
So when he’s finally inside you, he’s a moaning and whining mess, fucking your hole and repeatedly asking you if he’s doing it right since he doesn’t want his partner to be unsatisfied of course.
Omg and then he begs to cum inside you HSHDJDJ
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
reader description :: petite asian female, 21, 5’0, medium length straight hair + pale skin
reader :: jackie lee
commissioned :: ✔️ (as in a follower’s oc lmao, not my own)
warnings :: smut, name calling, blowjob, face fucking, unprotected sex + dacryphilia
if sebastian found jackie to be a nuisance, he wasn’t prepared for her obsessiveness after they had sex. it was a moment of weakness, on his part or that’s what he was trying to convince himself.
why else would he allow a human to have their way with him? he was ciel’s most loyal servant but what exactly did that mean for him and jackie?
she was still as bubbly and vibrant as she was when she first arrived only now, she seemed to take her relationship or lack there of with sebastian very seriously.
the girl knew how to get exactly what she wanted and when she wanted it, even if they were working, she’d find a way to get him alone, falling to her knees to please him the only way she could.
“such a good girl” he grunts, “for a slut”
he bites his lip, looking down as she swallows his cock. she chokes but refuses to let up, gripping his thighs.
“want me to fuck your throat?” he laughs, running his free hand through his hair.
when she nod, he scoffs.
“so fucking easy” he holds her head in place, slowly pulling out before snapping his hips forward again.
he enjoys the shocked look on her face, always ready to challenge him but she’d easily tear up, her pretty face turning a cute shade of pink when she’d cry.
sebastian might’ve slightly been more possessive than he’d care to admit but he hated the idea of anyone else seeing her like this.
“fuck” he groans, tossing his head back as he feels her throat tighten around his cock. he wasn’t small by any means but jackie was always ready to please him.
“shit stand up” he pulls her up and presses her against the concrete wall behind him, careful not to hurt her face.
he flips her skirt up, pushing her panties aside before shoving all the way in. he knows she’s ready, always is when it came to him so he didn’t have to waste time.
“you couldn’t wait to get home?” he asks, spanking her ass hard enough to leave red hand prints behind. she never seemed to learn her place despite his warnings.
“sebastian” she cries out, fucking herself back onto him. he was just so big that when he grabbed her waist, snaking his hand to press against her stomach, he could feel the bulge.
“just like that” he groans, “such a dirty girl”
“for you” she gasps, gripping his hand that was placed firmly on her waist.
he tried his best not to cum right away. sebastian was far from a weak human and he had great stamina but he’s never met anyone that was able to keep up with him the way jackie did.
lifting her right leg, he began fucking her harder and faster. he was certain people would be looking for them sooner or later and he’d hate to have this moment ruined all because she was impatient.
“fuck” she moaned which was cut off by him covering her mouth. he didn’t need anyone catching them in this state, not when she was so exposed. he’d have to kill them and he wasn’t in the mood for it today.
he can feel her legs giving out so he turns her around, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. like this, he’s so much deeper but he’s quick to kiss her to silence any of her sounds.
the sounds only he was privy to. no matter what he said on the outside or how much he tried to distance himself, jackie belonged to him.
#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes#[ 📍 xfgpng follower reqs ]#reader insert#kuroshitsuji sebastian smut#kuroshitsuji smut#black butler sebastian smut#black butler smut#black butler sebastian#sebastian michaelis x reader#sebastian michaelis smut#sebastian michaelis
106 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Birthday Wishes"
Undertaker x Female Reader
word count: 3,700+
(@fanfictionsworld requested: spending your birthday with Undertaker from my Cause to Start a Vendetta AU.)
disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! fluff with some smut at the end, oral sex (reader receiving), use of the word “Daddy”, reader is called “princess, baby, sweetheart”.
*ao3 mirror*
***
You’d been counting down the days for weeks now, your birthday circled on the calendar with a big pink glitter gel pen heart several times over, every day crossed off that crawled closer to the day— your day— making you more and more excited.
Because, as you’d quickly grown accustomed to being spoiled by Undertaker— special occasion or otherwise— your birthday was no exception to being showered with all the love and luxury he had at his disposal.
“Morning, princess…” he cooed, gently smoothing down some of your sleep-tousled hair with a big, cool palm, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you blinked open beary eyes, wrapped in his arms and the many layers of blankets that twisted and tangled about your bodies sprawled across the bed.
