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dawn-moths · 3 months

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

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darkspellmaster · 7 months

Text

More lovely art from the discord of A Phantomhive at Night Raven College

Lilia as done by @mayaibarra Just love his face And Black Butler tsum-tsums as made by @befruitycommitfelonys

Hope you all like. ^_^ I know I do!

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #disney #elizabeth midford #fanfiction #twisted wonderland #sebastian michaelis #undertaker #ciel x lizzy #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #a phantomhive at Night raven college #apanrc #ao3

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fanfictionsworld · 10 months

Note

what if reader is having a very bad day and when they goes back home, Undertaker/Sebastian greets them and maybe tease them like usual but their s/o burst out crying? what would they react?

Sad reader/gender natural which i hope i wrote well/Undertaker x reader/Sebastian x reader/some fluff/just emotions that are beaing expressed in a strange way or is just me not knowing how to express my emotions/if this comes out weird pleas forgive me i am not good at telling people that i am sad/

Today was just not one of your happy days.

Its like that no matter what you try to do,you just could not cheer your self up.

Even some happy music could not change it.

Some thing in the back of your head just keeps putting you on the edge.

You can seem to stop it and its irritating you very much.

You are usually in check with your emotions and you proud your self on that.

I mean if everybody knew that you would feeling sad that would draw attention to you and you really do not want that.

Especialy with Sebastian who would literally trap you in his embrace until you tell him whats wrong.

But today was different you just could control your self,you just wanted to cry nothing else.

Its not like anything was wrong you just felt empty thats all.

Sebastian would make a big deal out of it if he saw you sad,which you did not want.

So as soon as you heard the front door of you apartment open,you pulled your self together,came out of your room and faced him.

You were smiling,saying hello and how was his day,etc.

Sebastian sensed something was wrong,but for now just chose to ignore it.

His focuse was now on a children's coloring book at the table.

You paint when something is bothering you,but he does not know that.

,,Darling,why is there a childrens coloring book at your table?

,,Are not perhaps too old for that,or maybe i am am falling for a baby,hm?"

That was it even though you knew he was just joking something about that seem to upset you,but you just do not no why.

And in the middle of the kitchen you brust out crying and you can seem to stop.

Your breath is heavier and you just can not stop your self,you feel like passing out,but strong arms catch you.

Sebastian lifts you up carring you to the room.

Upon entering he sets you down on your bed and his kises seems to calm you down.

You can not look at him you turn to the other side of the bed.

zou can hear a deep sigh from him and a large weight pulling you.

He has hugged you and know you cry even more.

,,You know i sensed something is wrong from the moment i walked in,but i thought nothing of it choosing to talk to you about it later,but if my teasing about the colouring book made cry you have my deepest apology my dear."

You wipe your tears take a deep breath and try to gather some strength to speak to him.

,,Its not your fault i do not care if you made fun of me for the colouring book i just had a really tough day its not like anything happened its just...its like..there something but there is not...i just i do not know how to explain it you know and i did not want you to worry because its nothing its just that its something and thats something is nothing and it would be stupied of me to say hey i am upset,sad and on the average of bearking down beacuse of something,but that something is nothing."

,,Darling if you are upset,sad or on the average of breaking down you should tell me,you should trust me about your feelings,whatever it is i will help you even if it is nothing and never say that your feelings are a problem to me beacuse they are not your feelings make you human a and love you for them.I know that you try to be strong hold them in check but you must understand that you can not keep them in dark for long and repressed them they will come and when they do this will happen and i do not want to see this happen to you,so pleas whenever you feel like this do not be afraid to tell me,i will help you in any way i can."

,,Thank you i am glad and i am sorry,from now on i will try my best to tell you my fellings,but now could you just hold me i could really use a good cuddle."

,,Of course anything for you my dear."

Some times your overthinking tendencies took better of you and to day was one of those days.

Working as a assistant to the undertaker was not a bad thing.I mean you were a nurse you know people die,but ever since your hospital put you on this part time job with him you just got hit with a realization of how people die every singel day.

Existential crises were not your style really and you try to avoid them as much as you can.

But it seems this one could not let you go.

So here you were in your bed in a spear room your boss made you just lying and looking at the celing questioning everything in your life.

As you were questioning your life away you did not heard a knock on your door and a tall dark figure approaching your bed and till you felt a heavy presence on the egde of you bed looking straight at you.

You set up next to him and he spoke.

,,Deary why are your eyes full of tears,are you crying for the life of the lost soul we just fixed,come now death is a natural thing it will come for you to you should laugh while you stil can,hihihihi."

Something about that just did sit rigth with you and you found your self slaping him,but his arm stoped you before it go to his cheek.

,,How can you say that does it not bother you that someday it will all just pass,how can you be so calm,there familys there loved ones,how can you say such things!"

,,I know that my dear,but still you have to realize that its just how it goes in life,pople die i know as a human its sad thinking about death,but if you worked as long as i have in this field of work you would get use to it.I am sorry if i have upset you but its just like that i know how you feel i also wish people would not die,but that is sipmle out of our power,you just have to come to terms with it."

,,I mean yes i get that,but stil."

,,Just know that death is a natural part of life,but remember that before you die do things that make you happy so that you never ever regret your life,okey?"

,,Yes,thank you for cheering me up i needed that,um i know its stupide but could you stay with me in bed for a while if its not too much of a problem?"

,,No of course not i will be happy to."

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manias-wordcount · 7 months

Note

Hi, I hope you are well.

Could I request a PlatonicBlack Butler x Demigod reader, please? (Sebastian, Ciel, Grell,Undertaker) You can pick anyone else if you want to. Thank you

Demigod Reader HCs (Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomive, Grelle Sutcliff, Undertaker)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Sebastian Michaelis

Sebastian thinks you’re “cute” in a way

Really, he thinks it’s adorable how you assume you’re more powerful than you actually are

In truth, you’re not really anything to worry about for a demon

And in general, you’re not anything to sneeze at

Maybe you’re a bit stronger than the average person your size

Maybe you’re a bit faster than the average person your size

Maybe you’re this, maybe you’re that but in all actuality?

You’re just some kid to Sebastian

Of course, he doesn’t try to mess with you too much

He wouldn’t want to call upon the wrath of someone who actually is a threat like your godly parent

Ciel Phantomhive

Ciel thinks you’re an enigma- just a little

In a world of angels and demons, being a demigod isn’t all too special

You’re not fully divine

And you’re not fully human

You’re far from the most powerful being he’s ever met

(Though you haven’t seemed to realize that)

But your existence does make him question things more

How does a god have a child with a human? What is the extent of your powers?

For those reasons, Ciel probably keeps you around

After all, studying your existence isn’t completely uninteresting

Grelle Sutcliff

Grell does not give a shit LMAOOO

Seriously

Like what is a Grim Reaper supposed to do with some random ass demigod

Naturally, she was a little interesting upon first meeting you

You don’t run into one that often after all

But upon meeting you, the interest fades completely

So what you’re a little bit more special than the average human?

It still doesn’t make you that special

So try not to take it to heart when she never seems particularly interesting in talking to you or what you’re doing

You really can’t blame her- especially when you’re hanging around far more powerful characters like Sebastian and such

Undertaker

He’s fond of you

Somewhat

Chances are, you’re not a wet blanket like Ciel so he enjoys it when he can get a good laugh with you

And he doesn’t get to see many demigods

Plus the last few ones he saw were already dead so it’s nice to talk to one that’s alive

That being said, you’re not anything crazy special

So he doesn’t quite care much about beyond the fact that you have some connection to his world rather than just being a random human being

That being said, he is excited for the moment he gets to have you fitted for a coffin

He knows it’s a long time coming considering you’re a little harder to kill than the average human

But he’s excited either way

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bugsyfics · 7 months

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✰ [ kinktober '23 m. list ] ✰

-> welcome, you've been granted exclusive access to this October's spiciest VHS collection. indulge in your most daring fantasies and become immersed in sinful stories that will leave you gasping and crying out in pleasure terror!

quick a.n.: yes, hello, i am back after a year and some much-needed rest from social media. I apologize for being gone so long, however, I've finally had some time and inspiration to write (yay!!) and im so excited to share my love for kinktober once again. You may also notice a new addition of the SW fandom

⚠︎ disclaimer: this is 18+, so mdni. Also, these dates are subject to change, but I am making it my upmost priority to see that all of these will be completed (there will not be a repeat of last year, I promise)

▸ 10 : 04 | ❝ VIRGINITY KINK ❞

STARRING: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS & READER

▸ 10 : 08 | ❝ PERVERSION ❞

STARRING: NOZEL SILVA & READER

▸ 10 : 13 | ❝ ORAL FIXATION ❞

STARRING: DARYL DIXON & READER

▸ 10 : 18 | ❝ THREESOME + SIZE KINK ❞

STARRING: ANAKIN SKYWALKER, OBI-WAN KENOBI, & READER

▸ 10 : 22 | ❝ SEX TAPE + AGE GAP + SQUIRTING ❞

STARRING: RICK GRIMES & READER

▸ 10 : 27 | ❝ OVERSTIM + PRAISE ❞

STARRING: UNDERTAKER & READER

▸ 10 : 31 ???

Ready to press play?

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist #sebastian michaelis x reader #rick grimes x reader #anakin x reader #obi wan x reader #nozel silva x reader #undertaker x reader #daryl dixon x reader #black clover imagine #black butler scenarios #black butler fanfiction #twd smut #star wars smut #twd imagine #star wars imagine

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tameodesza · 5 months

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To All the Men Shawn's Ever Loved

Headcanon about Shawn’s dating history in some random AU in my head, lol. Inspired by this post by @piratewithvigor about Shawn and his 5 boyfriends 🤭

Marty: 7 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚

Shawn dated around a lot in his youth, but Marty was his first long-term serious relationship

They met at the start of their careers before teaming together in smaller promotions. Marty chased after Shawn rigorously, the blond being hard to get.

It wasn’t that Shawn didn’t find Marty attractive, but he’d made a promise to his brothers that he’d never date a wrestler. They didn’t have the best track record in relationships, and Shawn’s older brothers didn’t want him to get his heart broken. If only he’d listened.

Marty eventually won Shawn over with how sweet he was, and how interested he seemed to learn about Shawn rather than deducing him to just a pretty face. They took things slow and Shawn finally said yes to the idea of a relationship after Marty had kissed him after leaving a show.

Things were pretty good in the first few years, but the relationship eventually became super toxic, especially around the time Shawn began to gain more popularity and success than Marty.

But they still tried to make it work, Shawn more so than Marty, because of how long they’d been together. Shawn wasn’t willing to give up so easily on a man he considered the love of his life.

But love wasn’t enough to combat their constant relationship problems – trust issues, jealousy, fighting, cheating, etc.

After another pointless argument, Shawn had enough and asked for a break.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦.

Kevin: 3 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚

Shawn wasn’t used to being a single man, and after meeting Kevin, his “break” with Marty swiftly turned into an official breakup.

Shawn was attracted to Kevin the moment he saw him on WCW in that ridiculous Oz gimmick. When Kevin came to the WWF, everything just seemed to click between them. They got along well, Kevin didn’t care about the heat Shawn had backstage, and they seemed to have the same sense of humor with Kevin being just as goofy as Shawn.

Kevin had only been there for two weeks before they got together, Shawn determined to scoop him up before someone else could. Being with Kevin was the freest Shawn felt in ages. It was definitely an adjustment to go from his previous relationship to someone who was so laid back, gentle, caring, loving, and protective in a non-possessive way.

Kevin helped to build back up the confidence that Marty had torn down. He was the perfect man for Shawn and it should’ve been a perfect relationship. But in true Shawn Michaels fashion, nothing could ever be that simple.

Despite being with a man that treated him better, Shawn carried over the toxic traits he’d learned from his previous relationship with Marty and basically self-sabotaged his relationship with Kevin. Their problems usually stemmed from Shawn’s lies, jealousy, and trust issues. Which eventually progressed to him picking fights with Kevin just to get a reaction out of the man.

But Kevin was nothing like Marty, and he was too mature and level headed to fall for Shawn’s antics, which only seemed to make Shawn angrier. But Kevin had learned not to feed into the anger, knowing that Shawn would eventually cool off and apologize before crawling into his awaiting arms.

Their relationship reached a boiling point when Kevin told Shawn he was leaving for WCW. Shawn barely registered Kevin’s explanation before he was yelling at the man, saying he was selfish, that he was abandoning him, that Kevin didn’t love him and was only chasing after Scott.

That caused Kevin to lose his cool, his frustrations spilling over as he cursed out Shawn, offended that the blond would question his love for him and insinuate something between him and Scott. The argument ended with Kevin calling Shawn clingy, which was more of an honest observation than an insult, and Shawn telling him to go fuck himself. Who was Kevin to call him clingy? He’d show him clingy, alright.

That night sealed the fate of their relationship when Shawn did the unthinkable and cheated on Kevin with none other than the hitman, Bret Hart.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦.

Bret: 1 year ―୨୧⋆ ˚

My fav ship, but they don’t have a happy ending in this timeline 😭 (sorry hartbreak fans!)

Marty and Shawn’s relationship walked so Bret and Shawn’s could run, both men being equally as toxic but somewhat addicted to each other.