“Morning, Daddy…” you replied, voice soft and delicate as the lingering dredges of slumber clung to your tone, an angelic little grin curving up on your sweet lips as you nuzzled closer into Undertaker’s chest, seeking out his elusive warmth.
For a moment, nearly forgetting what today was as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your figure filling with the heavy weight of sleep once more, your eyelids fluttered closed and your breathing began to turn slow and shallow. Undertaker rubbed a hand up and down your back, stirring you back to the waking world and smiling to himself as you let out a big yawn, nose scrunching adorably with the expression.
“If you want to go back to sleep,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your nose and causing a fragile giggle to bubble up in your chest, “I won’t stop you. But that would certainly be a shame when we have so many fun things on our to-do list today.”
That was enough to entice you, your mind suddenly much more alert than before, and you snaked your arms up to gently rest over his shoulders. “Just a few more minutes…” you said, pressing yourself even closer to him, wishing you could bask in the safety of his touch forever. “Then I promise I’ll get up.”
A smooth, sonorous chuckle vibrated through his bones, the sound warming you from the inside out like hot milk and honey. “Alright, sweetheart,” he said, allowing himself to melt back to a more relaxed state as well. “Just a few more minutes…”
As the sun crept further through the cracks of the curtains, bright beams painting the ornate master bedroom with thin strokes of gold, stirring up the wispy clouds of dust motes swirling through the air, Undertaker coaxed you into finally rising, draping one of his big, fluffy black robes over your shoulders when you became burdened with a chill, the mansion’s usual temperature kept low upon his preference.
Once your feet were dressed in your favorite pair of fluffy socks and even fluffier slippers, you took Undertaker’s hand and let him guide you down the wide halls to the curving staircase, heading towards the kitchen where you could already smell your special birthday breakfast.
The long dining table was decorated to the nines with all kinds of balloon bouquets and bundles of black and white roses overflowing from crystal vases. Spelled out in gold glitter confetti at one end of the display was HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS punctuated by a big heart. At the other was a full selection of all your breakfast favorites— souffle pancakes piled high with bananas and melty chocolate chips, strawberry french toasts drizzled with sticky maple syrup and sprinkled with a frosty snowfall of powdered sugar, fluffy scrambled eggs and yogurt parfaits and fruit arranged by color.
You sucked in a gasp of delight, hands clasped before your chest as you eagerly surveyed the scene, looking up at your Daddy like he’d outdone himself.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he said, extending a hand towards the chair at the head of the table— his usual chair, the master’s chair, the dining room’s throne— and pulling it out for you to sit in, taking the seat adjacent to it to join you in the morning’s sugary culinary experience.
Over the meal— you choosing a bit of everything to pile onto your plate in an orderly array, because why should you have to choose just one when today you could have whatever your little heart desired— you and Undertaker began to discuss the day’s itinerary.
There was a packed schedule planned indeed— a shopping outing at all your most beloved designer stores, afternoon tea at the Ritz, exploring some of the artsy nooks and crannies of the city and dropping into your favorite bookstore all before hopping on the Aurora Society’s private jet and taking the hour and a half flight to your favorite five star restaurant in Paris, sure to end the evening by enjoying your usual penthouse suit of the expensive hotel that gave the best view among any of the establishments around.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing,” Undertaker slyly prompted just as you were about to head upstairs to get changed and ready for the events ahead, thoughts already spinning trying to decide what you wanted to wear. You stopped and considered him with an adorably cute expression for a moment until he pulled a big gift bag from under the table where he’d hidden it from you, the glossy black packaging stuffed with glittering silver tissue paper and two perfect satin ribbons serving as the handles. “You know,” he shrugged as he slid it towards you on the table, drinking in your awe, never growing tired of how easily you seemed to be innocently surprised sometimes, “just in case you felt like going out in something new.”
Carefully, as if the wrapping itself was just as valuable as the gift, you plucked the sparkling tissue paper away to uncover the pristinely wrapped box beneath, a marbling of glossy and matte black swirling over the decorative paper like ink dropped into water. The moment the first half of your favorite clothing brand’s name was visible to you, you shot him a glance, as if to say, “you shouldn’t have” despite believing down to your very core that you deserved every expensive, extravagant thing that Undertaker placed in your cute little lap.