Their relationship had not-so-humble beginnings that spawned from Shawn’s infidelity. And what started from sex eventually grew into an unhealthy codependent relationship with both men using each other to fill some kind of void, Bret fresh from a divorce and Shawn still heartbroken from Kevin dumping him.

It may have been Shawn’s shortest relationship, but it was hands down the most intense relationship he’d experienced on so many levels.

The love was intense, both men love bombing each other as soon as they were official, quick to let everyone know the other was off limits. Bret specifically made it his mission to show excessive PDA with Shawn whenever Kevin was around, and he continued to do so up until Kevin left for WCW. Shawn was often unaware, just happy to receive Bret’s affection.

Their fights were intense, others often thinking the two would kill each other if someone didn’t step in. They’d gotten kicked out of hotel rooms on multiple occasions due to noise complaints or damage that had been done due to one of them throwing shit around the room. Many of their fights had centered around Kevin, Bret’s jealousy leading him to believe that Shawn was still in love with the man, and Shawn’s annoyance at Bret constantly bringing up his ex.

And best, or worst depending on how you look at it, was that the sex was intense. Shawn had been introduced to so many new kinks, toys, and sex positions because of Bret, and his orgasms were unlike anything he’d ever experienced, the blond often coming multiple times before Bret’s climax. Shawn found that the sex was best when they were mad at each other, thus beginning his unhealthy obsession with riling up Bret, leading to an explosive fight and the most erotic hate sex. It was almost as good as the passionate makeup sex that followed.

Overall, sex was really what kept each other coming back. But beyond their attraction, there wasn’t any substance to the relationship. They hadn’t learned anything important about each other like birthdays, favorite colors, likes/dislikes, etc., which one could say led to many of their arguments because they didn’t really have a good understanding of each other.

Shawn made the mistake many times of comparing Bret to Kevin because, honestly, he’d never gotten over the man. And deep down, he wished to work things out with him, but Kevin had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Shawn after what he’d done.

So he settled for what he could get, but Bret wasn’t Kevin. He didn’t have Kevin’s patience and wasn’t one to tiptoe around his words to protect Shawn’s feelings.

But just like with his relationship with Marty, Shawn was hesitant to rip the band aid off despite how bad things had gotten between them. He’d grown accustomed to dysfunction, and he’d much rather put up with that than being alone.

The relationship only ended when Shawn got a taste of his own medicine. They say you lose him how you get him, and those words were never truer when Shawn found out that Bret had cheated on him with Sunny.

No surprise, the breakup was messy. Bret and Shawn had argued in front of the whole locker room, almost getting into a fight before Hunter and Chyna pulled Shawn away. But Shawn was a spiteful man and wasn’t going to let that be the last of it.

He keyed Bret’s car in the parking lot and threw a brick through the driver’s side window as an added bonus. Bret didn’t find out about it until the end of the show when leaving the arena. He was pissed and this led to him and Shawn actually fighting in the bathroom backstage the next week, Bret ripping out a few strands of Shawn’s hair in the process.

But Shawn got the last laugh in Montreal when Bret was screwed out of the WWF title.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦.

Undertaker: 4 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚

Shawn was as a broken man after his breakup with Bret, and even more so after the screwjob. Aside from DX, no one in the locker room wanted anything to do with him regardless of him telling people he wasn’t involved in screwing Bret out of the title (a lie no one believed).

It was the loneliest he’d felt in some time and certainly the longest he’d gone being single, which he had a hard time dealing with. Being the third wheel of Hunter and Chyna certainly didn’t help.

Undertaker had gained the same disdain towards Shawn as many of the guys had after the screwjob, steering clear of the blond at all costs. But he was also a professional and was willing to put his pride aside to do his job. So when Vince came to him about a possible feud with Shawn and a casket match, Undertaker agreed to it, albeit begrudgingly.

Ironically, their relationship began after Undertaker had injured Shawn’s back on that casket.

He felt absolutely devastated after hearing of Shawn’s upcoming back surgery that was a result of the casket clipping his back. When the words ‘career-ending injury’ began floating around, he felt sick to his stomach from guilt, blaming himself for the accident.

After Shawn’s surgery, Undertaker sent numerous ‘get well soon’ cards and flowers to Shawn’s hospital room. Shawn initially thought it was from his family or Hunter, but the cards never identified a sender. It wasn’t until Undertaker visited him in the hospital, the only wrestler outside of Shawn’s friends to come see him, that everything came together.

Undertaker was expecting to receive anger, insults, a spew of curses, anything other than the appreciative smile Shawn gave him when he sat at his bedside. The conversation was light, pleasant even, ending with Shawn telling Undertaker not to blame himself for his injury. He didn’t blame him, so the dead man shouldn’t do the same.

The visits became more frequent and once Shawn was released from the hospital, Undertaker had even taken some time off the road to look after Shawn in Texas. It was during that time at Shawn’s home that they officially got together.

Being with Undertaker was vastly different than Shawn’s previous partners. It was almost a bit odd being with a man that was so thoughtful, yet also not afraid to call Shawn out on his shit. Undertaker had a very no-nonsense demeanor that Shawn respected and was drawn to.

At that point in his life, Shawn was done playing games, no longer interested in the drama of relationships. He didn’t want to pick fights or throw hissy fits. He wanted something easy. Simple. And that’s what they had.

During his time with Undertaker, Shawn had matured the most. Undertaker helped him better understand his emotions, reflect on his past, and realize what wanted in life going forward. It may have also helped that Shawn was completely sober due to him taking medication, which Undertaker made sure he wasn’t misusing.

Undertaker was very instrumental in helping Shawn train to go back to the WWF, now WWE, in 2002. A lot had changed in Shawn’s absence, and he was honestly insecure and a little bit scared to return. He didn’t know if the fans would even care about him returning. And he knew a few of the boys backstage wouldn’t be happy. But Undertaker was always there to kiss away his worries, ensuring him that everything would be ok. They would be together, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Shawn.

Shawn didn’t know their relationship could get any stronger, but it surely did after his return to the company. For the first time, Shawn was able to see what it was like to have a healthy relationship on the road. Undertaker didn’t question him of his whereabouts backstage or hover over him at the bar. He trusted Shawn and Shawn trusted him, knowing that they’d always end the night in each other’s arms at the hotel.

They broke up some time in 2004. The breakup was amicable, and there were no cars keyed in the parking lot this time. Shawn wanted to take some time to focus on himself and his career, which Taker completely understood as they’d both been putting their career over their relationship. Undertaker also needed to focus on his own personal issues, especially with his brother Kane. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was best for Shawn’s safety for them to be apart for the time being.

As mutual as the decision was, it was still a painful breakup for the two. They really loved each other, and always would, but they had their own paths in life that didn’t seem to involve each other at the moment. They figured if it was meant to be, they’d find each other again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦.

Hunter: 2006 - Present ―୨୧⋆ ˚

To be honest Shawn should’ve seen this one coming.

Hunter had been Shawn’s best friend since 1996. He thought Shawn was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen when he first met him, and he’d almost made a move on the blond until he learned that Shawn was dating Kevin. Hunter settled on being good friends with Shawn and began dating Chyna shortly after.

As he and Shawn grew into best friends, his interest in the shorter man never wavered. Unfortunately for him, he never had an opportunity to pursue Shawn in their younger years as either he or Shawn always seemed to be in a relationship while the other was single.

And the one time that they were both single, they weren’t on speaking terms. They’d gotten into a heated argument where Shawn called Hunter a backstabbing friend and accused him of using him to get to the top. Hunter was fed up with taking the brunt of Shawn’s anger and they both didn’t speak to each other for over a year after that.

Surprisingly, it was Kevin that reunited the two, encouraging Hunter to talk to Shawn and hear him out. After hearing about Shawn’s injury and back surgery, Kevin was quick to call the blond, concerned about his well-being. Though they hadn’t ended on good terms, he would always care for him.

They’d kept in touch sparingly since then and through their short conversations, Kevin learned of Shawn’s falling out with Hunter. Shawn was a stubborn man and Kevin knew that no matter how sorry Shawn sounded over the phone, Hunter would need to make the first move to fix their friendship. And after learning how sorry Shawn was, that’s what Hunter did.

He still held a bit of anger towards Shawn, but he missed him. And after a tearful reunion, their friendship was back even stronger, and so was his feelings for the blond. Feelings that had never left. But Hunter soon learned it was too late to pursue anything as Shawn had been dating Undertaker.

So just as he had in 1996, Hunter settled on being a good best friend to Shawn. And he was ok with that. They had so much to catch up on, and Hunter was just happy to have his buddy back.

Shawn and Hunter didn’t get together until 2006 after DX reunited. They’d already been close after rekindling their friendship but being DX once again and constantly being surrounded by each other while also never getting sick of the other really solidified their feelings for one another. That and the kiss Shawn gave Hunter on New Year’s Eve.

For the first time, Shawn felt confident as he went into his relationship with Hunter. He was in a better headspace, had matured, and instead of carrying over toxic traits of past relationships, he carried over the lessons he’d learned over the years, determined to make this relationship last because he not only cared for Hunter as a lover but as a best friend. He’d already built up an immense amount of love for the man, and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship again. Also, Shawn was getting up there in age and was ready to settle down.

Being with Hunter made Shawn wish he’d made the decision sooner. They just got each other. Many times Shawn wouldn’t need to say anything, just give Hunter a look and the man would know what he was thinking.

Hunter was always so tender with him, probably afraid that Shawn would break or revert to his old ways at the slightest hiccup, which Shawn wasn’t going to allow to happen.

Shawn loved that Hunter was very affectionate, always touching him in some kind of way whether it’s holding his hand, hugging him every chance he got, playing with his hair, or tugging on his pocket to bring him closer.

Their fights were minimal, or at least they fought the least out of any of Shawn’s relationships. But when they did fight, it wasn’t the usual screaming matches Shawn was accustomed to. They talked to each other calmly with level heads, both hearing each other out before making a point. And they’d always end the conversation with a hug and an ‘I love you.’

Shawn’s sure Hunter’s the one after the man gets injured in 2007. Seeing Hunter in the hospital in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it broke Shawn.

He took time off the road to help Hunter with his injury, much like Undertaker had done for him. Being with Hunter every day so close in such an intimate setting of Hunter’s Connecticut home made Shawn realize he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. And any man that could make Shawn endure the cold Connecticut winters deserved his heart.

The proposal was impromptu, Shawn whipping out the ring after Hunter’s physical therapy session. It was bittersweet, more sweet than bitter, since Hunter wanted to be the one to propose first. He’d been planning on doing it and would have done it sooner had it not been for his injury.

But as he looked into Shawn’s beautiful teary blue eyes, he said yes, of course, and they were married on New Year’s Eve of that year, sharing the same kiss that started their relationship.

Looking back on the past, as painful as it was, Shawn wished he could thank all of the men he’d ever loved for teaching him how to love and helping him grow into the husband he was today.

#divider cr: @cafekitsune #hartbreak #bret hart x shawn michaels #marty jannetty x shawn michaels #kevin nash x shawn michaels #undertaker x shawn michaels #triple h x shawn michaels #bretshawn #hbtaker #shawnter #shawter #alternate universe #wwe fanfiction #shawn michaels #bret hart #marty jannetty #kevin nash #undertaker #triple h

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take-taker-taken · 3 months

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Hi! I hope you're having a lovely day/night wherever you are in the world. I'm new here and saw you take requests. Please bare with me, I've never done this before lol. I was wondering if I could have a ministry Taker x fem gothic plus size reader fic? As for smut or fluff I'll honestly let you decide, I'm good with either. I just love ministry taker so much. He has me in a chokehold!

Hello, lovely Anon! I do hope you’re still around and didn’t give up hope of me ever answering you! Here is your beloved Ministry!Taker fic…

Untitled

You carefully apply liner to your eyes, the finishing touch to the smoky look. You know that he’s watching you intently - he always does, to the point where you wonder if he enjoys the ritual of make up as much as you do. You stain your lips a deep, dark red and then sit back and admire the finished product in the mirror.

“You’re beautiful.” The simple statement rumbles from him and you turn to look at where he sits on one of his thrones. This one is slightly smaller than the grand one in the great hall but it’s no less majestic for that. He smiles - an intriguing combination of pleasure, danger and barely-disguised lust - and strokes finger and thumb thoughtfully over his goatee beard. “Come here and sit with me.”

You stand up and turn with a swirl of your black velvet skirt as you smooth down your top, which is cleverly fashioned after his cloak with a deep hood that would hide your face if you used it. The sleeves flare out at the ends, adding to the flowing, floaty quality of the outfit. You slowly walk over to him with a confidence that a few months ago didn’t exist - he used to terrify you and when he plucked you from obscurity to be by his side, you’d barely been able to mutter two words to him. He had chosen, though, and you were to be his. He had seen something in you and so had persevered, not allowing you to be away from him for too long at a time, determined that you would not only grow accustomed to him but that you would learn to find pleasure in his company.

He extends a hand to you as you approach and unafraid, you reach out and take it as you step up on to the platform that the throne sits upon. You know that when he bids you to ‘come and sit with’ him then he wants you close and sure enough, he pulls you in and you hop up on to his lap. As huge as he is, you had been so self conscious the first few times; worried that you were not a waif-like figure. Such things are no longer a concern and you smile and lean against him as one powerful arm encircles you, his fingers stroking up and down your waist.