Once you lifted the garment from where it had been perfectly folded within its box, holding it up to your body as if to sample how it would look before trying it on, you heard Undertaker sigh, a dreamy, lilting hum tailing off the end of it. “Exquisite…” he remarked, and you now held the dress out from your body, studying the intricate craftsmanship that had been hand stitched into the garment as you smiled to yourself, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It really is.”
But then Undertaker was by your side, having moved soundlessly, his even stride gliding across the short distance to meet you. “I wasn’t talking about the dress,” he murmured, big hands settling on your hips. “Now, why don’t you head upstairs and start getting ready.”
You turned your face up to his, met his lips when he was close enough for a kiss, and muttered out a sweet little, “Thank you, Daddy,” before following his instruction and heading for the staircase.
He watched you go, saw the skip in your step as you ventured off, only returning to clearing the table once you disappeared down the long second story hallway and out of his view. He was going to look forward to taking that dress off of you later, unwrapping you like his own special gift by the time night draped itself over the sky.
***
The afternoon had been like a dream, you and your lover floating from one location to the next to try on extravagant clothing and sample imported teas, the two of you practically waltzing through the downtown streets where you longed to see what new installments the local London artists put up around the city before you’d lost track of time perusing your favorite bookstore, a good two hours going by without you even noticing as you strategically searched for the next story to get yourself hooked on.
But as the sky began to fade from blue to gold, it signaled that dinner was soon approaching, which meant you two had a plane to catch if you wanted to arrive to your reservation on time.
The hostess greeted you two with a friendly smile, addressing you both by name, the entire restaurant staff made familiar with London’s most notorious boss and the beautiful girl who was always on his arm, Undertaker making short, lighthearted conversation with the manager in French while they crossed paths on the walk to your usual table, the man chuckling at something your Daddy had said, forever able to charm anyone if he set his mind to it, it seemed.
As you both enjoyed the delicacies of the six course meal, you continued to talk and laugh, never running out of topics to converse about, though tonight you were most excited to tell him all about the book you’d recently finished and your expectations for the new one you’d chosen on your earlier excursion, having heard nothing but praise for the acclaimed tale.
Once the horizon had lost its lilac blush and sunk deep into the velvet navy of nightfall though, you knew you were just about to enter into yet another phase of your luxurious birthday festivities.
***
You could smell the roses from down the hall before the doors to your hotel suite in Paris even opened. The entirety of the three connected rooms were decked from floor to ceiling in at least one hundred thousand dollars worth of florals, vibrant reds and sultry blacks, flawless creams and even a dash of lovely soft pinks.
You could’ve cried at how gorgeous it all was, blinking the mist from your eyes as you spun in slow circles about the place, taking it all in. Undertaker’s hands found your shoulders to steady you, stopping your awestruck turns to face the beautiful birthday cake on the hotel room’s center table, the special dessert shaped like a heart and iced in a rainbow of your favorite colors, several candles placed strategically on the top and already lit, small flames glowing and beckoning you over to make a wish.
But what could you possibly wish for when you already had everything you’d ever want or need— a gorgeous man who loved you, showering you in every stunning thing life had to offer, as simple as the snap of his fingers or a wave of his hand— besides to continue living this blessed life that had found its way to you, through trial and tribulation?
Taking a few steps forward towards the cake, you choked out through a shaky breath, “Oh my god…” unable to hold back your tears any longer, a few sparkling drops running down your cheeks, glittering like gold as they caught the amber of the flickering firelight. You looked back at Undertaker, who was not far behind you, and wondered if you’d ever be able to convey how much this all meant to you. It almost seemed unfair. He’d always be able to do more for you than you would for him, though he never seemed to mind.
For him, just having you— his sweet, precious baby girl to dote on and adore as much as he pleased— was far more than enough. All you had to do was exist. All you had to do was be his.
“Well, go on,” he lightly urged, a calm smile playing at the corner of his lips as he gestured towards the center table. “The candles won’t blow themselves out, now will they?”
You smiled, big and bright, and let out a sound that could only be described as pure joy. Undertaker was addicted to that sound, the way it rang out like the delicate jingle of bells, the way it warmed him like the sun’s rays after so much rain. It made everything he’d ever done, good, bad, or somewhere in between, all worth it. Just to see you smile at him like that, just to hear you laugh. Just to know it was him who’d been the orchestrator of such emotions.