Your head tucks neatly under his chin if you press yourself fully to him, but you find that you’re feeling playful tonight. His immediate attention has been taken by the book that rests on the arm of the throne and so you slowly slide your hand up the centre of his back. He doesn’t react until you reach his neck, your fingers seeking the bare skin that hides beneath his mane of dark hair. You scratch the nape gently and he rolls his shoulders with a low, rumbling sigh of satisfaction. Encouraged, you turn your face up and deliver a row of small kisses to his jawline before reaching up to give a soft tug on his beard. He turns at that and you look up into stormy green eyes before giving a cheeky giggle, but your hand doesn’t relinquish its grip on the facial hair.

“Something ails you, my princess?” His voice is never particularly animated but you don’t find that scary anymore.

“You called me all the way over here, but seems you’re only interested in that book.”

His arm tightens around your ample waist while his other hand reaches up and covers over the one of yours that holds his beard. “Wanting some attention are you, little one?”

You nod as you give him a playful pout and a mildly pleading look. He guides your hand from his chin and then raises it to his lips, kissing it softly as you look on. He lets go of your hand and then nudges your chin up with one long finger. He kisses along your jaw just as you did to him and you close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the bristly hair against your skin.

“Such a stunning gothic beauty,” He murmurs into your ear, the timbre making you shiver pleasantly. “I knew from the moment I saw you that there was fire inside you.” He caresses the back of your neck with the tips of his fingers while his other hand seeks out the hem of your top so that he can touch bare skin. “It just needed someone to nurture that glow…” As his fingers stroke across your stomach you think back to the beginning of your time with him, when you used to try and move away from touches like this, fearing that there was ‘too much’ flesh there. Now you have no such worries and wriggle around, turning yourself in his lap as his kiss returns, to your mouth this time.

He teases your lips apart and you gladly open your mouth to allow his long tongue entry and place your hand on the side of his face. There’s still a part of you that can’t quite believe that you’re allowed to touch him, to kiss him and to lay with him. He chose you to be at his side; he chose to love you. You open your eyes and whimper slightly with disappointment as he draws back from the kiss and there’s amusement in his gaze.

“You’re wanting more, princess?”

“Always,” you reply, your thumb stroking his cheek.

“I rather fear that I shouldn’t.” He says teasingly. “You only just finished your make up and if I take you to bed then it’ll surely be ruined.”

You smile up at him and tug gently on his beard again. “I don’t mind.”

He growls at your latest assault on his facial hair and snaps his teeth playfully at your hand before standing up with you in his arms. You giggle delightedly as you know that nobody else sees this side to him.

“Very well, girl - you leave me no choice but to teach you some consequences for your teasing.” He dips his head and kisses you again before drawing back to nip at your lips with his teeth. You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck and let your head fall against his chest as he carries you from the room while muttering dark, lustful promises.

END.

#the undertaker #undertaker #this character lives in my head rent free #taker smut #ministry undertaker #ministry taker #reader x undertaker #reader x the undertaker #undertaker x reader #the undertaker x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwf fan fiction #ministry!taker #TTT Tumblr Asks

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lunarwritesthings · 9 months

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Human Under The Monster

Paring: 90s!Undertaker x Gn!Reader

Fandom: Wwe

Request: Yes, by anon.

Summary: Everyone believes Undertaker is a monster and treats him as one. Everyone, but the reader.

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this took. life has been hectic and as a fan of Heartstopper and I didn't want any spoilers so I avoided social media until I watched it.

Undertaker was a mysterious man, and people naturally feared what they could not understand.

But what if, just this once, someone saw past his intimidating appearance and found a side of him that no one knew about?

Perhaps, underneath it all, there was a vulnerable person who needed to be cared for. Perhaps he had a hidden side that only a few close friends knew about.

One of those close friends was someone he met when he first arrived, well he bumped into them. Shockingly it led to an amazing friendship.

Of course, being around someone people are scared of tends to have them worried about you and why you stayed around him. You knew this was all because they didn't see the human behind the monster, but that's how Undertaker wanted it.

Undertaker never understood why you treating the way you did. He'd never admit it to anyone but he loved it. It was nice to have someone that saw him for him and saw past the character.

Being friends with the one and only dead man has its perks. Do you want to be alone or need a quiet spot? easy most people avoid you worried about what Undertaker might do if he sees them.

Now of course there were rumors about you and him dating, but they were never confident nor denied. That was information that stayed between you and him.

Behind closed doors, there was no dead man, no Undertaker. It was just two humans treating each other as such, regardless of what the outside world thought.

Behind every "monster" is a person that needs an unsuspected person to see past the intimidating appearance and treat them as what they truly are. Human. And Undertaker had found that person.

#wwe imagine #undertaker wwe #wwe undertaker #undertaker fanfiction #the undertaker #fluff

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wrxsslin-hours · 4 months

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A oneshot where Hunter finds out about Shawn's messy love life

a/n: I saw this art post by @seraphskater and my hand slipped. Also inspired by that one good ass fic by @tameodesza go check em out!

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was a man of taste. He preferred the finer things in life, those wrapped in gold and silk. He had the tendency to follow around what he believed was good enough for him. This was how Shawn found himself being shadowed by the blueblood every second of the day. Shawn didn’t mind it; the hawk-nosed blonde was easy on the eyes if Shawn squinted hard enough. Hunter was posh to a fault, Shawn found out, but he didn’t complain as long as Hunter made him feel like a million bucks; it did wonders for his already inflated ego. It didn’t take long for Hunter to start pursuing Shawn for something beyond his little schoolboy crush. All it took was a bouquet as big as Shawn and toothachingly sweet words (and the dirty tricks he had to do to keep Shawn WWF Champion, but Hunter digresses).

Shawn was easy to please which was why Hunter already expected the other man’s colorful love life. What he didn’t expect was how really messy it would be.

“Wait, you dated Ramon?”

“Dated is a strong word.”

Shawn snuggled closer to Hunter’s side; his legs wrapped with Hunter’s own. He pressed a kiss on the corners of his lips, hair still tangled with the leaves and petals from the behemoth of a bouquet Hunter gave him hours ago. “You know, if you want to date me, you have to deal with my seven exes.”

Hunter sputtered, “Seven?” The smaller blonde pouted, his nose scrunched, “I’m hot merchandise, everyone wants a piece of the heartbreak kid.”

The blueblood pulled Shawn closer to his chest and Shawn was more than happy to lay on something bigger than the hotel bed pillows. “And who exactly has gotten a taste of the heartbreak kid?” Hunter asked, curious.

Shawn hummed in thought, mind scraping for all the details he may have already forgotten, “Well.”

જ⁀➴

Marty Janetty

- If Hunter had to ask Marty, the former rocker would say that he was Shawn’s first everything. First kiss, first love (Shawn begs to differ), first lay. It was only natural for them to get together after starting out as a tag team.

- The chemistry between them in the ring translated into their personal lives. Marty was the more laid-back, easygoing one, balancing out Shawn’s flamboyance. Their opposing personalities seemed to complement each other well. Keyword: seemed.

- They dated for most of their time as The Midnight Rockers. Seen each other at their lowest when sharing half a granola bar for dinner, Marty being Shawn’s shoulder when the high demands of traveling from show to show took a toll on him.

- Marty found that chasing after Shawn was way harder than chasing after tag team gold. It took him months to convince Shawn to have them share a bed, let alone to get a kiss from him. Hunter could see why.

- Marty wasn’t a dead ringer for Shawn’s taste in men. He wasn’t tall, shorter than Shawn clearly. He wasn’t big either. It makes Hunter wonder how they became an item in the first place (“He was the only guy I spent time with for more than a show,” Shawn explained, “I have needs y’know”).

- Marty had a controlling hand, easily jealous, and it left a sour taste in Shawn’s mouth. Shawn lost count of how many times they had an argument that sparked from Shawn looking at another man for longer than a few seconds. Shawn wasn’t that much of a fan of being trapped in a cage. So, it was safe to say that their relationship was doomed from the start. But Shawn let it go on anyway.

- Tension built up when Shawn was given the green light to start his singles career. He knew how Marty would react to the news, so Shawn decided not to tell him anything about it until he had to throw Marty through the barber shop window.

- Shawn broke off the relationship after that. Not much love was lost between them since there wasn’t that much to begin with. Now all their interactions involved Shawn immediately turning the other direction when they made eye contact. If it wasn’t for Diesel, Shawn’s newly hired bodyguard, Marty would’ve tormented him relentlessly, or worse: wanted him back.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The Sensational Sherri

- Shawn had this sugar mommy thing going on with Sherri. It was short-lived but it was the best few months Shawn’s ever experienced. She fed into Shawn’s ideas of his over-the-top ring gear and has bought him his endless array of jewelry.

- It only took Shawn to bat his lashes for Sherri to go on and convince the Million Dollar Man to give her the money to buy what Shawn wanted. From earrings to hats to luxury hotel rooms, Shawn got it all.

- The Sensational Sherri gave Shawn direction after being split from Marty and Shawn wasn’t quite sure how it would play out. But Shawn’s uncertainty was stomped out from Sherri’s experience. She raised his stock, so to speak.

- From an outsider’s view, they definitely had a thing going on. Shawn wasn’t even aware that he was in a sugar mommy relationship until a few years later.

- Shawn got pegged, 100%

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Diesel

- The two met at a convenience store of a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Shawn saw the top of Diesel’s head poke beyond the metal shelves of liquor and soda cans, and like a moth to a flame, Shawn hunted the other down.

- He was huge, was Shawn’s first thought. All legs and muscle. The moment Shawn had to tilt his head up just to make eye contact with the man, it was over for him. Braincells gone. He wanted to climb that man like a tree.

- Shawn did the most cliché thing imaginable to try and get the other man’s attention. And it involved him “accidentally” bumping into Diesel and spilling the bottle of water in his hands. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Shawn exclaimed in the most fake-friendly voice he could muster. “Let me buy you another one; I’m so clumsy.”

- Diesel was taken aback. Was that deep ass voice coming from that guy? Christ. He didn’t even try to fight the laugh that escaped his lips when Shawn started pawing at the wet stain on his shirt's sleeve, obviously coping a feel of his bicep.

- “You’re really tall, do you wrestle?” “I truck.”

- The blonde pouted, hand wrapped around Diesel’s arm, “You ever get lonely?” he asked, not-so-subtly. Diesel, bless his heart, was a weak man when it came to blondes. Shawn was a hundred ways of pretty, and Diesel would be stupid to refuse the other’s advances. He does get lonely, thank you very much.

- And that was how Diesel found himself with a naked blonde man sleeping on the makeshift bed in the back of his ten-wheeled truck. That post-nut clarity hits him real strong.

- They had breakfast in a diner and, through the moment of spontaneous confidence, Shawn offered him a job. A bodyguard gig. The offer left Diesel in a pause, the soggy eggs on his fork slipped and fell back on the plate with a splat. “A what?”

- Shawn’s smile widened as he nodded in a way that reminded Diesel of the bobbleheads he collected on his truck’s dashboard. “Come on Big Daddy, you got the build.” Shawn tried to convince, “Pays better too.”

- Diesel hadn’t been given that big of a decision since he made the choice to dye his hair black. His eyes traced from Shawn’s beauty mark to the skin of his chest that peeked from his too-large shirt. The silence that followed it made Shawn pout. The blonde grabbed a napkin and scribbled his number before he tucked it in Diesel’s hands. “I’m not kidding about it, y’know,” he kissed Diesel on the cheek, “Give me a call when you make up your mind.”

- Diesel watched the man disappear beyond the diner doors and he was left with his thoughts.

- It didn’t take long for Diesel to actually call him back. And Shawn was absolutely ecstatic.

- So, there he was, following Shawn to the ring and watching his new employer dance around. They got together soon after. But it was short-lived, the two decided they were better off as friends instead of lovers. The breakup ended miles better than Shawn’s last one. Good on them.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Razor Ramon

- Shawn thought Razor was the most annoying man alive. And Razor didn’t have any good words to say about Shawn either. They were both stubborn and didn’t know how to take “no” like proper functional adults. It only took Razor spitting his toothpick on Shawn’s lap for them to start squabbling every chance they get. Diesel became their impromptu babysitter whenever that happened.

- They had this situationship going on that confused everyone to no end. One second, they were best buddies; then the next moment, Razor was trying to choke Shawn for mocking his accent. It went on like that for most of their budding friendship. There always seemed to be this tension between the two that was heavy and pungent.

- They boned. No surprise. It was a friends-with-benefits, no-strings-attached thing. They wouldn’t call themselves an item by any means. They always found themselves in bed together after every match they had. And there were no complaints from either of them. The morning-afters seemed to be the sweetest, with Shawn ordering hotel breakfast for the both of them while Razor would untangle the knots in Shawn’s hair made from the night before. It was a moment of comfortable silence, only broken by the rustle of the bed sheets and the noise of the television.

- They started being friendly the more they spent time together, and that led to Razor becoming a part of Shawn and Diesel’s ragtag crew. They made some sort of system together, having each other’s back whenever it calls for it. Best believe, the trio became everyone’s problem in the locker room afterward.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Sycho Sid

- Even Shawn wonders how he had the audacity to even consider Sid as a potential boyfriend. Shawn had the aching suspicion he made that decision when he was black out drunk one night.