And as you let out a strong gust of a breath, turning each melting birthday candle from flame to smoke, you realized you did have one wish you wanted to make afterall.
Let things be like this forever, you thought to yourself, like a silent prayer. Let us stay as in love for the rest of our lives as we are right now, in this moment.
Undertaker cut the cake, a piece for you and a piece for him, and then the two of you sat by the counter outlooking the spotless floor to ceiling windows that gave way to the sprawling view of the City of Light, the night sky clear and sparkling with little bursts of silver stars overhead.
You talked and joked and laughed while you both enjoyed your dessert, your chair pressed right next to his, close enough that you could lean your head over to rest against the side of his shoulder while his arm slung across your back, hugging you closer to him, his most cherished treasure.
“You know…” you began, gazing dreamily out the window at the romantic scene the city offered. Then, casting him a glance from where you were nestled into his side, you said, “I think this might really be the best birthday ever.”
Something in his eyes softened a shade then, and in response Undertaker lightly took your chin between his lithe fingers, tilting your mouth just ever so slightly upwards so he could lean down to meet it. You hadn’t expected the kiss, languid and savoring at first as you parted your lips to let him in, both of you tasting like your favorite flavor of cake, soon turning more hungry, having you straddling his lap and blinded by the blissful haze that was slowly filling you from the inside out.
When he finally broke away, leaned back just far enough to look you in the eyes, gently wiping the cool pad of his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip, glossy from your mingled saliva, a weak attempt to clean you up a bit, he said, “I guess that means I’ll have to go above and beyond next year,” and you laughed and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as you felt yourself relax over him.
“No, but really…” you murmured. “Thank you, Daddy. For everything. Always.”
All you got as a warning for what happened next was a low, lilting chuckle humming in his chest before he was hoisting you up, big hands splayed against the backs of your thighs as he began to carry you elsewhere in the suite.
“Where are we going?” you playfully asked, though you already had a pretty good idea.
“There’s still a few hours until midnight,” he remarked, a new kind of vigor in his voice and stride. He set you down on the edge of the king-sized bed, beginning to shrug off his jacket and tug his belt buckle free of its loops as he added, “Which means your birthday’s not over yet, princess.”
The smirk that spread across his face then made that fluttering creature resting in your lower belly roll over inside of you, beginning to wake, soon asking to be satisfied like a dog scratching at the door begging for treats, relentless until it was given its desired reward. It wasn’t long before Undertaker was hooking his grip under your thighs again, pulling you further down the bed where he then knelt at the foot of it.
You gave him an uncertain and slightly suspicious look as he flicked his emerald gaze up to meet yours. Usually, he liked to undress you, strip you down piece by piece before ridding himself of his own clothing, admiring every inch of your bare body like it was the most masterful work of art. Then he’d pin you down, his prized butterfly, and get to work at soaking both your bodies with pleasure before wringing them dry, squeezing you for every last lustful drop he could.
But tonight— on your night— he figured he’d do things a little differently. Give you one last birthday surprise before the clock struck twelve.
“Just relax, sweetheart…” he cooed, carefully bunching your new dress up around your waist, exposing the expensive lace clinging to the most delicate parts of you and drinking in the sight like it rivaled even that of the one just beyond the windows. “Let Daddy make you feel good…”
Undertaker pressed gentle kisses to the soft raise of your lower belly, and you felt your tight little hole futter and your sensitive bud pulse as he slowly removed your panties, your already damp core causing them to cling to you a moment before the cool air sighed against your damp slit.
Undertaker ran a long finger through your dewy folds, making your next breath catch as he slipped it inside of you to gather more of your slick before rubbing it against your puffy clit, already swollen with arousal, pulling one of those adorable whines from your throat as you lay one arm over your eyes, the other sprawled out across the bed, little fingers twisting into the sheets, trying to grab hold of anything while you still had the chance.
“That’s it, baby…” he praised, helping to spread you wider for him, a leg thrown over one of his broad shoulders as he continued to tease you. His next words sent a puff of his warm breath against your cunt, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation, exhaling a shuddering sigh. He whispered, “I’m gonna take good care of you, baby,” and when he licked a flat-tongued stripe up your pussy, you let out a soft, broken whine, back already beginning to arch a little at the sinfully sweet feel of him.
Undertaker was skilled at a lot of things— running a business, making money, getting away with murder— but the thing you thought he was best at, above all else, was pleasuring you.