- This all happened after an argument Shawn had with Diesel, and in a sorry attempt to make his former boyfriend jealous, he got himself a new bodyguard in the not-so-mentally there Sid.

- Shawn tried to make it work. Tried.

- But Sid was more interested in the gold wrapped around Shawn’s waist than Shawn himself.

- It was a fruitless attempt on Shawn’s part and he immediately stopped trying when Sid laughed all on Shawn’s face. The blonde can still remember the smell of his breath and it still makes him gag to this day.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Undertaker

- Shawn can’t even wrap his head around the idea of how he managed to convince the Undertaker to date him. He’d like to think his good looks did it for him.

- In true Shawn fashion, the blonde saw one wrestler that towered over him, and it was over. He was afraid of the Undertaker at first, but in all honesty, who wasn’t? He was an enigma. Came into the wrestling scene wearing all black, hair covering most of his face, and a tub-of-lard of a man following him around with his squeak-toy voice. Maybe Shawn’s thing for taller men overshadowed all the other red flags that said men might carry.

- Shawn didn’t believe the Undertaker was essentially a walking corpse, but after laying his head on his bare chest and hearing no heartbeat, he started to rethink his life choice. (“Okay, it was kinda hot.” Hunter made a face, “Shawn-“)

- Despite their odd pairing, Shawn and the Undertaker surprisingly hit it off. The Deadman turned out to be a gentle giant, and Shawn couldn’t help but be drawn to him. To Shawn's surprise, Taker knew a thing or two about motorcycles. Lord knows how he got into it in the first place.

- Their relationship started off as Shawn treating Taker as some sort of wall, talking on and on about anything and everything. And Taker, not knowing how to respond to Shawn's endless rants, never bothered to interrupt him. That was how Taker got up to date with the latest locker room drama, which to none of his surprise, had Shawn as the center of most of them.

- Shawn became a permanent fixture in Taker’s somewhat dreary routine. Shawn’s deep voice was a nice contrast to Bearer’s and Taker welcomed the change with open arms.

- They decided to end their relationship when Shawn realized that Taker still had some of his own stuff to figure out, particularly the brother-related ones. It was a quiet affair, both in good terms. But that still didn’t stop Shawn from talking Taker’s ear off.

- When come the time that Taker’s heart starts to beat again, he was sure that Shawn was one of the reasons for his second chance to life.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Bret Hart

- This was one of the relationships where Shawn genuinely saw himself loving Bret for the rest of their lives. They started out as friends when Bret, like the angel he was, offered some encouraging words to a still-green Shawn Michaels back in the early nineties. It meant more to Shawn than Bret realized, especially considering that Shawn was in a rather low moment in his career, unsure of how he was going to be used in the business. He’s heard of all the stories of how new talent became jobbers immediately after they debuted, and Shawn was worried he was going to be one of them. But Bret had more trust in Shawn than Shawn had in himself. The blonde can still remember how Bret complimented his form. It made the Texan blush a whole bright shade of red.

- They didn’t start out as all-out friends like what happened between Diesel and Shawn. They were acquaintances in the locker room, sharing small waves and the occasional “Nice match.” They had this unspoken respect for one another, and it continued to bloom as the years went by.

- Shawn had the tendency to fall slowly and hard. As much as he wants to deny it, his small spark for Bret was there since the very start, and it only got bigger when he entered the WWF championship scene. Shawn made a name for himself big enough to be a contender for gold. And that meant he spent more time with the Hitman.

- Their time together in the ring extended out of the ring too. It started small, sharing stories in the locker room and drinking together in bars after a show. And then they went on dates, sharing hotel rooms, and sitting next to each other during those long-hour flights.

- They shared their first kiss one random night while sharing a bottle of beer on the balcony of their shared hotel room. And it continued to something more in bed.

- It was afterward when they decided it was best for both of them if they only did hookups. Mostly because neither of them could ever bring themselves up to admit their feelings. Maybe it’s arrogance, maybe it’s a fear of commitment. Either way, they stayed casual, and it was neither of them wanted.

- They fell off like how they fell in love: slowly. They started arguing, having fights more than anything else, and it all collapsed on itself. Sometimes, Shawn would wonder what would happen if they did confess.

- This was one of the relationships that actually hurt.

જ⁀➴

Hunter stared at the ceiling, listening to Shawn’s voice fade in and out of sleepiness. The smaller man yawned, “But that was years ago,” he assured. And Hunter hugged him tighter. The blueblood smacked his lips after a stretch of silence, “They won’t just start beating up when we tell everyone of our status, would they?”

“I don’t think so.” Shawn placed a kiss on Hunter’s lips and smiled, “But I’m pretty sure Sid would beat you up just because he feels like it.”

#wwe fanfiction #wwe headcanons #shawn michaels x triple h #shawn michaels x bret hart #shawnter #shawn michaels x kevin nash #shawn michaels x undertaker #shawn michaels x razor ramon #shawn michaels #bret hart #marty jannetty #diesel #kevin nash #razor ramon #sensational sherri #sycho sid #the undertaker #writing #dividers by: cafekitsune

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sebastianthemadlad · 5 months

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(don't read if you don't want to be spoiled for Black Butler or JoJo's Bizarre Adventure part 1)

The best thing about being both a black butler AND a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure fan is because of the potential the 2 stories have in a crossover fan fiction.

Think about it, JoJo's part 1 (Phantom Blood) and the first few arcs of Black Butler take place IN THE EXACT SAME YEAR (1888), they also take place in the same country and the same city and they both have sort of the same supernatural and horror elements in it.

Not to mention in both stories there's a part where the characters are on a happy boat cruise and suddenly a bunch of zombies start attacking them.

I think the only thing that drives these 2 universes apart is the fact that Jack The Ripper is different in both stories. In Black Butler he (or she) is both Madame Red and Grell working together, in JoJo's he's just a random dude who later is turned into a zombie by Dio (and then is killed within like 5 minutes lol).

But I guess that can just be excused by saying Dio found the wrong Jack the Ripper and just found a random guy who coincidentally also killed prostitutes, and meanwhile Grell and Madame Red were doing their own thing.

I'm honestly very confused why I barely see any JoJo's x Black Butler fan fiction, I'm not sure if it's me just not looking hard enough or if not many JoJo fans are also fans of Black Butler or vice versa. I've met some people who are both JoJo and Black Butler fans (mostly online since where I come from, anime and manga, especially less popular stories like Black Butler, aren't well known) but most of the time when I meet someone who is a fan of one of these, it's just the one and not both.

Anyways, I'd also just love to see the interactions between the Black Butler and JoJo characters. I know a lot of the characters in JoJo's part 1 are less memorable than those in other parts, the only really memorable characters are JoJo, Dio, Speedwagon and Zeppeli, and sometimes people can remember Erina, Poco, Dire and Straizo but they usually only remember the first 4.

(I actually like a lot of the Phantom Blood characters, and despite it being one of my least favourite JoJo parts I still like it, I love the aesthetic of it, plus if Phantom Blood never happened we would have never gotten better parts like Stardust Crusaders or Diamond Is Unbreakable.)

Black Butler, meanwhile, has a wide range of amazing and memorable characters, though this is probably because Black Butler is a lot longer than JoJo's part 1 for obvious reasons:

Phantom blood was the first part of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, and is the shortest part, in the anime only being 9 episodes long while most parts are 20-40 episodes long, JoJo's is a story told through different parts which usually take place years and eras apart, every part also often takes place in different countries and every part the main character (or as the JoJo fandom knows them as... The JoJo's) changes because each part is the story of someone descendant of the Joestar family.

So therefore in each part we mostly get new characters and only a few reoccurring ones.

Black Butler was designed to only be told within one whole big story line, with the same main characters, therefore we'd be seeing the same characters every arc, the story mostly takes place in one main setting (London city, England) but on occasion the settings can change:

Like when Ciel and Sebastian joined the circus and left the city, the anime only version when they went to Paris, the emerald witch arc which takes place in Germany, we also sometimes get flashbacks to other countries like India.

So how would the Black Butler and JoJo's characters interact?

This question can be interpreted in many ways depending on how you see the characters from both stories.

Ciel and Jonathan are quite similar, they're both rich nobles who live in Victorian era London, their parents died, their mansion burned to the ground, their brother is an antagonist in their story. Heck they both even have blue hair (well in the anime for JoJo's at least because apparently in the manga Jonathan's hair is brown).

Personality wise though, Jonathan and Ciel are very different. Jonathan is a kind, loyal gentleman who just wants to protect his friends, family and the innocent, meanwhile Ciel has experienced a lot of trauma from a young age, his family was killed, he was kidnapped, abused, watched his twin brother die, made a deal with a demon who only wants his soul and so much more I could write a whole other post on.

Because of this trauma Ciel, despite being 12-14 is a cold, miserable, depressed and sometimes a bit cruel.

Of course Jonathan went through a lot trauma during Phantom Blood but since most of it didn't happen when he was a child, him and Ciel react to their traumatic pasts differently.

Jonathan would probably want Ciel to open up to him, but Ciel just isn't having it, this could lead to some interesting dialogue between the 2 protagonists because of how similar but also different they are character and personality wise.

What about other characters, more evil characters such as Dio and Sebastian?

Now I don't think these 2 would get along, because since in my mind Ciel would be an ally to Jonathan, Dio would want to be rid of him as well, so Sebastian would have to protect Ciel at all costs.

However, these 2 are both supernatural creatures (Sebastian being a demon and Dio being a vampire) so they'd probably like.. I dunno tease each other when fighting? Like they wouldn't just be yelling angrily at each other they'd make fun of each other.

(okay maybe Dio would yell angrily if he starts to lose because in Phantom Blood he's a bit of a manchild compared to him in Stardust Crusaders in my opinion, I don't hate Dio, he's in fact my favourite JoJo's character ever but we can definitely see how his character developed after all the mistakes he made in Phantom Blood)

Sebastian probably knows about the existence of vampires, the mask, hamon and the pillar men, he's existed for thousands of years afterall, possibly since time began itself, heck he may have even been friends with some pillar men.

I don't think demons are affected by hamon, since hamon comes from the sun and we see Sebastian and other demon characters are definitely NOT affected by the sun unlike vampires.

Undertaker and Grell would probably both be interested in Dio, for different reasons.

Grell would probably be attracted to Dio romantically and sexually, because...

1: she's a simp

2: Dio is canonically very charismatic and handsome which is why he literally has so many servants and minions in part 3

Dio would probably be annoyed by Grell, but Grell is a fairly useful and strong character with her being a grim reaper and her thirst for blood, so he'd probably manipulate her and just try to put up with Grell being an obnoxious fangirl

Undertaker would probably be interested in Dio's ability to turn people into zombies, I don't think he'd want to join Dio's side but he'd probably do it anyways for his own gain. He wants more knowledge on the cinematic records, he may even kill one of the zombies to see what their cinematic records are like, if they ended when they became a zombie or if they continue since they're neither dead or alive. Undertaker also wants to get inspiration for his own bizarre dolls and how to make them more life like.

The grim reapers in general probably also know about vampires and hamon (though I'm not sure if they'd know about the history with the stone masks and pillar men) and would probably treat them the same way they treat demons, obnoxious creatures who interfere with soul collection.

You're probably wondering "But vampires and demons are not the same, the reason the grim reapers hate demons is because they eat souls, and therefore don't let the grim reapers collect them. Vampires don't eat souls, they drink blood"

Well I feel like when vampires turn people into zombies, it sort of corrupts both of the cinematic records and the soul, the zombies still have records and a soul, but after being turned they're just broken and not worthy of the reaper's time unless it's for experimental reasons when it comes to characters like Undertaker.

I feel like if Black Butler and Phantom Blood were to ever have a spin off crossover anime show (which definitely will NEVER happen because they're both owned by different companies and both Hirohiko Araki and Yana Toboso probably wouldn't have an interest in that, but pretend we're in an alternative time line where Araki and Toboso's works are owned by the same companies and they are both very interested in each others works and have all the legal rights to make a crossover series) It would definitely be a lot longer than Phantom Blood, not as long as Black Butler is but probably about 20 episodes+ , I'm not sure how many seasons or arcs there would be, but I'm guessing 1 or 2 seasons and a few arcs.

So I'm guessing they would be in Japan specifically, in other countries? Well despite me coming from the same country as Jonathan and Ciel (England) both Black Butler and JoJo's are sadly not that popular here, it's a pain in the arse trying to find merchandise for both animes even in anime based shops, the most I usually find of them is manga, and even then they usually don't even have majority of the volumes.

Would it be popular? Well JoJo's and Black Butler in Japan are rather popular (JoJo's is definitely a lot MORE popular with some describing it as around the same amount of popularity as Star Wars does in the West in Japan, but Black Butler is fairly popular as well, I'm guessing JoJo's is more popular because it's been around since the mid 80's and Black Butler has been around since the mid-late 2000's)

I just think this whole concept is really cool and I'll probably talk about it a lot

#jjba #phantom blood #jojos bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure phantom blood #black butler #kuroshitsuji #anime #crossover #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover fanfic #Jonathan Joestar #Dio Brando #Ciel Phantomhive #Sebastian Michaelis #Grell Sutcliff #undertaker black butler #idea #rambling

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dawn-moths · 3 months

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"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!)

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