It was effortless, the way he knew exactly what to do that made you body bend to his command, melting your mind until all you knew was the press of his hips or the wet warmth of his mouth, the indents of his teeth, his fingerprints, all of it branded into you so no matter where you looked on your own body there would be a reminder of him, like a promise, a gift.
You were clenching the silky sheets in your trembling fist as he speared his tongue into you, his sharp nose nudging against your clit every time and forcing moan after delicious, high-pitched moan out of you like that was the only sound you’d ever known how to make. If he thought your laugh was syrupy sweet, then your moans were something else entirely, something far more addicting or satisfying than sticky, sickly sweet sugar. More like a drug to him, making him addicted in a way that, once he got a taste, he couldn’t stop. Not until you had nothing left to give, his pursuit at seeing just how far or how long he could make you go merciless time and time again.
“P-please—” you sobbed, the new veil of tears that had welled in your eyes causing your lashes to clump and spike together with every fluttering roll of your eyes back into your head. His pace was voracious, wanting to devour you down to your very core. You could barely get half a broken plea out before it was interrupted by a surrendering mewl or a soundless gasp, mouth hung open in ecstasy before he prepared to shatter you. “Please— I’m gonna—”
But before you could even speak the last word of your sentence, let alone remember it, Undertaker had you coming undone, unraveling you like a frayed thread on a silk scarf, pulling you apart until there was nothing left but a tangle of string he could then rearrange into any shape he pleased.
Your chest rose and fell with short, shallow, panting breaths, rigid form relaxing back into the mattress, body gone all pliable and boneless once the remaining tension melted away. Meanwhile, Undertaker pressed gentle kisses to the sensitive insides of your stained thighs, palms gently petting you as you drifted down from the high and back into the garden of Eden he’d planted, nurtured, and grown just for you.
Normally, he’d barely give you enough time to recover before commencing round two, but, as he seemed to be a little more patient with you on this most special of days, he allowed your heart to slow to a steady rhythm and your breathing to smooth out into even inhales and exhales before shifting over you, darting out his tongue to lick at his own lips to catch one last obscene taste of you before wiping away your glistening arousal from the bottom half of his pale face with the back of his hand.
As he stared down at you through half-lidded eyes, the vibrant green of them almost glowing through the dim dark of the bedroom, he said, as if only to himself, “Just look at you… So gorgeous… My beautiful girl…” as he helped free you the rest of the way from your pretty birthday dress, mindfully folding it and placing it on the nearest bedside drawer so it didn’t get ruined.
Because he did intend to ruin you.
He intended to ruin you in all the right ways.
As he shed his own clothing like a black-skinned snake, all those silvery scars wrapped around alabaster flesh now on full display, you reached out for him, wanting, craving, needing to feel the press of his body back on yours before the ebbing pleasure made you drift off to dreamland. Though, with Undertaker, reality could often feel like a dream, so perfect your conscious mind almost struggled to comprehend it was real at times.
But, as he began to lean back over you, your fingers interlocked as he pressed your hands down into the comforter on either side of your head, both your legs thrown over his shoulders to have you splayed wide and vulnerable for him, just the way he liked you, one thing was for certain. Undertaker had been ahead of himself when he’d said he’d have to find a way to outdo your birthday next year. After tonight, you had no idea how things could get any better than this.
***
(Hello and thank you so much to @fanfictionsworld for your request! I hope I did it justice and thank you for being so patient with me while you waited for it. I know you’ve been following me for quite some time and I always recognize you when I see you pop up in my notifs, so it was truly a pleasure getting to write for you <3
Also want to give a big thank you to everyone else for reading as well! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have a wonderful day!)
#kodis requests#undertaker#kuroshitsuji undertaker#undertaker black butler#black butler undertaker#undertaker x reader#black butler#black butler fanfiction#black butler x reader#black butler x you#black butler x y/n#kuroshitsuji#kuroshitsuji smut#kuroshitsuji fanfic#kuroshitsuji x reader#kuroshitsuji x you#kuroshitsuji x y/n#black butler smut#undertaker x you#undertaker x y/n
89 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
jespervanlaren-blog
JesperCommu
derekgamboa-blog1
Sin título
sendozero-blog
イラスト置き場
lickalotpuss6969
love the tast of
expertkillerz
Untitled